Today, I heard it. I heard it after what must have been 20 years. And it hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. My surrounds shifted to black, and I was feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. Chills ran down my spine.

It felt cold. Cold but familiar, and gross, and my head went numb. I stopped in my tracks, right here, right now, in the MTR, and I took a deep breath.

And there were flashbacks. Memories lasting only milliseconds, but a series of them--vivid but fast, and with the memories, emotions from years, decades past. Emotions of turmoil, stemming from an avalanche of tumultuous events at the time that led me to where I am now.

A place where I am happy to be alive. Grateful. Consciously reminiscent of my past, fully cognizant of my head space at the time, full of moments of un-clarity and confusion that sometimes seep into my mind to this day. Still fearful of what the future holds, still wary of the tricks my own mind plays, still very careful.

I remember the vast ocean. The sight of it as I spent morning, day, and evening--listening to you on repeat, sometimes as tears streamed down my face, my wrist bandaged conspicuously, numb towards the sight, smells, and sounds around me--other than the sight of the limitless ocean, the smell of the same rice dish I bought everyday, and the sound of it ringing in my ears relaying the same message over and over again, on full blast, like an angry lullaby.

But I have some hope now, hope that I can be hopeful in the face of a clouded mind, a frustrated mind, a well-formed aptitude of self-hate (yet with an undying love for others and the world, this has not changed).

Like the clouds I love to take photos of, reminding me of the opening of the clear blue sky, I have opened my heart and mind to peaceful acceptance of what is and what was. And I'm excited for what could be.

For now. For now I am at peace, I am trying, and no longer crying. It is now a quiet, calmer noise. Just a reminder of the scars of yesterday.