Yes, I finally opened my iPhone’s camera, set up my light ring by my postcard wall for an aesthetic background, clipped my phone to my light ring, attached my mini microphone to my blue blouse, and hit “record”. Well… I hit record several times.

“Testing testing, this better be working.”

“Come and write with me! I’m very excited…” as I swiftly grab my phone to cut my take, with blushy cheeks. Visualize this process, but extend your imagination for an additional two hours, until I am finally semi-satisfied with my take.

Don’t even get me started on editing. Fitting the subtitles to match your speaking speed word-for-word, removing silence gaps, checking spelling and spoken mismatch, ugh. As an average perfectionist, this step of the process alone can consume an entire evening of my time.

You’re not done yet! You forgot about the cover image, caption, hashtags, emojis, and making sure all elements are cohesive between themselves. By the time I’m ready to hit “publish”, I’m already so mentally drained from the effort that it took me to craft this video, that I close my eyes, twist my thoughts through the washing machine inside my mind “Who cares, genuinely no ones cares like that, it’s all in your head” and I click on that forsaken button, throw my phone across the room, and put my notifications on silence for the next 24 hours.

And I realized something while sitting there, secretly refreshing my muted notifications.

I’m not actually afraid of content creation in itself.

Before it looks like talent

It shows up in smaller, day-to-day ways too. You don’t necessarily have to go online to come face-to-face with your fear.

You raise your hand and immediately wish you hadn’t. You post something and automatically start checking who saw it. You start a new hobby and hide your craft until you feel adequate enough in it to mention it.

It’s never really about the thing itself. It’s about being seen before you feel ready to be impressive.

Why does it seem like everyone is talented then?

You rarely get the chance to see someone’s first attempt. That awkward version where their framing is funny, where their voiceover is shy, where their hook isn’t so captivating.

If a piece of content happens to go viral online, whenever you stalk the person’s account, you quickly notice that they have hundreds of videos and thousands of followers. We rarely scroll to the bottom of their account, where the clunky attempts are hidden.

They aren’t necessarily more talented than you. You just didn’t see the timeline where they weren’t.

The permission shift

I decided to give it content creation a go at last. I won’t claim that I suddenly don’t care about being seen trying, completely the opposite. I still very much care.

But it comes to a point where I must choose between improving a skillset or sitting with my self-judgement.

I don’t want to look back at my younger self and regret her lack of initiative. I want to try.

Even if I suck at it. Even if everyone laughs.

I’m doing it anyway.

Hi there,

Thank you so much for reading this week’s piece. From one vulnerable place to another, attaching my face to my craft is definitely next level for me. If you are curious to check out what my actual content creation looks like, go find me on Instagram & TikTok at anatimosina on both medias. I’ll see you next Sunday with another Letter From Somewhere.

With love,

Anastasia <3

Ever since I started working a 9-to-5 after graduating university, I’ve regained my evenings back. Between classes, assignments, exams and team projects, it was almost impossible to dedicate any time to hobbies. As a matter of fact, I didn’t have any hobbies, as school was my lifestyle back then. Therefore, for the past year, I have had to deconstruct my relationship with my free time. And I won’t lie, it’s been tough. I always feel like I need to be productive to claim that I had a good day.

And I know what you are thinking, “but you worked from 9 to 5, you have already been productive.” I agree, at least to a certain extent. But I haven’t been productive in the things that I personally like to do, those that will bring me closer to achieving my dreams and aspirations. To become a better writer, I need to be a better reader, so I need to read. To become a better runner, I need to run, so I need to go out of my house and do it, and so on and so forth with all of my ambitions.

Thus I became obsessed with feeling productive.

A day that goes without working towards my goals feels doomed, wasted.

And I know how flawed this sounds.

And I know that my brain has been conditioned to feel this way. Successful work of capitalism as they would say! And it’s such a shame and I’m so hyperaware of it yet the wheel is still spinning in my head.

If I choose to ignore my productivity reminders, let’s say go out with my friends or spend time with my family, guilt will creep back into my psyche at the end of the day.

