May '25 (edited) โ€ข General
๐ŸŽ™ A voice reclaimed. On her birthday.
Yesterday, my mother would have turned 83. And yesterday, I finished something I never thought I could: my first book. Not just a manuscript. A reckoning. A return. A quiet homecoming: to myself.
Itโ€™s called: ๐™ฐ ๐š‚๐š‘๐šŽ๐šŽ๐š ๐™ต๐šž๐š•๐š• ๐š˜๐š ๐™ณ๐š›๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š–๐šœ, ๐™ฐ ๐š“๐š˜๐šž๐š›๐š—๐šŽ๐šข ๐š๐š›๐š˜๐š– ๐š•๐š˜๐šœ๐šœ ๐š๐š˜ ๐šœ๐šŽ๐š•๐š-๐šŠ๐šŒ๐šŒ๐šŽ๐š™๐š๐šŠ๐š—๐šŒ๐šŽ.
But this postโ€ฆ isnโ€™t about the book.
๐—ช๐—ต๐—ฎ๐˜ ๐—ฃ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐˜€๐—ฒ๐—ป๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐— ๐—ฎ๐˜€๐˜๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐˜† ๐˜‚๐—ป๐—น๐—ผ๐—ฐ๐—ธ๐—ฒ๐—ฑ
Thank you, , , and fellow students.
You didnโ€™t just teach me how to speak. You taught me how to see.
๐—ง๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ฆ๐˜๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐˜† ๐—œ๐—ป๐—ฑ๐—ฒ๐˜… didnโ€™t just organize my thoughts. It unearthed my life. It gave meaning to moments I had buried in silence. It gave language to feelings I had long avoided. And in that clarity, something shifted. Not just as a storyteller. Not just as a writer. But as a man.
๐—ก๐—ผ ๐˜€๐˜๐—ฎ๐—ด๐—ฒ ๐˜†๐—ฒ๐˜, ๐—ฏ๐˜‚๐˜ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐˜๐—ฟ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐˜€๐—ณ๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—บ๐—ฎ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ผ๐—ป ๐—ถ๐˜€ ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐—น
No spotlight. No standing ovation. Not yet. But the shift? Irreversible. Undeniable. Alive.
This book, finished quietly on her birthday, is the proof. It is a bow to the past. And a bridge to whatโ€™s next.
๐—ง๐—ผ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ฆ๐—ธ๐—ผ๐—ผ๐—น ๐—ฐ๐—ผ๐—บ๐—บ๐˜‚๐—ป๐—ถ๐˜๐˜†
Iโ€™ve been quiet.Absent, even. Not because Iโ€™ve given up. But because I was deep in it. The work. The rewiring. The rewrite...of me.
Now I return. Not to sell. Not to pitch. But to simply say: Thank you. I'm still here. Wiser. Softer. More whole.
๐—ง๐—ผ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ผ๐˜€๐—ฒ ๐˜€๐˜๐—ถ๐—น๐—น ๐˜„๐—ฎ๐—น๐—ธ๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ด ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—ถ๐—ฟ ๐˜€๐˜๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐˜†
Whatever you're facing. Whatever storm you are learning to name. Please donโ€™t stop.
Sometimes, the pain becomes purpose. Sometimes, the fog becomes form. And sometimes, you find yourself on a page, in a pause, or in a voice that finally feels like your own.
Keep going. Youโ€™re not just changing your story: Youโ€™re becoming it.
Kind regards,
Anton
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Anton van Ensbergen
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๐ŸŽ™ A voice reclaimed. On her birthday.
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