From the Pen of Marilou

I was amazed at the reaction of my family and friends when it came to my book and writings. I knew I was heading into a new season, and all of me hoped and prayed it would be the season that would catapult my dreams into reality.

I was pushing myself to complete my last year in undergraduate school. My heart felt a tinge of hope, but inside I was battling to trust in what I saw before me. I walked forward with high expectations for myself, not realizing that my feelings were warning me of what lay ahead. Nonetheless, I found myself rejoicing in what God was doing around me and in me.

As the months passed me by, I began questioning some of the decisions I had made during the summer. One part of life grew complicated, while another part of it gave me hope.

As the months unwound from fall toward winter, my heart found quietness at times. I felt myself slowly pulling away from the things that brought me joy. I began doubting myself at a time when I needed to believe in myself the most. I focused on doing my best, but there were moments when even my greatest efforts seemed to be in vain.

It was hard, but I pushed forward, feeling anxious and weary. The pen of a writer doesn't shrink in times like these, so I found myself thinking and dreaming about what I could create within my mind. I found my words coming forth slowly but deliberately as I wrote poetry. I used the heaviness around me to create light through each sentence. As hard as it felt, it brought peace to my soul to see each word form into a part of me on paper.

I found myself leaning into the winds of change a bit too much. Instead of anchoring myself, I felt as though I was drifting toward danger. My heart felt compelled to move forward, but I started listening to negative-minded people. It took me a moment of pausing to realize I was throwing my pearls to pigs.

As situations changed around me, I saw a white flag before me. I knew that I wasn't just walking alongside people but swimming with sharks on a very different shore. I withdrew in my heart in many ways, trying to find balance for myself.

Fall flew by my heart, and so did my confidence, but in it all, I held on to a drop of hope.

Love,

The Girl With The Pen ✍🏼🌹

I thought my summer would be filled with laughter and fun things to do, as it had a few years before. I thought it would be one of my best summers. Life had its own plan, and I found myself in the midst of transition. I made a decision that would affect me for months to come, one that would cast a shadow of regret over my career. For the first time in my life, I thought I had made a healthy choice for myself.

As the weeks rolled by, I tried to prepare myself, but nothing could prepare me for the ride ahead. June rolled in, deflating my strength, while July held a promise of new beginnings. I was writing on Wattpad, learning to envision and create. I found it exhilarating, but when I looked at the circumstances around me, I felt like I was living a very odd moment in my life.

I worked hard to be considerate to those I was in charge of, but my environment did not offer intellectual stimulation, innovation, or inspiration. I was left solely to make lemonade from the poor batch of lemons handed to me. Every day, I prayed that the little ones near to me would be touched by God's blessing. Their lives were too precious for the mayhem around them.

I truly believed that the changes to come would be a huge blessing to all of us. I kept my hopes up even when I saw disappointment before me. July gave way to August, which brought both bad endings and good beginnings. For some, it was a whirlwind of love, laughter, and joy. For others, it was filled with tears and resentment. My heart felt heavy for all of them, wishing I could help in some way. I wanted them all to be joyous regardless of anything. I also turned to re-editing my book, wanting to make sure I was in an okay place as a writer. I looked back to see where I had been, and it helped me see that I was capable of more in my life.

I took on August like a rider jumping on a horse. August was mine for the taking. I had one more year left, and so much to look forward to. I kept remembering how I felt in 2021 and 2022, and wondered if I could still fulfill my dreams as a writer. So I dared to hope for my future once again.

Love,

The Girl With The Pen ✍🏼🌹

Spring came like a gentle breeze trying to revive the weariest of souls.

I remember feeling overwhelmed by all the responsibilities that I had to endure both at home and work.

Within this time I felt many of my dreams and plans from 2020 and forward slip through my fingers. I worked hard every day but my work environment was toxic. Certain situations that I was never involved in seemed to pull me in as a scapegoat for others or responsibilities. April came around and so did my birthday. I had always wanted to celebrate my 50th birthday with a celebration bash of my closest loved ones... instead I had a lovely dinner but my heart felt disappointed with the duties before me.

My expectations weren't met but my heart found joy in celebrating others' loving relationships and their vows for their future. As each week passed by my heart gave up on believing that I would find my husband. People wanted for me what they desire but it wasn't what I desired. So I quietly kept busy and as the spring passed me by so did my dreams and heart's desire. I pushed myself to give my all but it seemed to give way to not much. I tried to hide in prayer, to grab hold of God's signs and rest but The Lord saw my pain and restlessness. I couldn't hide from him. Things that mattered to me seemed to weigh my heart too much and I found myself saddened by the highest things. I hid it well, smiled away and kept on walking. I was tired of being on demand. Tired of not being able to do what I felt led to do. I simply gave up. It was too much headache for me and I needed to find my voice again. My pen, my inner soul seemed dependent on breathing through writing so I tried to think of what to do next to appease this desire to breathe in life through words. I soon realized. No one in any circle took my writing seriously but it didn't matter because my words were meant for those who needed to hear them and be encouraged.