“Have you done your Norwegian Duolingo streak? What about the run you were supposed to complete today? HMMMM I notice you haven’t published a carousel on your Instagram like you claimed you would” my mind whispers.

Sometimes, my brain can shut off for a day or two, but the reminder still persists. Heck that Duolingo owl is disintegrating on your screen if you ignore your streak for 2 days.

The modern-day obsession with streaks

Speaking of streaks, let’s talk about them I have a plethora of things to say on this topic.

Streaks are engineered to keep you addicted.

They create that emotional push-and-pull inside you. On one hand, you absolutely hate sending snaps, but on the other side of the screen, your friend will ask you “but what about our Snapchat streak, we are already at 2567 days…”

Let’s assume you HATE Snapchat, but then you also think to yourself “Yeah true, it has indeed been 2567 days, it’s such a long time, why give up now?”

Why give up now? But that’s the thing. Taking a break =/= giving up.

And my brain simply can’t register that.

Tying personal self-worth to achievement

The world has never been more competitive than before. That’s the joy of social media you could say. It’s thus natural to compare ourselves to the girl on our FYP, of the guy that went viral for his reels. And the algorithm LOVES pushing successes forward. You lost your job? Sucks to suck! You failed your exam? Sign for the next retry, I guess. You don’t want the pity, you want the flowers instead.

It feels ubiquitous to showcase your achievements as part of your identity. I’m the first victim of that.

When people ask me who am I, my mind inevitably goes to what I did.

“I have a bachelor in marketing and project management”, ok but WHO are you? Are you a funny person? An empathetic person? Why do I automatically mention my education, my job status, my relationship, my half-marathon that I ran?

It’s easy to confuse personality with milestones when asked about identity.

Loosening the grip

Maybe the problem isn’t productivity itself, but how tightly I have tied it to who I am. Because every action becomes a measure of worth, of my legacy, rest quickly starts to feel like failure, when in fact, rest is necessary.

I don’t think the goal is to stop caring about growth or ambition (and to be honest, I never could), but to loosen their influence on my identity. To be fine with a lazy Sunday, to be truly relaxing when taking a vacation, to enjoy a day out with friends without thinking of coming home to productivity.

And if I’m being honest, I’m still learning how to do that.

Because if we take it to the extreme, let’s say, if someone produces nothing at all in their lifetime, do we measure the worth of their life by the output they produced? Does that make their existence completely worthless? Certainly not. So why do I treat my worth as something that needs to be proven?

Lately, I am questioning whether a life measured in output is a life fully lived. I wonder when productivity stopped being a tool and instead became the only way I know how to feel enough.

Hi there,

Another week with Letters From Somewhere, this one marks a month since I’ve restarted posting consistently. I also kicked myself to the curb and started promoting my writing on other social media. You can find me on or anatimosina on Instagram and TikTok if you wish to see my carousels and videos. And until then, I’ll see you next Sunday with another LFS.

See you next Sunday,

Ana <3

Before attempting to judge this child, I want to get into her mind. I want to understand what exactly has led to this decision-making; why does she feel the need to cover her face with beauty-enhancing products at such a young age. What pushed her to this extent?

If I look back at my own childhood, makeup was never part of the equation. When I was a child, sure, some forms of makeup existed, but they were specifically targeted towards children and were more used as face paint. We also had these flavoured lippies that were intended to give taste and a tad bit of colour.

But when I would sneak to my mom’s real makeup corner, she’d always stray me away and say “You are too young for all these products and you don’t need them anyways, you are beautiful as you are.”

But then I’d clap back and ask “Ok, so why do you wear them? You are also beautiful, mom.”

It’s tough to blame your child, when it simply imitates what it sees.

Maybe that’s where it starts.

Being told that you don’t need something…while every grown up around you uses it anyway. I also wanted to fit in with them. I wanted to be like them when I grew up.

