The Gentle Era I Didn’t Know I Needed
Lately, I’ve been sprinkling my days with job applications and flaky croissants at Franzos in Zürich, like maybe the perfect pastry will distract from the fact that I’m writing yet another cover letter that sounds like a love confession to a corporate stranger.
And now that September has wrapped the city in her soft cardigan of cool air, I find myself slowing down. Taking deeper breaths. Drinking stronger tea. Pretending, for a moment, that I have my life together (or at least that my eyeliner is even, which is basically the same thing).
But in the quiet moments, memories sneak in. Family has been on my mind a lot lately. I try to be there for my sister and my cousins, to be the reliable one. The glue. (Although some days I feel more like glitter, pretty, but not holding anything together.)
My dad’s side of the family… isn’t really around. I even tried to reconnect with a cousin I hadn’t seen in eleven years, but rebuilding something that was never really built in the first place takes time, and possibly a miracle.
I visited my dad’s gravesite recently, and it struck me how it still hurts, even now. People love to say time heals all wounds, but honestly? Time just gives them better outfits. They don’t bleed anymore, but they still show up uninvited, like emotional pop-ups on your browser.
When I was younger, I imagined this picture-perfect family, the kind who’d laugh at holidays and cry at weddings. What I got was a little messier. And when my dad passed away, instead of pulling us closer, grief scattered us like confetti… just without the party.
Now, as an adult, I’m learning to make peace with it. To accept that everyone grieves in their own way, and that it’s okay to miss the version of family I wished I had.
And even though my family hasn’t always been close, I’ve started noticing the quiet ways love still shows up. My mom checks in on me when I go silent for too long. A cousin sending me memes at 2 a.m. like they’re tiny peace offerings. It’s not the big dramatic reunions I once imagined; it’s softer than that. Smaller. But somehow more real. And maybe that’s the thing about love: it doesn’t always arrive with a parade… sometimes it just slips in quietly and stays.
And then there’s my chosen family — my friends who keep me sane, on track, and gently remind me to drink water and not ghost my responsibilities. They’ve seen me at my best and at my very “I-forgot-to-do-laundry-for-two-weeks” worst, and still love me anyway. Sometimes we need those people even more than blood relatives, the ones who choose you, not because they have to, but because they want to.
And let’s be honest for a second: I’m writing this because I’m really bad at showing gratitude. Sometimes I forget what people have done for me, or that some friends are actually much closer than I give them credit for. Listening to your feelings is important, but sometimes they lie — they tell me I’m alone, when really I have this beautiful circle of people who’ve stayed, even when I made it hard to.
My family has always seemed so strong, and they are, but we’re all a little softer than we let on. (Think emotional marshmallows in leather jackets.)
So this September, I’m giving myself permission to be cozy, sentimental, and slightly overdramatic, because maybe being strong isn’t about holding it all together… maybe it’s just about holding a good cup of tea while it all falls apart and trusting you’ll be okay anyway.
And right now? I’m writing this on the train, on my way to work, coffee in hand, watching the world glide past the window. The city feels softer somehow. So do I. And maybe this simple little routine, the ride, the warmth, the calm- is its own kind of love story. ✨