I want to be proud of me. –Liana
Liana
I sat at the desk for a long time before I touched the laptop.
The screen was dark. The surface cold.
Just like it had been for the last week.
But today, I opened it.
It booted up with a quiet hum, the familiar glow reflecting my face in the dark screen, puffy eyes, messy hair, lips bitten raw.
But I was here. I was still here.
And if I couldn’t feel him beside me, I could at least feel my own hands on the keys.
So I started.
First: emails.
Three unread from students asking if classes were resuming. One sweet note from a girl named May: “I miss our lessons. You make English feel less scary.”
I read it twice.
Then I replied: “Let’s start again tomorrow.”
I opened my teaching folder. Reviewed my lesson plans. Adjusted the calendar. Sent out updates.
By the time I looked up, an hour had passed.
And for the first time in over a week, I wasn’t thinking about his voice.
I was thinking about mine.
Second: translation.
I pulled out an old list of platforms Dr. Bailey had once sent me.
Created an account. Uploaded a sample. Typed up a profile:
Freelance EN<>ZH Translator. Detail-oriented. Available for creative & educational content.
I hesitated over the submit button.
Then clicked.
It felt like lighting a match in a dark room. Small. But warm.
Third: the blog.
I opened a blank Google Doc.
Typed a title:
How English Saved Me (And Might Save You, Too)
I stared at it.
Then I started writing.
Not for students. Not for work.
For me.
About being fifteen and trapped and had to live in a completely different country.
About being twenty and still afraid to speak.
About finding freedom in the exact thing I used to be too scared to say out loud.
When I finally stopped typing, it was almost sunset.
I read through the draft. Fixed a few things. Then posted it.
I closed the laptop.
Stood up. Stretched. Breathed.
The apartment was still too quiet.
But I looked around and realized something:
It didn’t feel like waiting anymore.
It felt like living.
I glanced at the closed front door. The stillness behind it.
And whispered, “I don’t know when you’ll come back.”
“But when you do… I want you to see who I became.”