So when I saw that little girl inside Sephora choosing her lipsticks, it didn’t feel too surprising. I saw myself in her, despite our generational differences.

A child should still be a child. Not already thinking about what needs to be fixed, when nothing was broken to begin with. Not already learning how to see herself through that lens.

And that’s when it didn’t sit right with me.

Not the products that we choose, but the timing. How early it all begins.

And here I am, actively participating in that system.

Hi there,

Thank you for reading this piece. It was a topic that I was carrying with me throughout the week, and I knew from the moment I witnessed it, that I wanted to discuss it.

If you are a little girl that is reading my piece, please, you don’t need these products. You are beautiful just as you are. You will have plenty of occasions to wear makeup later. Enjoy your youth while it lasts.

And to the rest of you, stay curious. Witness things. You may never know when inspiration will strike you. I love you, and I will see you next Sunday with another Letter From Somewhere.

Anastasia <3

But what does that actually mean, to follow your dreams?

Every single one of us has a specific answer that pops us once we read this question.

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First answer: I can’t do it

The classical, limiting belief. And I won’t attempt to judge, perhaps it genuinely is an unattainable dream. For example, the dream of flying into space to land on Venus is genuinely unattainable because of the sheer distance and the atmospherical pressure on that planet. But let’s say it is a dream within the realms of Earth, one that seems so impossible we simply accept it as truth.

Why?

Why can’t you do it?

Why are you convincing yourself that you can’t do it?

Is it because it’s easier to accept early defeat rather than face your disappointment?

Or it’s because someone else told you that you can’t do it?

Second answer: I’ll do it later

Not now, not today, I don’t really feel like it.

I’ll start when I have more time. When I feel motivated. When I know exactly what I am doing.

But when exactly is later? Later can be tomorrow just as it can be never. It’s tough to keep yourself accountable when the deadline itself is loose. The pressure is entirely manufactured. If anything, it’s controlled. You are the mastermind of that deadline. Or rather should I say, the procrastinator behind it.

So of course, the more you rely on the word later, the easiest it is to just flip the sand clock and delay the tasks hidden behind your goals. Yes, the ones that will actually get you on the front stage, where you exactly wish to be.

Instead you hide behind that word.

Not because you don’t care, but because starting is too overwhelming to tackle at the moment.

Third answer: It has to be perfect

If I’m going to do it, it has to be perfect. Right?

No, it can’t be merely good. The word “good” doesn’t suffice in this case. My dreams are built on something exceptional, the one in a million outcome. It has to be something that I’m proud of. Not a cringe fest of trials and errors.

So I overanalyze.

I rethink the steps, I adjust the script, I dwell on everything that looks or feels off.

So I stall.

That perfection, unfortunately, doesn’t exist. And how I hate to be admitting it right now.

Just the thought of producing something imperfect feels like defeat in itself.

But in the meantime, nothing happens. Not the perfect version—not even the imperfect one.

The one that actually attempted to chase those dreams.

You’d rather trade your dreams for your pride.

How big of a sacrifice is that?

But what if you actually did?

What if, for once, you didn’t answer with “I can’t”, or “later” or “it’s not perfect yet”?

What if you just followed it?

Standing there at Osheaga, hearing the same message about following dreams, diluted into different formats, felt numbing at first.

Well, of course, they are saying that, on a main stage in front of thousands people. They don’t go through the same hurdles as we do.

Except they were normal people before.

What exactly separated them from us?

What if the only real difference between us, the reason we were in the crowd and they were standing on the stage is that they stopped questioning and denying their desires—and simply started acting on them.

Maybe following your dreams doesn’t contain all the answers.

Maybe it’s just about moving forward, even when everything feels like a question mark.

Hi there,

Thanks for reading this week’s Letter From Somewhere. Last week, I prescheduled my post as I was too busy losing voice while singing to Lorde and dancing to Twenty One Pilots. It was a wonderful yet extremely exhausting weekend! I had so much fun to the point that I decided to write a little piece related to my experience.

Wishing you all a good week, and see you next Sunday.

