𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “Knocking on Life’s Three Doors” by Kathleen D. Yambot

 

Published by: Shaina Pajarillo

Date Published: June 24, 2025

Time Published: 7:45 AM

Category : Prose

Theme: Discovering what it truly means to live through places where life is tested, lost, or taken for granted.

There are three places that the world often avoids—three doors most people pass by, pretending they do not exist. But if you want to truly understand the weight and worth of being alive, you must enter them. One by one. Quietly. Humbly. Completely.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗹. 

The scent of antiseptic clings to your skin, and the steady beep of heart monitors echoes in your ears like a ticking clock. You walk through sterile halls lined with silent prayers. Behind every curtain is a story: a child too young to understand pain, a mother gripping a worn rosary with trembling hands, a man whispering goodbye with every labored breath. Here, you see how fragile the body is and how something as small as breath can be everything. You learn that life is not about how loud you live but how deeply you are loved when you’re no longer able to speak.

You leave that door changed. You now know that waking up without pain is a miracle in itself.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻. 

Metal gates screech open like a warning, but you keep walking. Inside, there is a stillness that does not come from peace but from regret. You meet men and women who wear their shame like second skin — hardened, quiet, but not unfeeling. Their stories are heavy and bad choices were made in anger, in poverty, and in desperation. Some are broken. Others are trying to piece themselves back together. In their eyes, you see what freedom truly means. It’s not about walls or bars, but choices. Self-control. Redemption.

You leave that door heavy, realizing that one wrong turn can cost a lifetime. You also carry hope—that even in the darkest corners, a second chance can still bloom.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘆.

It is the quietest of all. No sirens. No screams. Just wind, grass, and the hum of memory. Rows of stone and names, some too short, some faded with time. You walk past them and feel a stillness that speaks louder than any voice. Here lie dreams unfinished, apologies never said, songs never sung. You kneel by a name and feel your own pulse in your neck—alive, while they are not. That realization breaks you and heals you at once. Life is short. Love hard. Forgive faster. Let go. Say thank you. Breathe deeply.

You leave that door aching—but awake.

Three doors. Three truths.

Life is not guaranteed.

Freedom is a choice.

Death is inevitable.

So while you're still here, laugh loudly, love fully, and live like you mean it. Because one day, someone will visit your name on a stone and wonder if you did.