The whole year I felt like I was living on stolen time, concealing and distancing myself from all those around me as if to not be caught. I had learned to find joy in the simplest of things, but still the highs were high and the lows were low. I constantly felt like the rug was being pulled from under me—the future uncertain and present elusive. And everything around me was so deep, so sombre, so heavy on my mind. Most of the time, I felt like I was performing an act, stretching myself thin to complete my duties as a daughter. A sister. A friend. An artist. A muse.