Yellow Floaters And Quiet Distance.

This evening, everything is still dark—except for some yellow floating through. I don’t know why it feels so dim inside visually, but despite that, I actually feel pretty good. My legs are sore, but that’s because I danced a lot yesterday at the party—and honestly, I don’t regret it one bit. That kind of joy is worth a little soreness.

Earlier this afternoon, before I took my nap, I was on the phone with my best friend, her boyfriend, and his roommate. We were catching up, sharing updates, and enjoying the company. Her boyfriend’s roommate even jumped in to talk about why we should mute our phones during Bible study, so people can focus better when someone is speaking or reading. It was meaningful. It felt like we were all in sync.

But then—suddenly—my best friend said, “Kamala, can I call you back please?”

And right after that, her boyfriend’s roommate started laughing.

I don’t know what that was all about, but it made me feel uneasy—like something had shifted in the energy of the conversation. It wasn’t just that she asked to call me back. It was how it happened. The laughter that followed made it feel like there was some inside joke I wasn’t part of—or maybe a conversation they didn’t want me to hear.

That’s when the feeling hit me: like I was on the outside of a circle I thought I belonged to. Like they were closing the door on me just a little bit.

When she did call me back, I didn’t answer.

Not out of anger—but out of instinct. Something didn’t feel right. So I chose not to pick up. I chose to protect that quiet part of myself that still feels bruised when things shift without warning.

Now, as I sit in the dark with yellow floaters drifting by in my mind’s eye, I’m taking a moment to just breathe. Letting the unease pass. Letting the day move forward. Because even though something small left a big feeling behind, I’m still here. Still grounded. Still me.

And that’s enough for today.

Friendship is built on trust, honesty, and inclusion. And sometimes, when that balance feels off, it’s okay to step back—to protect your peace, to honor your boundaries, and to remember your worth. Real friends won’t make you feel like an outsider. And when someone’s silence says more than their words, it’s okay to listen to your gut. Because you deserve to feel safe, seen, and included—just as you are.

  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

What I'm still seeing With Out eyes, part 2.

Chapter 4 Last night, the reddish-orange light was so bright, so intense, it filled everything. I couldn’t even tell when I’d closed my eyes—the usual dark reddish-brown I expect was nowhere to be found. It was just light, bold and burning, like a fire behind my eyelids. By morning, the world inside me had settled. The brightness faded back into its usual heavy grey, with slow-floating yellow shapes drifting through the fog. And now, as I sit quietly, the darker reddish-brown edges have returned—faint but grounding—like the calm after a storm. Right now, I see yellow floaters swimming lazily through that grey space, with a soft peach tint in the background. It’s quiet, gentle, almost dreamlike. People ask me, “What are you up to?” It’s a casual question. A way to check in. And I answer casually too—“Oh, just chilling. Writing on my disability page. Sipping some coffee.” It’s true, but it’s not the full truth. What I don’t say is that while I sip that coffee, I’m watching y...
Read more

A brighter Pinkish Purple.

Image
It’s now a brighter pinkish purple—so bright, I can almost feel a bit of heat coming from it, like sunshine is beaming straight into my eyes. But there is no sunshine. There’s no light in the room. There’s no glow in the sky. There are no eyes on my face. That’s right—I’m totally blind. And yet, here it is. A radiant, glowing pinkish purple filling my inner world. It’s not just a color—it’s an experience. It shines from inside, with a reddish hue gently edging its way back into view. It’s soft, yet strong. Beautiful, and somehow alive. No one else can see this color—but to me, it’s so real I can feel it. Some people say blindness is darkness. But today, it’s pinkish purple. And it’s glorious.   Brilliant hot pink, Morning Coffee, and Yellow floaters. It’s late in the day, but I’ve been up on and off—lingering in bed, eating a late breakfast, and listening to The Right Time by Danielle Steel. And all the while, one thing has stayed with me: a brilliant, almost overwhelming...
Read more

Why Should I Have To Serve in Jewry Duty When I Can't See?

Lately, I’ve been getting so frustrated. The court keeps sending me letters, pushing me to serve jury duty—even though I’ve already submitted a doctor’s letter saying that I am totally blind, hearing impaired, and on disability. My doctor even wrote that I’m unable to participate due to my medical condition. But apparently, that’s not enough. She didn’t go into every single detail. Why? Because she legally can’t—HIPAA protects my private medical information. And now the court is rejecting her letter because it doesn’t spell out every little thing, like I owe them some full-body explanation to be believed. Let me be clear: I am totally blind. I have no eyes. I also live with hearing loss. I rely on sound cues, memory, my hands, my other senses—every day. And it’s exhausting sometimes, even in familiar places. Now imagine being called into a courtroom, where everything depends on seeing: Who stood up to speak? What kind of gesture did they just make? Who are they pointing ...
Read more