With love,

Anastasia <3

That stroke a chord inside me.

What do you mean: “When I find out he likes me back, that’s enough, I lose interest”? As someone who has been in a few relationships, this thought-process was completely contradictory to me. Whenever I liked someone, I wasn’t chasing the reciprocity of desire—I was chasing connection.

So I decided to dig into it.

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Several questions followed me outside once I shut the door of her car.

What does it mean to stop wanting someone the moment they show interest in return?

Why? Is it because the attraction itself evaporates? Or was that attraction never directed at the person to begin with?

Is the chase itself trying to fill a void unrelated to love?

And perhaps the most unsettling question of them all: Is this a permanent, everlasting state of mind?

Welcome to Limerence

A quick web search of these questions rapidly pointed me to the definition of limerence, which is essentially a state of an involuntary romantic obsession and infatuation with another human being. At first glance, this definition seemed to answer everything.

But there was one slight yet crucial detail missing. My friend didn’t seem obsessed in the way the definition suggested.

Was It Ever About Him?

I mean, sure, she liked him and would try to conveniently stumble upon him in whatever 3rd space they shared, but other than that, I wouldn’t classify it as obsessive. She didn’t follow him on social media, she didn’t approach him to talk, she just admired, from afar.

But when she told me that he asked her out, I got all excited for her. “That’s great! You’ll get to know him”, her facial expression dropped. She took a turn to the nearest gas station and replied: “Yeah… I don’t know if I want that though” as she exited her vehicle to refill the tank.

It left me wondering whether her attraction towards him simply vanished, or rather the attraction had never been truly directed at him in the first place.

Where Did The Excitement Go?

Why do we cease to want something as soon as it becomes accessible?

Is it because the chase, the quest, the hardship in itself is more exciting than the result?

My friend never really knew him like that. They exchanged shy glances, yet that was enough for him to occupy her thoughts. Uncertainty magnifies attraction. We tend to daydream and imagine ourselves with that person. That painted version of them is oftentimes ideal, far superior than the reality. Thus, the moment they reciprocate, fantasy gets scraped by reality.

Or maybe the excitement wasn’t about the fantasy at all. Maybe it was about knowing that we are desirable to them as well.

Desirable.

Is it a contest of desirability? I mean, there are plenty of fish in the sea, and attraction has an abundance of it to bait. But if someone is deeply insecure, perhaps being desired becomes less about the other person and more about themselves. Every reciprocated feeling comes with security:

You are desirable.

You are enough.

You are chosen.

But then again, why seek validation from others? If what we wanted all along was validation, was love ever the goal?

Do We Ever Outgrow It?

Whether we outgrow it seems to depend on what we are actually seeking. Do we want love? Or is validation enough?

If we seek connection, reciprocity is only the beginning.

If we seek validation, then reciprocity is often the ending.

For the case of my friend, I hope she outgrows it. I’ve listened to the stories of more crushes than I can count. She does approach them eventually, that has never been the challenge. The difficult part comes once the feelings are returned.

Because love doesn’t begin the moment someone desires you back.

It begins when there is finally something real to lose.

Hi there,

Thank you so much for reading and reaching the end.

To my friend, if she read this and recognizes herself (she probably will since I literally messaged her about it), thank you. I wouldn’t be able to be having these thoughts and reflections without our wonderful conversations.

If this resonated in any way, shape, or form, then just know you are not alone. And you don’t have to look too far to find an example ;))

Until then, see you next Sunday for another Letter From Somewhere.

With love, always,

Anastasia <3

Why Was I Gone?

A multitude of reasons (or excuses) can be granted for my absence. A broader set of reasons would be travel, a busy schedule, a whirlwind in my personal life, etc. However, I owe it to myself, and to you, to tell you the real reason why. Albeit all of the vague reasons I listed above hold some truth in them, that’s not exactly why I gave up. I gave up because I stopped believing in myself. Believing that I could make a career out of my writing. And why, you may ask? Because the lack of numbers outpaced my passion for the craft. I wanted results, and I wanted them immediately.

