29/11/2025
🌧️ The Weather Inside Leo 🏡
Leo lived in a cozy apartment filled with sun-drenched houseplants and stacks of well-loved books. To the outside world, Leo was the epitome of calm reliability—the friend who always remembered your birthday, the colleague who never missed a deadline, the one whose smile was as steady as the morning light.
But inside Leo's mind, the weather was not always sunny.
Lately, a persistent gray cloud had been following him. It wasn't about any one big tragedy; it was a blend of small, cumulative things: the sudden move of his best friend overseas, a critical work project that had gone sideways, and the simple, tiring weight of always feeling like he had to be strong for everyone else.
He was sitting on his balcony, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea, when the sadness hit him like a sudden squall. His chest felt tight, his eyes burned, and his jaw locked itself into a determined, stoic line.
No, the voice of his past conditioning hissed in his ear. Don't cry. You're fine. Crying doesn't fix anything. Pull yourself together, Leo.
He’d absorbed this lesson early in life. Tears were for scraped knees and goodbyes at kindergarten—not for a grown person feeling overwhelmed by the mundane difficulties of life. So, whenever the storm clouds gathered, Leo would deploy his usual arsenal: he'd bury himself in work, clean his entire apartment floor-to-ceiling, or listen to loud, distracting music until the feeling retreated.
Today, however, the distraction techniques weren't working. The gray cloud felt heavy, pressing him down into the chair.
Just then, his neighbor, an elderly woman named Mrs. Elena who had a wonderful habit of feeding the local stray cats, walked out onto her adjacent balcony. She looked over and smiled, but then her eyes softened when she truly looked at Leo's face.
"Leo, dear," she called out, her voice gentle, "you look like you're carrying the weight of the sea on your shoulders."
Leo forced a brittle smile. "I'm fine, Mrs. Elena. Just a stressful week."
Mrs. Elena didn't argue or offer platitudes. She simply walked to her railing, looking out at the city skyline. "When I was younger," she began, her voice a quiet rumble, "I had a great aunt who was a ship captain. She told me a secret about the ocean."
Leo tilted his head, intrigued despite his internal battle.
"She said that a ship is designed to sail on the water, but sometimes, a big storm hits, and the waves come crashing onto the deck. The ship must take on the water, you see, to pass through the eye of the storm. It feels heavy and slow, and the sailors panic, but that water—that temporary weight—is necessary to keep the ship stable against the wind until it reaches calm seas again."
She paused and looked directly at Leo, her warm eyes twinkling.
"Leo," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "It's okay to take on water. Sometimes, the only way through a storm is to let the tears fall, let that heavy feeling wash over the deck, and trust that it will drain away once you've passed through the worst of it."
Leo sat there, listening to the wisdom in her words. It's okay to take on water.
The dam he had been holding back for weeks suddenly seemed foolish. He realized that the effort of not crying was more exhausting than the sadness itself.
Mrs. Elena quietly retreated inside, leaving Leo alone.
He didn't make a conscious decision. He just let go.
The first sob was ragged and small, but then the tears came—hot, salty, and unstoppable. He cried for his absent friend, he cried for the pressure he put on himself, and he cried for the sheer relief of finally, finally, allowing the storm inside to rage unimpeded. He buried his face in his hands, letting the water drain out of him.
After what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes, the flood subsided. He took a shaky breath, then another.
He didn't feel instantly joyful. The gray cloud hadn't vanished, but something fundamental had shifted: it had lifted. It was still in the sky, but it was no longer in him. His chest was no longer tight; his shoulders were no longer braced.
He felt tired, yes, but also strangely stable.
He stood up, his legs a little shaky, and went inside to splash cold water on his face. When he looked in the mirror, his eyes were red and puffy, but his expression was softer, more open.
Leo made a fresh cup of tea, a proper one this time, and returned to his balcony. The sun was starting to set, painting the clouds in shades of soft pink and orange.
He understood now. Crying wasn't a failure to cope; it was a mechanism of release. It was the necessary intake of water that allowed the ship—his own self—to pass through the squall without capsizing. He hadn't fixed his problems with his tears, but he had cleared the fog enough to see the path forward.
From that day on, Leo still had his sunny days, and he still had his sudden squalls. But when the sadness came, he remembered Mrs. Elena's ship captain. He knew that sometimes, it was more than just fine to cry when he was sad—it was necessary. It was the courageous act of a self-sustaining vessel, weathering its own storms.
