A poetic journal entry by Celine Ong

June 6 — Rain Before the Light

Woke before the sun,
the floor still cold,
my steps soft between
the sound of a mother’s chores—
vacuum hum and water splash
echoing through the walls.

The morning air tasted sour,
my stomach turning after breakfast.
Outside, the sky wept—
a heavy, unkind rain
drenched the streets and
soaked my bag like
a quiet weight I carried.

The bus came late.
Someone saw me
and quietly shifted away.
Another made a sound
I didn’t understand,
but I sat beside them anyway—
the seats left no room for pride.

At work, I stayed quiet.
A good morning
found others first—
then landed on me
like a leaf brushing the ground.
I returned it without looking.
My heart, still curled inward.

I forgot the certificate.
Fumbled it into the box.
A small, tired mistake
on a day already heavy.

But still—
I made it.
Not smiling,
not shining.
But I showed up.
And sometimes,
that’s the softest kind of strength.