Reflections

It was Christmas Day—the final year of the remnants of my life as a survivor—when I picked up the phone and called my old soccer coach, George. The moment he realized who was on the other end of the line, his voice lit up, warm, familiar and alive with recognition. Without hesitation, he launched straight in, telling me how incredibly proud he was of me and all that I’ve accomplished. He was in awe. He had always known I had it in me—but this went beyond anything he imagined.

Most cultures don’t start as choices. They start as solutions. I learned this in my first year of university, sitting in a Sociology 101 lecture. Our professor was explaining how culture forms—how habits, norms, and traditions emerge and persist not through grand decisions or moral declarations, but through repetition, sequence, and compliance, people doing what they were shown without ever questioning it. To make the concept stick, she told a story I have never forgotten. Gr

It was our first year in our new house together, not just any house, but our dream home. Vaulted ceilings stretched nearly twenty feet high, and large bay windows overlooked the city skyline, softening into twinkle lights when evening came. Christmas had never been an easy season for me, but that year something let loose. I leaned into the holiday not through excess or obligation, but through its more true meaning: a home with love gathered in one place. When we talked about