@Insideme 31 July 2025 more from that month

The Name That Echoes (Narration begins, soft instrumental music plays in the background) There was a day — not too long ago — when I thought I’d finally made it. JRF? Cleared. PhD interview? Cracked. A place at a prestigious research centre? Secured. On paper, I was everything I once dreamed of becoming. But inside? I felt like… a waste product. Something used and discarded — no goal, no purpose, just drifting. So I tried to distract myself. Watched Chinese dramas, K-dramas, Thai stories of love and loss. I escaped into other people’s stories to avoid facing the quiet of my own. I lived inside my phone for hours… looking for a signal back to myself. Then — a spark. Maybe I’ll prepare for HCS, I thought. A new mission. I reached out to a friend whose brother was preparing too. I collected notes, scrolled through YouTube, downloaded materials… I tried to give myself something new to chase. And just when I lay down — to rest, to reflect — He came back. Not in person. Just a thought. A whisper of memory. A flash of that name. And suddenly, everything else vanished. My goals, my ambitions, my distractions — all swept away in the tide of his name. That name. My brother says it. Casually. Repeatedly. He doesn’t know what it does to me. He doesn’t know that every time he says it, it’s like opening a window I’ve been trying to keep shut. Because he’s still here. Not in sight, but in every corner of my mind. He is the background to my every foreground. What if… he comes back? What if he appears, just once, in front of me again? What if… this time, it’s for me? Would I even survive that moment? Because lately, I’ve been living like his memory is my oxygen. And if the name does this to me — what will happen if I ever meet the eyes behind it again? (brief pause) But no. I stop myself. I sit up in bed. I tell myself: > “Relax, babe. Stop right here. Don’t build skyscrapers of hope on foundations made of maybes. Finish this thought, close this page, take a pause. Because sometimes… too much hope can be heavier than heartbreak.” And so, I close this chapter. Not forever. Just for now. (Instrumental fades out) — To be continued.