Foreword
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” — Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities
It always begins like that, doesn’t it?
The contrast.
The tension between light and shadow.
Between holding it all together—and slowly falling apart.
Because life rarely arrives in one clean emotion.
It’s grief and laughter in the same breath.
Hope and hopelessness sharing the same room.
Strength held up by trembling hands.
Maybe that’s why we remember lines like that.
Because they feel like us.
“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”
— George Orwell, 1984
You’ve felt that kind of day too, haven’t you?
Where the world looks normal—maybe even beautiful—but something underneath is off.
You’re dressed. You’re working. You’re smiling.
But inside, the hour feels wrong. The weight feels off.
Like your internal clock is ticking in a language no one else hears.
This book isn’t written for the days when you feel powerful.
It’s written for the mornings when you wake up, and your mind says,
"I can’t do this again."
But you still get up.
Not because you’re okay.
But because you’ve decided to keep showing up—even in pieces.
That’s not weakness.
That’s unseen strength.