“Quiet Roads”

I used to think freedom looked like escape.

Getting out of the small towns. Getting away from the sadness. Getting past the grief. But I’ve learned that freedom isn’t about running—it’s about arriving. Arriving at a place in yourself where you no longer have to hide. Where the silence feels like peace instead of punishment.

It didn’t happen overnight. I had to lose some things before I could find myself.

My Nani—she was everything. My root. My home base. The woman who raised me with quiet strength and a fierce kind of love that didn’t need words. After she passed, the world looked different. Emptier, at first. Like a light had gone out.

But even in that emptiness, I found something else: space.

Space to breathe. Space to feel. Space to finally ask, Who am I, really?

And somewhere in that space, I stopped pretending.

I stopped hiding parts of myself just to make others comfortable.

I stopped shrinking to fit into a version of life that wasn’t mine.

Being gay wasn’t something I needed to explain anymore. It just was. And though I wish she were here to see me now, I know deep down—she’d be proud of the man I’m becoming.

Now, I find peace on quiet roads.

Literally. I’m often working out in the middle of nowhere, driving from one job to the next. And sometimes, it hits me—I’m not running anymore. I’m living. Sun on my skin, music playing low, a road stretched out in front of me like an open invitation.

This is freedom.

Not having all the answers, but being okay with that.

Not rushing the next step, but being present for this one.

I’ve had people come into my life who’ve seen me—really seen me—even when I couldn’t see myself. People who reminded me of my worth, of my light, and of my purpose—even when I didn’t have it all figured out. And if you’re lucky enough to meet someone like that, don’t let them go. They’re rare. But they change everything.

The truth is, I’m still learning. Still healing. Still working on letting go of the weight I carried for years. But I’m also building. I’m becoming. And I’m proud of how far I’ve come.

Because if there’s one thing I know now, it’s this:

It’s okay to hurt. But it’s also okay to grow.

It’s okay to fall apart. But it’s even more okay to start over.

And no matter where you are—there’s always a road ahead.

And you’re allowed to take your time.