When I began this collection of poetry, I already knew one thing for certain: you never get what you want in one shot. Nothing worth keeping is ever born perfect on the first try.

But poetry, like life, is not about getting it right all at once, it’s about leaving something behind.

I grew up listening to my elders tell stories.

Some were so funny they made their eyes crease with joy; others so remarkable that the air seemed to hold still around them.

Yet most of those stories never had the chance to be written down. They lived only in the people who carried them, and when those people left, so did their words.

That loss feels heavy. It feels wasted.

I lived in a time when sharing one’s life was not only normal, it was recommended.

People would deliberately show their homes, their weekends, even the lunch on their plates.

It startled my grandmother when she borrowed my phone and saw my photos.

She chuckled and said, “You really do love your food, don’t you?”

It was only then I realized, this habit of documenting every little thing was something entirely foreign to her world.

And while people love to share, others love to peek,

to peek behind doors, to peek into the rhythms of someone else’s day.

For me, this collection is a kind of opening up.

Between the hidden meanings and metaphors, you’ll find pieces that are entirely true, and others that are woven from imagination.

So, write, for yourself, for the secrets you kept,

for the people around you, for the moments you want to keep alive.

Write so you can feel loved, and so, you can love in return.

This book, is to preserved what’s flowing in my mind. 

It is a dedication is for the stories that were lost across generations,

but still pulse quietly in memory.

For the voices that never reached paper,

but deserve to be heard.