It has been almost a month since I left rehab in the Philippines, and now that I’m back in Hawaii, life is unfolding before my eyes. Opportunities for happiness surround me, yet I can’t seem to shake this lingering emptiness.
While I was in rehab, I often dreamed of this moment—being back with my family, enjoying the simplicity of life, and reclaiming a sense of normalcy. But now that I’m here, something feels missing. Maybe it’s because I haven’t fully committed to my next step. I feel stuck, unsure whether medicine and research are still the right path for me or if I should pursue an entirely new direction. The uncertainty is paralyzing.
I don’t want to fall into depression, but at times, I catch myself wondering if my presence even matters—as if the world wouldn’t notice if I disappeared. But deep down, I know that’s not true. My family has been waiting for me to come back, hoping for my recovery, rooting for me even when I couldn’t root for myself. To give up now would be a betrayal not only to them but to everything I’ve fought for.
I need to breathe life back into myself, to find a purpose that reignites the fire within me. But I don’t yet know which path to take. It’s been almost a month, and I still don’t have a concrete plan. And maybe that’s okay—for now. Maybe the first step isn’t about knowing exactly where I’m headed, but simply choosing to move forward.
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