This review may contain spoilers
It's a big world. But yours is the one that breathes.
In a heartbeat, the world can bury you beneath an abyss and never blink. It won't pause to ask if you're still breathing under the weight. People look, gazes charging like arrows. But they don't see what's there, they see only what fits their bubbles of comfort.
And then there are people who pour their loneliness into the sky with a sip of wine and let th wind carry it away, and somehow even when they're only drinking water, they taste life like it'spoetry. Those are the artists, the fighters, the ones who've turned survival into a beautiful art.Hiding doesn't work. It never has. You can try to shrink, to pretend but covering up doesn't work. Truth always drips through the cracks of your silence. And eyes speaks the unspoken truth.
"So why bother hiding?"--Our protagonist learns (and we do too).
Don't even show it. Just carry it. Let it float with you, because what you carry becomes you and what becomes you paints your sorrow into a seven colored-arc carrying your own colors your bare eyes are unable to see. Just.... something only your soul could create.
This journey is rebellion against fate, a soft promise that even if you're crawling, even if your knees are scraped and your chest is raw from screaming, as long as you don't stop, as long as you breathe through it, throw birdies towards it, and refuse to surrender, there will be a day when the path unfolds, when doors begin to open, one by one, like fate finally kneeling down.
And the grandma, oh my heart. The universe needs her kind of soul, the kind that holds, uplifts, never asks for anything in return, but gives the kind of love that makes even pain feel less sharp. To knock some sense inside chambers titled brains.
A body can be tinted, worn, trembling. But the spirit and the fire inside, the stubborn red flower blooming through concrete always stays if you choose to let it live.
Because hardship was never about how far you ran, but how fiercely you felt the burn in your lungs, the ache in your bones, and still smiled as you looked back at the debris, waved goodbye to the past, and chose to run forward again; toward a version of yourself you hadn't met yet.
We can all be cicadas if we dare. We can shed our skin, mourn it, and then begin again.
And in the end, the only companion who truly matters is the one who never left you from the start: You.
--
And that song at last by, “Cheers My Friend," By Tian Zhen was a direct jab to an already overwhelming heart.
----
I even ended up writing a whole spoken-word piece inspired by this too. It was such a delightful watch.
And then there are people who pour their loneliness into the sky with a sip of wine and let th wind carry it away, and somehow even when they're only drinking water, they taste life like it'spoetry. Those are the artists, the fighters, the ones who've turned survival into a beautiful art.Hiding doesn't work. It never has. You can try to shrink, to pretend but covering up doesn't work. Truth always drips through the cracks of your silence. And eyes speaks the unspoken truth.
"So why bother hiding?"--Our protagonist learns (and we do too).
Don't even show it. Just carry it. Let it float with you, because what you carry becomes you and what becomes you paints your sorrow into a seven colored-arc carrying your own colors your bare eyes are unable to see. Just.... something only your soul could create.
This journey is rebellion against fate, a soft promise that even if you're crawling, even if your knees are scraped and your chest is raw from screaming, as long as you don't stop, as long as you breathe through it, throw birdies towards it, and refuse to surrender, there will be a day when the path unfolds, when doors begin to open, one by one, like fate finally kneeling down.
And the grandma, oh my heart. The universe needs her kind of soul, the kind that holds, uplifts, never asks for anything in return, but gives the kind of love that makes even pain feel less sharp. To knock some sense inside chambers titled brains.
A body can be tinted, worn, trembling. But the spirit and the fire inside, the stubborn red flower blooming through concrete always stays if you choose to let it live.
Because hardship was never about how far you ran, but how fiercely you felt the burn in your lungs, the ache in your bones, and still smiled as you looked back at the debris, waved goodbye to the past, and chose to run forward again; toward a version of yourself you hadn't met yet.
We can all be cicadas if we dare. We can shed our skin, mourn it, and then begin again.
And in the end, the only companion who truly matters is the one who never left you from the start: You.
--
And that song at last by, “Cheers My Friend," By Tian Zhen was a direct jab to an already overwhelming heart.
----
I even ended up writing a whole spoken-word piece inspired by this too. It was such a delightful watch.
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