The Obsession With Results 

I think it is inherent within us, as human beings, to want a reward for doing something. Not even necessarily well, but just a cookie for completing a task. When I decided to jump into the world of writing, I would daydream of the day I would have 10,000 subscribers, the financial freedom that would come with making a living out of my craft. I was already mentally there. As my eyes would close, I would envision my book being a New York Times Bestseller, and I would be standing on a stage of a sold-out conference, where I would be getting a standing ovation for whatever prophecy I spoke of that day. The imaginary world of my success was sufficient for my mind. 

However, I would open my eyes, and see my stats on my latest Substack posts. 150 opens, 17% reads. “Oh well that’s nothing” I would think to myself. One doesn’t become an author from 150 opens, let alone can quit their job to proclaim themselves as one. And the same array of numbers would follow my craft. As the weeks flew by, the desire to write dwindled away. I won’t lie, it felt pretty discouraging to see that no one cared to read what I had to say. Which lead me to conduct an internal investigation as to “why was I flopping”.

Why Was I Flopping?

As a marketing girlie by the day, I have a confession to admit. I hate promoting myself. It sounds extremely counterintuitive, given that my major literally set me the foundation on how to properly execute a marketing funnel, from outreach to conversion. Yet, the idea of sitting with myself, filming, editing, writing captions, commenting, replying to comments, and on top of that making sure that my content is eye-catching and interesting sounded (still sounds) like the biggest dread of my existence. No wonder my ideas aren’t being heard if no one can even see them. 

In my first attempt at building an audience, I would simply post on Substack to my 200 existing followers, make a little story on my personal Instagram and then dwell on my lack of traction. 

A) Those 200 followers I gained from a single note of mine going viral which was basically asking a follow-for-follow. I followed a bunch of accounts for the simple sake that they followed me back. Yes, some in that bunch come from a genuine interest in my craft and growth, but that percentage wasn’t sufficient enough to account for the majority of my audience base. Were those 200 people interested in what *I* write? The topics that I explore? There are millions of writers out there, ranging from fiction to politics, to social commentaries, all the way to personal essays. If they followed me for a free follower, why would they be interested in my genre, in my stories?

B) Posting a little story on my personal Instagram would unnecessarily spike my cortisol levels. Being vulnerable online is already no easy feat, but also adding that to a social circle of friends and acquaintances that could judge me, amplified my fear of perception. As the weeks would go by, the agony of promoting my own writing would take over every fibre of my being, paralyzing my fingers from hitting “Publish”. And let’s be real here, it’s not because my social circle knows about my craft that they’re necessarily interested in it.

I accidentally let an audience and numbers determine whether I deserved to keep pursuing my passion. Wrongfully so.

Beyond the Audience & The Numbers

Yeah, sure, it’s not merely an audience problem, I don’t want to blame the few people who actually took the time to open my emails. It’s also me. I am a hungry, overly ambitious person who constantly feels behind. I am running out of time even when the clock hasn’t begun ticking. 

The passion got buried behind those ambitions. It felt like a routine, a chore to write. I started holding a personal diary back in November 2025, forcing myself to write a few sentences per day. Over time, I stopped describing my emotions, I would use a bigger font to fill out the pages quicker, I would float on the surface of my experiences to avoid starting a second page. I also have a project of writing a novel, which would often take the sidelines between these creative endeavours. Writing wasn’t fun anymore, it became my livelihood, except I wasn’t even paid for it to begin with. I just wanted results, and when they didn’t follow suit, I gave up. I hate to say it, but I did. 

I didn’t just want to write. I wanted to become the kind of person who could confidently label herself as a “writer” whenever someone asked what I did. The prestige of saying that I craft words into sentences that make people feel seen and understood. However, that routine quickly outpaced those desires. I can’t speak for every creative out there, but for me, once the craft becomes regularized like another 9-5, the passion dissipates. 

But Why Chase Success?

