P.S. I have mobile data now, so I’m able to upload it.
Dear Diary:
Today is November 10, 2025, and the day passed almost unsuspecting—sunlight stretching lazily across the sky, as if the rainy season had forgotten to arrive. I promised myself I’d write once the weather began to speak in its own restless language.
Now, evening has fallen, and the winds of Typhoon Uwan are beginning to stir, whispering through the trees, brushing against the walls. The rain is still gentle, but the power suddenly went out just after dinner. I had just washed the last plate when darkness swallowed the house, and fear arrived with it.
I listened to the wind howl outside, a voice wild and untamed, and felt a tight knot in my chest—the anxious thought that at any moment, our roof might lift, or something fragile could give way. The wind’s song was haunting, almost like floating in a void, the world around me erased by shadow.
Still, we are safe, holding ourselves steady amidst the uncertainty. I might be quiet online for a while, so I apologize in advance.
Tonight reminded me that comfort is fragile, and calm can turn into unease in the blink of an eye. Storms are not just weather—they are gentle warnings of the fragility of our surroundings. Yet, in the midst of fear, vigilance, presence, and hope become our quiet anchors. Even in darkness, staying together and staying aware can make the heaviest winds feel just a little lighter.
Love,
Aristotle
