Inside Out: Myself

ever wondered why kids these days — even young adults like us — seem to lack “motivation” or “determination” for anything? why we don’t have a “dream,” at least not the kind the world expects us to have? it goes back to the ones who birthed us — the generation before ours. their dreams were born out of need. doctors who became one because a flu was spreading across the village. engineers who became one because the palm roofs kept leaking every time it rained. lawyers who became one because punishing a harasser with a fine didn’t feel cruel enough. their ambitions came from urgency.  from survival.  from necessity. marriage, family, a house — those were their “offers” to society. but now? they treat those same things like literal offers. “take it or leave it.” if it works, fine. if not, we scroll past. they had offers. we were told to have dreams. but somehow, their “offers” became our “dreams.” sadly. so what caused this shift? today, the world has made everything available to...

acne? volcanoes that rage, heal & form new lands. stretch marks? subtly sunlit ocean waves hitting the sand. pigmentation? dusk falling unevenly on clouds. freckles? stars that refused to wane away from your skin. hip dips? valleys between confidence and comfort. scars? carved echoes of survival that whispers perseverance. every inch of you is nature reciting her fables to her earthlings. you are the soil, storm and sunrise. alive. real. yourself. even the oceans have dimples. even the moon has craters. nature was never perfect, but is still beautiful. let your skin be what it wants, humming in its own dialect. because the opposite of flaw is not perfection. it's acceptance. because you are not a canvas. you are a landscape. one only the soul could truly see. 💗

everyone talks about big wins. the loud ones. the shiny ones. the ones that look good in captions. but what about the quiet firsts? the first steady step of an infant that makes a parent whisper, “they’re growing too fast.” the first school day without tears — that same kid, years later, sitting at twenty-something, wishing life still had nap breaks. the first time you walk out of a relationship that once felt like home, realizing peace feels better than that first dose of  emotional serotonin ever did. the first sandwich you make? independence. the first trash you throw right? responsibility. the first guilt of wanting to move on? perseverance. it’s funny how every giant leap started with one shaky step. so if they love who you are now — remember, you had to stumble first before you could stand tall. 💗

when you expect nothing, and you get nothing, you got what you expected. invisible contracts. the other person not knowing they signed for it being the funny part. something funnier? us getting mad for failure of THEIR delivery with the contract WE wrote. having zero expectations isn’t always sad. sometimes it’s peace. sometimes it’s protection. and if something does show up — love, kindness, even a little gesture — it feels like free extra fruit juice. the kind you didn’t order, but you’re grinning anyway. nothing is safe. something is a surprise. either way, you don’t lose.

“the more you go through, the more you don’t need to.” we’re built like that. we’re supposed to be like that. pain teaches. patterns repeat.  and your brain? it remembers . not everything that tickles your mind is trying to move in and live rent-free to haunt you. sometimes, it’s just knocking to say— “yo. chill. we’ve done this before. take a breath. think through. there’s an easier way out. trust me, you’ll find your way home.” even legends say—if you see the same tree twice in a forest, you’re lost. but the catch is... now you know you’re lost. and knowing is already step one. overthinking has two branches: one leads you deeper into the dark, the other reminds you where the light is.

i’m not healing like they say in social media. i’m not taking bubble baths or writing diaries listening to lo-fi beats. i’m just... upgrading. system reboot. patching bugs. deleting old files that slowed me down. some memories? recycled. some people? archived. some patterns? deleted. healing sounds soft. but this feels like fire. like i’m tearing down walls built with my bare hands just to find the windows behind them. i’m not trying to get “back” to anything. the old me doesn’t deserve a comeback. he did his job. this version’s got better features anyway.