My closed ones would often ask me: But why do you care how many followers you have or how many people read your essays? Isn’t the process of writing sufficient enough for you? 

I wish it was, trust me, I really wish it was enough. But yet again, I’ve spent years measuring my worth in my successes, so of course I want people to read it, to relate. Otherwise, I could just write in my bedroom , keep everything to myself like I have for the past 10 years and never come back. But if I am back yet again, 3 months later, it is because I WANT to be heard. And if I don’t try again, how will I ever know if it was worth it?

Even now, I don’t know if anyone will read this. I mean, that’s the price you pay for disappearing for 3 months. 

This time, though, I am willing to pay for it.

So welcome back, Anastasia. 

Hi!!!!

I am so excited to be back!! I must admit, I dreaded posting this letter, since it meant that I had to commit again for good, but as my mom said, it can take a lifetime for an artist to be truly seen, so how else are you supposed to promote yourself?

I hope that you will stick on this journey and I am looking forward to keep writing, on my terms, without any number expectations, this time. If you resonate don’t hesitate to subscribe, and I will see you next Sunday, with a new Letter From Somewhere. 💌

Anastasia <3

For some background context, believing in the Habs team in Montreal is the closest thing to a religion for the people living in this city (*the province of Quebec is mostly atheist). Considering that the sport of hockey was officially inaugurated in the same city back in 1875, you can imagine the peer pressure that we put on our poor (and simultaneously lucky) 20 players that represent Montreal in the NHL (National Hockey League). The Canadiens have won the Stanley Cup 24 times across the past 110 years, the most prestigious trophy that a hockey team can obtain, more than any other team. It’s also worth mentioning that they were finalists an additional 11 times. But here’s the kicker. The last time that the Canadiens have won was in 1993. 33 years have passed since the last cup. And every year, specifically every spring that the Habs access the playoffs, its devoted fans start praying again. For the curse to be broken.

These prayers can take many forms. Some like to watch it from the comfort of their own living room, others prefer gathering with friends and make a watch party in someone else’s living room. The biggest worshippers hoping that the Habs play beyond the regular season are the restaurants and the bars. The money that is on the line from these extra games is easily in the millions of revenue. Entire banquets are being reserved, with a specific note in every reservation mentioning ‘‘a good view on the screen so we can watch the game’’. And the most fortunate type of believers are those who can afford what most only dream of: seeing the game in person. There is absolutely no doubt that Montreal’s Bell Centre has the best atmosphere across North America for sports. Because hockey for us isn’t just a game, it’s in our bloodline. Therefore, the ticket prices to see our favourite players begin in the 4 digits. The richest go inside the dome, while the most persistent barricade the streets.

So let’s get back to the initial scenario. Where you are fainting. Because yes, that is a very much real occurrence unfortunately. How does that happen? With far too many people admitted in a restricted space without proper structure nor security. That’s the thing with crowds. Despite everyone rooting for the same team, all of a sudden, those same people are solely looking out for themselves. Pushing to get into the crowd to see the screen, blocking the way in and out to keep their spot, throwing cans full of liquid at others, truly, seeing the Game 6 in person was an absolute nightmare last Friday. I won’t lie, it got so crowded that I was floating off the floor as my feet got lifted from everyone barricading me on all sides. My neighbours were apologizing, being equally as crushed and bent as I was. Flashbacks of the Astroworld tragedy were racing through my mind — perhaps we were all next? I was seriously starting to wonder, is this worth it? Is this what being a true fan should feel like?

The crowd to see the Canadiens on a giant screen by the Bell Centre, Friday May 1st. I was in that crowd.

How does a city allow its fans to pile on top of one another without any security measures? As you can see, the street itself is quite narrow. If anyone wishes to leave or gets uncomfortable, they must pass through a sea of people. Why I picked the fainting imagery is because this exact case DID happen. A boyfriend carrying out his unconscious girlfriend on his shoulders shuddered through the flock of bloody red forms, yelling ‘‘GET THE FUCK OUT’’. How is such density accepted, or even normalized? To which extent is religion allowed to go?

