The gardens where the dead rest in hallowed grounds—where their monuments remind us of our mortality, and where new life slowly overgrows and crumbles the markers made of marble. As a young child, I always felt drawn to these places, and at the same time, I was terrified that at night these peaceful grounds of remembrance would turn into something sinister. I felt that the silence held something more than just peace—something otherworldly, though I could never quite name it.

When the sun hits my face in early spring or on a quiet winter’s day, I can’t help but pause and soak it in. Just a few seconds of feeling completely content and in touch with myself. In this blog, I reflect on rituals, fear, and reclaiming self-worth through stillness.