The door I haven't opened yet.

ANNIE VALA'S DIARY

I want to tell you something I haven't told many people. After three years, I finally went back to my grandmother's house. Three years. It sounds easy to say like that, in one line, but that journey felt eternal.

The strangest thing is that when I thought of her, I didn't just feel love or sadness. I also felt some anger, and that filled me with guilt. How could I be angry with the woman I loved the most in this life? It took me time to understand: life didn't let me say goodbye. And you're left with that stuck in your chest, like a word that never quite managed to come out.

One day I understood that I had two paths. To stay angry forever, or to believe that life has its own plans, and that many times those plans turn out better than mine. I chose the second. It doesn't always work out, but I choose it every day.

I still can't bring myself to open that door and go into her house. I don't know if I ever will. But I learned something I can do: every time I put on her boots—those brown leather boots I already told you are mine and are my strength—instead of letting myself be swept away by a sea of emotions, I take a deep breath. I sigh. And I think that life was very good to her. That things had to be that way.

And then, when I walk with her boots on, I no longer feel the weight. I feel confident. It's as if she walks a little with me.

If today you are angry about something you didn't choose, about a goodbye you didn't get, about a plan that fell apart... I want to tell you something from the heart: sometimes we can't open all doors. But almost always, we can choose how to walk. And the right shoes—the ones that carry a story—help more than you think.

Next Sunday I'll tell you about a pair that made me feel more alive than ever. But that's another story.

Love, Annie Vala