poems

Dear Kairo, What If…

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If I could speak to my soul—if she were my twin sister—I would tell her stories of what ifs.

What if I had taken that road? What if I had bought that house by the river? What if I had taken a helicopter ride? What if I had taken that job? What if I had moved to Milan? What if I had not gotten married? What if I had not gone to the beach? What if I had written a play? What if I could read the footprint? What if I had changed lanes? What if I had driven a Mercedes? What if I had written a story? What if I had brought more joy? What if I had sung that song? What if I had stayed single? What if I had written a cookbook? What if I had gone to the movies? What if I had learned to dance tango? What if I had taken that trip? What if I had said yes when I said no? What if I had said no when I said yes? What if had learned how to play the guitar? What if I had started earlier? What if I had waited longer? What if I had followed my fear? What if I had followed my courage? What if I had learned German? What if I had planted a garden? What if I had bought that little café? What if I had called back? What if I had written more letters? What if I had forgiven sooner? What if I laughed less? What if I had loved louder? What if I had listened more? What if I had taken the long way home? What if I had watched more sunsets? What if I had danced when the music played?

Life can feel like a slew of “what if” buttons popping out of a refrigerator door, as if you could press one and see where it might lead. I don’t know where they would have taken me. But I do know that this is the path I have taken, and here I am.

Perhaps it isn’t the chimney I once dreamed of standing beneath, but it is the pot God intended for me to cook in—the perfect recipe, made with all the sauces and ingredients of my life.

Kaleidoscope

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Searching for the vibe, the energy, the ‘it’, the will, as life slowly begins to shift into place, put together one piece at a time like a jigsaw puzzle. Yesterday will never be again, but tomorrow may arrive with old habits left behind; perhaps it is the reconstruction of the self with a new set of wills. Some lives are forever transformed, but others return right back to where they began as they fail to understand the ride they have taken.

Yours in soft lighting,
Eloi Ahoy

Chosen by the Fire

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Sometimes you hear things, you see things, and you wonder why pain isn’t distributed equally. Why are you the one going through the burden but others aren’t. What makes you so special that you were chosen. Why some hearts seem to carry mountains while others walk on level ground. Why storms flood certain lives again and again, while others feel only a passing rain. Why lives never seem to walk a straight line but always in circles. You question yourself, your will mercilessly. It can feel unfair. It can feel lonely. It can feel endless. It drains you. It is tiresome.

But pain is not the end of the story—it is the quiet sculptor of character, the unseen teacher of the soul, the painter in the shadows. It grows compassion in places where judgment once lived, and plants seeds of patience in hearts that once demanded control. It softens the rigidity of pride, illuminates struggles we cannot see, and transforms sorrow into profound wisdom. It can be a bit confusing but pain teaches humility, grace, empathy—not as a burden, but as a gift earned—allowing us to meet others not with criticism, but with understanding; not with indifference, but with gentle, unwavering care.

It awakens courage where fear once reigned, and forges resilience where doubt once whispered. It turns moments of brokenness into pillars of strength, and wounds into bridges—connecting hearts, inspiring hope, and proving that what once hurt us can one day heal others. It transforms us. It illuminates us; faith.

Even when life feels uneven, grace is still at work in the shadows of the wounded tree. What feels heavy today may become the very thing that allows your spirit to soar tomorrow. Every struggle carries a seed of greatness; a glass of gratitude, every tear contains a river of understanding; a bucket full. And every heart that endures has the power to inspire, uplift, and transform the world—one gentle act of love at a time, if we open our hearts and allow ourselves in.

So hold on. Keep rising. Keep believing. Don’t lose faith. Your story is still unfolding, the script is still being written, masterfully crafted by apostolic hands and your wounds are only shaping the bravery that will bloom through you, just like a flower.