Everything looks great in Retrospection.

Oftentimes, especially right before the break of dawn, right before the purple clouds fill the skies, welcoming the sun, when I'm awake—probably another episode of my sleepless nights pondering over a thought or writing something down, or maybe coming back home late. When the darkness begins to make way, and crack open for the bright rays to take over its shift, I'd be deeply consumed with the thoughts of my grandfather. When he was able, which was until a few months before his passing, he'd wake up right before sunrise, every single day, regardless of him feeling well or not. Back in twenty-twenty, when the world shut down, I was with my grandparents; it was just the three of us—and a few relatives who were spread across the hamlet. Back then, I wasn't a person who loved to go outdoors; I was comfortable in a room, as long as the internet worked magnificently. Like many of my friends, acquaintances, and fellow writers know, early that year, a few weeks after the world ...