Each dawn brings progress. Chopping fallen timber, dragging logs through damp earth, I stack them methodically, notching ends to lock them tight. Mud seals the gaps, insulating against jungle chill. The roof takes shape—layered palm thatch sheds rain. Inside, a stone hearth anchors my space, smoke curling through a central vent. This cabin is more than shelter; it’s defiance against isolation, a symbol of resilience. Every beam reflects survival, every nail, if I had one, a victory. Alone but determined, I craft not just walls, but hope. This jungle is harsh, yet here, I belong. My life, raw and real, unfolds within these rising logs.
