Kate as a Writer
New Year, Same Me
I remember once taking a long walk just to see a place people kept talking about. It was an uphill hike to the tip of the mountain, a stroll in a forest, roads that pass by small villages and narrow rivers, and lots and lots of potholed roads and gnarled pathways that’d cause a stumble here and there, but promised a sight that would take breaths away. It was a week-long walk. I wondered why I even started walking. The path inclined more and more that it felt more like climbing than just walking. The kilometers just increased each day. And the roads just got longer and bumpier the further I went. My legs ached so much that at that point, I couldn’t feel them. I was nauseated, flabbergasted, and dreading every next day that came. The more we continued the camino, the more reason I wanted to go back the way I came from. There was no shortcut, just the road, stretching forward, asking me to continue. That’s how the year feels so far.
The Quiet Grace of December 8
Behold the Moon on the vigil’s quiet hours, Silvering the sky amidst the dark nights Her glow serene above shadowed bowers And guides souls from the blinding lights. For the moon is a mirror, so still and clear, Of the light she bears from the Sun. A lustre that dims every single murk of fear, The beacon that points to the face of her Son.
To Arrive, Eventually
Two months into college, and there has never been a morning when I did not rush. Every day, I race against time, and it has always been that way. I’m either rushing, behind, or late. But lateness is more than missing the clock—it’s an echo of how I move through life.
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