Gratitude

A series of diary entries, small moments that kept me going.

Photo by Jessica Mangano on Unsplash

09.05.26

Today I am grateful for bacon, not just for the taste, but for the sound it makes as it cooks. This morning I finally stood in front of the cooker; my eyes blurred over everything, too numb to focus. But the steady sizzling of bacon kept pulling me back. As the smoky smell filled the room, I remembered how much I actually love bacon. A bit of joy brightened my face, knowing it would be mine, all mine to enjoy. Perhaps I’ll make another bacon sandwich tomorrow morning.

12.05.26

Today I am grateful for my kitchen. It’s not really mine, I share it with two other girls, introverts, and we somehow avoid each other, so on some days of the week it feels as though I own the place. The flat itself is fairly central; you can feel the rhythmic pulse of the train as it flies past, and sometimes I wave, pulling faces at the passengers, wondering if they could see me too. The light painted the kitchen a soft golden shade. Then without warning, the sound of hail began to thunder against my window. The street, the lamppost, the bus stop, everything was swallowed by the storm, yet the neighbouring buildings with their blues, purples and varying degrees of amber hues, glowed softly against the grey, casting a gentleness over the chaos. And then there was him. Standing there, backlit by the green glow of the tattoo studio behind him. I’ve always imagined it as a lush place to get tattooed, with all those plants, the faint smell of incense perhaps. The man didn’t rush for cover. He just stood as the hail fell around and bounced against him, his hands stretched out as if to be purified in the storm. Black trousers, an olive shirt. Someone who stood unafraid and let the world happen around him, noticing the small, unexpected things, someone who wouldn’t question why I looked up at the sky in longing but simply join me in it.

12.05.26

Today I am grateful for coffee. This morning I was rushing to get to work on time. I had slept in, and everything I did to make it through the entrance at exactly 08:30am was carelessly done. It was my first day back after being off, and there was still that ache that came and went, but I pushed through it. A packed lunch waiting on the side, a coffee on the counter to grab before a quick goodbye. All gone now. Just me, inching through traffic alone. So, of course, I went to the café anyway. I didn’t care how much I’d been spending lately, fuck £3 was the least of my financial worries, I had to get my oat latte. But my card kept declining. I stood there trying to hold myself together, quietly going through my wallet for change, working up the courage to ask Polly if I could owe it. Then, suddenly, there was the soft, unexpected ping of a contactless card. I looked up. A cheery blonde woman stood beside me, eyes closed mid-smile, the kind that takes over your whole face “That’s my act of kindness,” she said, as if it were nothing. “You can pass it on.” I thanked her, trying not to cry. It reminded me that I wasn’t as alone as I had started to believe, that even the smallest kindness has a way of finding its way back. I carried the coffee with me into the office, letting its warmth settle in my chest, and when my colleagues asked if I was alright, their voices careful but sincere, I said that I was, and for the first time in a while, I meant it.

22.05.26

Today I am grateful for alcohol and cigarettes. I had stopped both for Daniel. He didn’t drink, his mum smoked, and he hated it, so I let that part of me fade and told myself it was for me, though I’m not sure it ever was. After saying yes to the after-work games night, I found myself wanting it again, a cigarette, a drink, something to quiet everything I’d been holding in, and I let myself have it. It felt good. I think part of it was Jason. He said he was glad I came, and though I didn’t want to believe it too quickly, there was something in the way he said it that felt easy, like he understood without asking. We stood outside in the cold, drinks in hand, cigarettes burning slowly, and I remember saying how alive it made me feel, the sharpness of it, and he agreed. We talked about travelling to Italy, because what else are friends for? “So, we’re friends?” he asked. “Well, we aren’t enemies,” I said, and we laughed, the three of us wrapped in blankets, candles burning, sharing things we wouldn’t usually say. I felt a small part of myself return, and I wasn’t in a rush to go back to the quiet.