There was a night I didn’t think I’d wake from.
Not just sleep — life.
My mind was a prison.
No door, no window.
Just padded thoughts echoing too loud.

I truly believed I’d never travel again, never feel anything close to freedom.
Only the sentence of waking up to myself, day after day.

And then I dreamed.

It was midnight.
I stood alone before a murky pond — just staring.
The water didn’t reflect the moonlight.
I could make out tree branches tangled beneath the surface, and the mud — untouched by light but disturbingly visible.
Tall grass grew wild around me, moving gently as the moonlight touched its edges.
Still, everything felt dim, like the whole scene was filtered with dark hues.

And then…
A giant lotus appeared.
Spinning.
Flying straight toward me like an omen.

Not floating.
Not peaceful.
It spun like a totem, above the ground — chasing me.

I ran.

But it caught me.

I fell to the ground, and the lotus hovered, massive and stayed above my body.
White and pink.
Too big, it’s petals were translucent.
And then I woke up.

For years, that dream stayed with me.
Not like a memory.
Like a symbol I hadn’t unlocked yet.

Five years later, I traveled — something I thought I’d never do again.
Cambodia.
A friend had invited me and we went.

The day before my birthday, we visited Angkor Wat.
We stood near a pond where lotus flowers had yet to bloom.
They were closed, tight, like a breath being held.

The next morning — my birthday — we returned for the sunrise.
And there they were.
Open.
Blooming.

The same pink and white lotus.
Alive.
Not chasing me this time — just being.

I stood in front of that pond again, in a different country, a different life.
The difference?
This time, I wasn’t running.
This time, I bloomed too.