I didn't understand it then, that the weight of my words would soon form meaning. Now I can look back and see that all of me was fighting to be one — the woman needed for today's losses, wins, and all. God's grace was with me strengthening me every step of the day even when I felt blinded by the toxicity around me. I kept remembering the cherry blossoms that I had found the year before but this time it felt withheld from me as if I wasn't worthy of its shade. The people around me aren't always kind — not to me or others whose worth was important. So I yearned for the sun to touch my skin, for the tree to shade me away from the hurt. I find myself in a very empty place that felt more like a desert without protection.

Yet even then, as I felt the rawness of my heart and emotions, I knew God was with me. He became the umbrella that I had placed on my bulletin, big, unyielding and covering me from the sun's rays that would have dissipated the hope within me.

Love,

The Girl With The Pen ✍🏼🌹

I stood in front of the building, not believing what I was about to do. We had lost our previous little cat, Travi, in December of 2024. She was our everything, seriously. When my cat passed away in 2021, she became our greatest comfort. Her eyes were as sad as ours as she seemed to realize Shalom's passing, and she became my little comrade, often seeking me out to play with her behind my mother's back.

I loved that little girl. She was absolutely beautiful and so sophisticated. Her passing made our Christmas feel dark and empty. My mom cried for her little kitty angel every day, and soon depression began to set in. My niece suggested getting a new cat, which felt wrong and almost disloyal to me at first. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if perhaps it would help us find joy again.

So there I stood in front of the building that held a gift for my mother and me. Two beautiful kittens awaited me inside, but all I could think about was my book. It just wasn't settling into my spirit the way I thought it would. It felt like a failed attempt, an amateur's risk. Part of me felt proud, while another part wanted to hide.

I felt lost in the shadows of grief, thinking about Travi, my aunt, and life around me. Nothing felt the same anymore. I felt empty. Empty of energy, empty of faith in myself. I grieved strongly, but quietly. My tears would not spill down my cheeks as they should have, yet my heart carried the weight of it all.

Something was changing in me, and the very words I had written in The Girl With The Pen no longer seemed to resonate with what I felt. I wasn't lonely. If anything, I wanted to be alone.

Instead, on February 9, I came home with two kittens. Two really cute kittens.

The funny twist was that I had been told they were girls, but they turned out to be two gorgeous boys, whom I named Moa Sun and Niki Luné after some of my favorite K-pop artists. The names fit them perfectly.

My mom started to smile again, and I started reading my own book of poetry. I felt like a stranger trying to grasp the words, not realizing that grief still shadowed the walls of my heart. I hid it well at work, but I could feel it lingering every day in a quiet corner of my soul.

I wasn't unhappy. I was simply unwilling, at least temporarily, to receive comfort.

Valentine's Day came and went, and I tried to be my normal self, but the very words I had written about love seemed not to matter or even exist. I just wanted summer to come. I wanted to feel the sun shining on my face again.

In many ways, I wish I had smiled more genuinely at the people and things I loved during those months because I realize now that sorrow stole some of the blessings of those moments. Yet oddly enough, I am also grateful for that season because it taught me something important: my voice will not shrink once it has been written into the world.

Sometimes I wonder if anyone noticed the sorrow in my eyes during those winter months. I'm sure they didn't. Somehow, I always managed to crack a smile.

And as crazy as it seems, the words I had written in my book—the ones that felt strange and distant to me, the ones I could barely remember writing—slowly became a source of comfort. They comforted my heart and the eyes that refused to cry when sadness came.

No matter how far I pulled away, no matter how many times I felt forgotten, those words remained.

My book became both a source of comfort and a thorn of discomfort to me.

Love,

The Girl With The Pen ✍🏼🌹

Like a winter dream, my eyes looked back at the past while running toward the reality of my future. My heart was filled with mixed emotions, yet my spirit carried a deep sorrow within it. The new year arrived, and with it came the fulfillment of one of the greatest dreams of my life: publishing a book. It was a dream I had carried within me since childhood. I was ecstatic to finally publish, and I was blessed with the help and support needed to bring it into the world.

Yet the overwhelming joy I had once felt could not outweigh the sorrow of losing my aunt. Around November, she had been diagnosed with a brain tumor, and she did not make it. As I prepared to publish, dreamed of promotion, and felt the rush of seeing my work finally come alive, my aunt was being buried. That reality changed something within me.

