Journalled on Friday, 24th of July 2026 | Santo Cristo, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: 21 degrees, warm, overcast and rainy.
I have just received a message from Julie in England telling me that my mother is not 100%, and that she has received a letter carrying not very good news. The rain outside seems to fit the moment perfectly, as if Rio itself already knew before I did.
In her audio message, Julie didn’t specify exactly what my mother’s letter contained. All she said was that my mother was alone, and that I should call her. That was enough to leave my mind spinning through every possibility, and none of them good.
Julie had called earlier too, but I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to. I’m not feeling 100% myself right now, and I don’t want to talk to her at the moment, but I will call my mother either tomorrow or on Sunday, just not today. I need a little space before I can face whatever is waiting on the other end of that call.
I want some time to process everything and try to understand exactly what is happening before I react. For the past couple of weeks, I have felt a calling to go to England, a quiet pull I can’t fully explain. I don’t know if it is simply my mind playing games with me, dressing up a coincidence as a premonition.
Wishful thinking is probably one of the reasons I ended up buying two sweaters from Shein last week, which, now that I think about it, is an indirect sign that some part of me already suspected I could eventually be going to England.
After all, who in their right mind needs heavy, hot sweaters in Rio’s tropical weather? Only a crazy man would buy them, unless, of course, he already knew he would be heading to a colder climate in the near future. And England, with its grey skies and biting wind, is certainly that.
Julie had also mentioned in her written message that my mother had swallowed a tooth. It sounds almost comical written down like that, but it isn’t, not really. Given my mother’s vanity, even now in her old age, an incident like that is probably more upsetting for her than she would ever admit out loud.
It feels like a small but telling sign, a quiet crack in the armour, suggesting that she may need more help and more attention in the years ahead, whether she is ready to accept that or not.
So here I am, quietly contemplating the very real possibility of having to go to England soon, perhaps within the next month or so, or even sooner if things turn out to be serious. It is strange how quickly the mind starts packing bags before a single flight has even been booked, rehearsing goodbyes and airport queues that may never actually happen.
I also can’t help but think that, even though my mother likes to play the victim, something I genuinely hate, doing so is not only one of the lowest forms of character intelligence but also deeply unfair to the other person involved.
That other person is cast as the villain, while the one playing victim never has to own their own acts, decisions or responsibilities. Life rarely puts a literal gun to anyone’s head, and yet we so often act as if it does, using that imagined threat as an excuse to avoid accountability.
The buck always stops with us. At the end of the day, it is always our own fault. It is my fault too, and I say that without bitterness, only clarity.
There is something almost freeing about admitting it plainly instead of dressing it up. Once we truly understand this simple, almost uncomfortable declaration, life becomes a little clearer, and to a certain extent, a little easier to carry.
Receiving that call and message from Julie stirred something in me that I wasn’t expecting.
Obviously, I was missing her, even though ours seems to be a bit of a strained relationship with not much of a future ahead of it. It is a strange kind of ache, missing someone while also knowing, deep down, that missing them changes nothing about where things stand.
You can love a person and still know that maybe that person is not good for you. Those two truths can sit side by side, uncomfortably, for a long time. All that really matters, in the end, is the timing, the situation or the circumstances, and when those are wrong, they make everything incompatible, even impossible.
No matter how much we force it, try and insist otherwise, eventually it will all come crumbling down to the ground, and the pieces left scattered on the floor are parts of us: our mind, our heart, our being and our life.
I’ve always felt a little used, if I’m honest, like a mirror for Julie rather than a person in my own right. Whether that was truly the case or simply my perception is a discussion for another day, but what we had was always, for me, a little one sided and, more importantly, it never quite felt like home.
I feel it is important to feel at home with the person you love, to have your own safe house, a haven where both of you can genuinely relax and simply be yourselves. One person complements the other, and when that balance is missing, the same relationship that should feel like shelter can turn into something closer to a living hell.
Obviously, when you do eventually find the right person, it is still not all roses and easy mornings.
It is a process, a journey of mutual growth for both people involved, built slowly and deliberately over time. That, I think, is the real difference between something fleeting and something lasting.
Instead of putting each other down, or quite literally sleeping with the enemy, you find in that person a friend, a true best friend, someone you trust completely. That person wants the very best for you, without control or manipulation, and the feeling runs both ways, freely and without conditions attached.
In any relationship, there is no love, or at least no real space left for love, wherever there is victimhood, manipulation or control. I have come to think of these three as the demons of any toxic, false relationship, quietly poisoning it from the inside until nothing genuine is left standing.
They rarely announce themselves. They creep in disguised as concern, as sacrifice, as devotion, until one day you look up and realise the whole foundation was rotten.
We should always be free to choose, and free to do whatever feels right to us, and if that choice happens to align with the other person, then that is wonderful, so be it. Of course, a fair amount of talk and back-and-forth juggling has to happen first. If, after all that, it feels right for both people, then very good. But if it does not, then perhaps it simply wasn’t meant to be, and that is alright too.
I will call my mother either tomorrow or on Sunday. That much, at least, is settled.
Be kind and be happy. If you cannot be happy, still be kind, but never be naïve, not even to yourself.
In bed by 10 p.m.
Thank you
Thank you for reading. Please explore my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments.
Richard
