Yes, I’ve changed in ways I didn’t expect. I used to think of myself as someone who helped others move without pain—physiotherapy aide, steady, practical. Now I’m learning to move through scarcity with grace. I still stretch, but now it’s for myself too. I’ve become more aware of what it means to be seen, to be held, even when I’m not doing anything. I’m learning to rest without guilt. I’m not just helping others move—I’m learning how to move through this life, one breath, one choice, one meal at a time.

Living here is like trying to build a house in the middle of a storm—every day you’re shoveling mud, but the wind keeps blowing it back. I miss my mom’s cooking, but I’m learning to fix things, and that feels real. I’m not the same kid from Queens who thought he’d just go to college and come back. I’m tired, broke, and smell like soap and regret, but I’m still here. That counts for something.

Yes, I’ve become more patient with delays, but I still get impatient when people don’t stand up for each other. I used to just do my job and keep quiet. Now I notice when someone’s being pushed around—and I speak up. That’s not who I was before. I care more about fairness, even if it means pushing harder.