Throughout the entire month of January, I felt numb in many ways. Nothing I loved soothed me. Nothing I listened to touched my heart the way it once had. Only seeking God's Word brought me peace. I would look at my book with a quiet joy while at the same time carrying the heaviness of grief deep within me. I felt the thrill of my dreams before me, yet I rushed the process because I did not want to stop long enough to think about the sorrow surrounding me. I pushed myself forward, determined to anchor myself in faith.

Deep inside, I knew my world was about to change the moment I pressed "publish." I thought about my aunt, whom I had only truly come to know a few years earlier, and the faith she carried for the people she loved. I thought about my parents, their prayers, and their unwavering support. I reminded myself of my dear friends and beloved family members who believed in me even during the moments when I struggled to believe in myself. In the middle of my grief, I still felt the victory of a moment that I knew would define part of my life forever.

I remember quietly telling myself, "I will be fine." For the first time in many months, I felt joy bubbling within my heart again. My dreams were becoming full blooms. Petals peeking through the frost as if determined to show the world their beauty. Deep down, I knew my path would not be easy, but I no longer cared. Somehow, someway, I needed to share my poems with the world. In that bittersweet season of my life, I found myself breathing a little easier again. I had finally conquered the fears and inner battles that once threatened my existence as a writer. My heart rested in that fragile space where sorrow and joy existed together, and for the first time, I felt free to become who I was always meant to be as a writer.

Love,

The Girl With The Pen ✍🏼🌹

The cold rolled in, and with it came my determination to finally get myself published. I was very busy with work and school, and the pressure surrounding my career was beginning to weigh heavily on me. In many ways, I found myself feeling deeply alone. As the demands of both work and school continued to mount around me, I kept my focus fixed on my poetry.

During that season, I reached out to a dear childhood friend and asked her to read my book because I wanted an honest and unbiased opinion. What came from that moment was something deeply meaningful: she would later write the foreword to The Girl With The Pen. While my career pressures continued to exhaust me emotionally, my poems kept my heart believing in my dreams and in myself. I was overwhelmed in many areas of my life, yet at the same time I carried an excitement within me because my baby was finally becoming a published book.

At first, it felt like complete catharsis, or so I thought. The process was far from over, and what once looked like smooth sailing was quickly becoming a voyage through rough seas. Yet my heart continued to see beyond the horizon. My internal voice was beginning its liberation, and deep within myself I knew that once I began sharing my words with the world, I would never again allow my voice to be muffled or stifled.

In my birth pains, I rejoiced. In my straining to push forward, I found joy. These dangerous waters needed to surrender before me as I continued steering ahead. I remained resilient in believing in my writing because it comes from a place buried deep within my heart and soul. Winter arrived carrying more heartache than I expected, but alongside it came the dream I had carried within me for years.

Love,

The Girl With The Pen ✍🏼🌹

It feels surreal when I think back to the time I was compiling my poetry. Summer had inspired my heart, and with every chapter I poured pieces of myself onto each page, writing about the experiences that shaped and molded the path before me. Then autumn arrived, carrying me into a whirlwind of career shifts, responsibilities, and unexpected life changes. At the time, I was filled with excitement and hope, believing that some of my greatest dreams were finally beginning to bloom through my career. Little did I know that the very book I was writing would become the dream I would carry through fire, pressure, and uncertainty until I finally birthed it into the world.

I wish I could say the journey unfolded gently before me like roses in spring, but instead I walked through hesitation, hurry, exhaustion, and uncertainty. There was so much resting on my shoulders during that season, yet somehow I still found the strength to keep moving forward. Looking back now, I realize that season left behind a weariness in my heart that I did not fully understand until much later.

What I have learned since then is this: we must protect the beauty that rises from the ashes of our dreams. I was blessed to discover that my dreams did not have to disappear into the air like dust. Instead, every page I wrote led me closer to discovering more about who I am and the purpose still unfolding over my life. Sometimes life allows us to feel small, hidden, or even broken for a season, only so we can slowly become something greater than we ever imagined.

Love,

The Girl With The Pen ✍🏼🌹

It was the summer of 2024 when I decided to compile my poetry and publish a book. At first, it was hard because I had to look at my past with brand new eyes. I can't say the process was always sweet. There were moments when my heart fought back tears as the weight of everything around me pressed down heavily.

At the time, I was going through many transitions in my life; work, family, education, and it felt like the dreams I carried were placed on hold to birth a path for them to succeed. I had dreamed of publishing my own book since I was nineteen years old, though the desire to become a writer had lived in me since I was a child.

Now I stood at a threshold that felt both real and difficult to reach. The ink stains of my past were slowly beginning to bloom into a garden of petals. But no, it would not be an easy ride for me. There was still so much this girl had to learn — and did I ever.

With no regrets, I come to you simply as a girl with a pen and a dream. I hope you do not mind sharing in the musings of my heart upon these pages.

Love, The Girl With The Pen