Difficult Tent:

What Fades and What Stays

Under the mat of my tent space, I placed faded cards and small handwritten notes. These are messages from teachers I met throughout my life. I treasure them deeply. One card was filled with birthday wishes from an English teacher, but over time, the ink began to disappear. Recently, I realized that the words are now completely gone. This brought a strange feeling of loss. I began wondering how to retrieve what had faded. The card was written in oil-based ink, which may have reacted to sunlight. I found myself thinking over and over about how to bring the words back.

I chose to build my tent in a space that feels meaningful to me. While constructing it, I thought about many things, including recent discussions and unresolved feelings. I recalled a difficult experience from college, a broken friendship that left a lasting mark. During that time, my emotional state was low. Just hearing that person's name would deeply affect me. It influenced how I communicated, making me hesitant to reply to messages or engage with anything related to people.

I believed I had moved on. But a few days ago, I unexpectedly saw that person’s name again, and the emotional weight returned. Inside my tent, I wrote the word PTSD. I thought about whether this was a form of post-traumatic stress. It might never fully go away.

Much of the energy in my tent reflects old memories. I realize I am someone who finds it hard to let go. I hold on to people, places, and objects. Creating my tent in a familiar environment, doing something familiar, gives me a sense of safety. Within that safety, a softer energy arises. I feel something gentle rising from within me, like pink, white, or golden bubbles. These feelings carry quiet gratitude. They remind me to cherish those who have stayed close, whether family, friends, or anyone who has cared for me.

Sometimes loss helps me appreciate what remains. My tent carries that duality. I want to invite into my tent the people who were important to me in 2024, a year that was intense and unforgettable. Whether we knew each other for a short time or a long time, I want to thank them. I want to create a space where we can simply be together.

I also want to invite someone who once hurt me. I imagine speaking honestly, crying if I need to, and finally letting that pain breathe. Maybe this is a way to move forward. I am not sure if that moment will come, but I believe in timing. If it ever does, I hope it happens here, inside the tent.