The Truth Arrives Before the Explanation

“Sometimes the truth arrives in fragments. Sometimes it arrives screaming. But it never arrives too early.” — Y.Z. Chin

I knew
something had snapped—
not loud, not cinematic,
just a quiet rupture
behind my ribs.

I kept working.
Kept smiling.
Told people I was fine.
Even laughed when I said it.

But the water wouldn’t boil.
The hallway light flickered every night.
Strangers started looking at me like I was mourning
someone I hadn’t buried yet.

There was a moment,
alone, brushing my teeth,
when I caught my reflection
and realized I hadn’t moved in days.

Not really.
Not underneath.

“Your soul knows truths your mind isn’t ready to comprehend.”

The mind is a master of delays. It hoards logic like armor, rationalizes its fear, and turns doubt into a spreadsheet. It wants proof. It needs language. But the soul speaks in silence—through insomnia, sudden tears, inexplicable avoidance. That’s where it starts. Not with answers, but with a sense that something’s gone off and won’t come back.

You might call it overthinking, but that discomfort has intelligence. The body slumps, the appetite changes, the room feels colder than it used to. The denial isn’t in what you know, it’s in what you keep refusing to name. Because once you name it, something shifts. And shifts are expensive.

There are truths that show up long before you’re willing to see them. They don’t announce themselves with clarity. They scratch from the inside out. And by the time you finally say, “This isn’t working,” the soul’s been crying it for months.

There’s no shame in being late to your own knowing. Most people are. Most people were never taught how to listen beneath the noise. But still—it waits. Not forever, but long enough for you to either listen… or break.

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