The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft, golden hue over the city. I stood on the balcony of the Airbnb, leaning against the railing, watching the skyline of Quezon City unfold before me. At twenty stories up, the buildings below looked almost unreal — towering, majestic, like a different world entirely. The view from here was breathtaking, but it didn't feel like home.
"Today's the third day I haven't been back to my apartment," I muttered to myself. I glanced down at my dogs, who sat quietly sleeping beside me. "Still no word from the building management... I just wish I could go back soon."
I let out a long sigh, the uncertainty settled heavily in my chest. It was a Saturday, but it didn't feel like it. With the dogs by my side, the city slowly waking up below, I couldn't help but feel a little out of place, even if the view was worth every moment.
But I shook my head and lightly slapped both of my cheeks in unison. The gloom that had been hanging over me for too long needed to go. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"That's it! I'm going out for a coffee." I bent down and ruffled my dogs' fur. "Mom will be back. Stay here. I'm just going to have a change of pace, alright?" My dogs looked up at me with worried eyes, their silence louder than words. I mustered a weak smile and walked toward the door, giving them one last glance before closing it slowly behind me.
Even my dogs were starting to worry about the chaos that had been swirling around. I needed to stop wallowing and start looking forward to something starting today. A cup of coffee felt like a good beginning.
I stepped into the elevator, feeling a spark of renewed joy for letting myself break away, even just for a moment. The past few days had weighed heavily on my mind, making it hard to focus, but I knew I needed a pause from everything.
Ding. The elevator arrived.
I stepped out, headed straight for the building's exit. The first step outside brought with it a sense of strength I hadn't realized I'd lost. I checked my phone for nearby cafes and found that Cafe Guilt was just around the corner. Without hesitation, I let my feet take me there.
When I arrived, the pleasing ambiance wrapped around me like a warm hug. The wood and greenery of the space perfectly complimented the Filipino culture, with woven tables and chairs scattered throughout. The earthen tones of the place were insatiably inviting, so I sat at a table meant for two, though it comfortably accommodated just me.
A waiter offered the menu, and I ordered an Avo Toast, Bolognese, and an Iced Americano that was quite a heavy breakfast, but one I felt I desperately needed. The relentless thoughts from the past three days had stirred up a rumbling in my stomach.
Today, I would feast.
The café wasn't crowded yet, and I seized the opportunity to look around. Out of the corner of my eye, something caught my attention.
Leave A Letter Corner?
Curious, I watched as a staff member kindly approached me. "Hi, Ma'am! Would you like to try our Leave A Letter Corner? In this bowl are numbers that correspond to letters posted on the board. The number you pick will reveal a letter for you to read, and in return, you can leave a letter of your own. You can either sign it or remain anonymous." She flashed a bright smile that almost seemed like an invitation I couldn't refuse. Her enthusiasm was enough to pull me in.
I hesitated as I reached for the bowl. The girl noticed my uncertainty and gently encouraged me, "Go ahead, Ma'am. The letter might be just what you need today."
I stared at the bowl for a moment, took a breath, and dipped my hand inside. I swirled the small pieces of paper around three times before I felt the time was right to pull one out.
The letters on the board were neatly organized, and there were at least forty envelopes on display.
People really wanted to leave letters for strangers? The thought seemed strange, almost foreign to me. But, as the staff member had said, maybe the words of a stranger were exactly what I needed today. My curiosity got the better of me, and I gave in.
"Number 13!" she announced, scanning the board as she lightly slid her fingers across the envelopes. When she found the one she was looking for, she smiled triumphantly. "Aha! Here it is, Ma'am!"
She eagerly handed the envelope to me. I stared at it for a moment longer, hesitating, but she gently pushed it toward me, and I slowly accepted it. I returned to my seat, trying to calm my nerves, and settled in, ready to read the letter.
Hi Stranger,
Has life been treating you well lately, or are you stuck in a season of endless storms? Funny how we still keep going despite it all, isn't it?
I'm writing this letter in the hopes that it might find you in a moment when you need to hear something that could make you feel better. Maybe, just maybe, my story will help you, like how she helped me.
Three years ago, I was drowning in my own mind. The weight of everything crushed me, and I couldn't see a way out. I was on the verge of giving up, convinced the world would be better without me. I don't even remember how I got to that bridge, but there I was, standing on the edge, ready to let go.
I remember the cold wind biting at my skin, the sound of the river rushing below. And then someone grabbed my arm.
Her hand, warm and firm, yanked me back into the world. She didn't let go. And when I finally stepped back onto solid ground, she was crying and holding me like I was a lifeline, not the other way around.
She said, "You don't have to be perfect."
Those words shattered something in me. I had spent my whole life trying to fit into a mold, pretending to be someone I wasn't—someone everyone else wanted me to be. But in that moment, her simple words gave me permission to just be.
Since that day, I've been living for me, not for anyone else. If she could see me now, I think she'd be proud of the person I've become, even if I still don't have it all figured out. But I'm free. Free in a way I never was before.
Today never happened. K.1.25. Inked on my skin. A constant reminder of that day. It became my security blanket when I needed to find myself again.
I never got to thank her. But I'm hoping, somehow, she's out there and gets to read this. If the universe is listening, this letter is for her. To let her know that I'm still here. I'm still living the life you saved that night.
And to you, the one reading this—maybe it's not so bad. Maybe life isn't as broken as we think it is. Maybe you're not as lost as you feel. You are more than enough. I know the road is tough, but we're tougher. We've got this. You and me.
Sincerely,
TM
My vision began to blur, and tears started to fall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the kind staff lady who had given me the letter rushing toward me, panic in her expression as she held out a tissue. I looked up at her and, without thinking, pulled her into a tight hug. She seemed confused, not understanding why I was reacting this way, but I simply smiled through my tears.
"Thank you for inviting me to do this," I whispered. "The letter... it fell into the hands of the right person."
When she heard that, a soft smile spread across her face. She looked at me with understanding in her eyes, nodding as if she knew.
I glanced at the letter again, holding it close to my chest as the sobs continued to escape me.
"I'm glad I saved you that night," I whispered to myself, feeling a quiet sense of relief settle over me.