The questions were racing through my sweaty head, with my heartbeat hitting 150 beats per minute, asking me yet again: Is this worth it? Is this what being a true fan should feel like?

No. I walked out.

After the 1st period ended, I couldn’t handle the suffocation anymore. I believe in the Canadiens but I don’t want to ascend to heaven just yet. When I left, the score was at 0-0, and the only thing I could think about was ‘‘please don’t score I don’t want to die’’. That’s when I knew I needed to leave. Me wishing for my team NOT to score??? Nonsense.

— anonymasia :))

Hi there,

Spoiler alert, all ended well in the series, as the Canadiens just won the 7th and final game against Tampa tonight. All my social medias and mutuals are buzzing about our victory (me included).

I have been a fan of the Canadiens since I was 11 years old, therefore, it is my absolute pleasure to be writing an article about my favourite sports team. I sincerly hope to see the day of the 25th cup being held up high in our hometown.

Until then, we have 3 more rounds to go. GO HABS GO!

— Anastasia :))

If you have felt called out, welcome to the club. I won’t deny, I have been in a mental fog when it comes to writing. Perhaps for you it’s cooking, or working out? Whatever activity you have promised yourself to do consistently. And that some weeks are particularly more demotivating than the others. This past week has been one of those for me. I didn’t want to write.

And if you have read any of my other articles, you’d figure that it’s all I think about. But no, not at all. This week at least. I thought about work, my friends, my pole class, my hockey team games (go Habs go!). Many elements distracted me from the thorough act of sitting down to gather my thoughts about any of these things. It felt like I wanted to talk about nothing. I could sense the pessimism creeping in on my mood. But one dutiful promise cut through it, one that I have committed to for an undetermined period of time. Substack Sundays. So I know the clock was ticking. My week of rest and relaxation must come to an end.

I made a promise. I must keep it.

But here comes the deeper question:

Am I losing the spark? Or the sprinkle I claim to have? Has this all been a lie? No, it can’t be. The fog covering my brain is mistier than I thought.

I believe that once a calling has been placed into our minds, we must execute it. Please take my words with a grain of salt, I obviously don’t refer to evil actions. But the kind ones, those that can change a life. And I truly feel like writing is my life purpose. So why am I tiptoeing around it?

Failing at something ordinary is painful, but forgivable. But failing at your purpose? How does one cope with that?

— anonymasia

Hey there,

Happy Sunday, welcome back to my weekly newsletter where I write every single week, for or clarity. Thank you. It’s thanks to this exact newsletter that I stand up, choose to keep my promise, but also my sanity. Writing is essential for my wellbeing, and having this Substack kinda grounds me into doing it.

Hope you enjoyed the read,

Anastasia <333

That exact tension, between believing in yourself whilst requiring external validation, is bewitching. Because, of course, why should one seek other people’s approval? Better pretend that you absolutely don’t care, right? Why should I ever show a mere sign of sensitivity and concern for the outside world?

I mean, if you truly don’t care about what other people think about you, then that’s also awesome in its own way. You are free. And freedom is a difficult thing to acquire these days. I have been entrapped for years to move forward with my dreams because of the exact opposite reason. I cared. Excessively. Obsessively.

My utmost concern for other people’s perception of me prevented me from moving forward with my dreams. I would automatically assume that strangers and acquaintances had poor opinions of me. And to be truthful, some did. A few names are popping up in my head as I’m writing this. And I chose to let them define my worth, as if my own opinion wasn't enough.

However, I've sat too long in the shadows of their closets to let their negative perceptions dim my light. It couldn't come close to the genuine encouragements I have heard from all these people that I have crossed paths with, from strangers to family. And that was enough to keep me going.

Patience has never been my strongest suit. That plethora of ambition growling in my mind day-by-day can most definitely drive anyone insane. The expectations that I set for myself are like no other. I want results, and I want them now. It truly is a daily mental battle to convince my brain that “it’s okay that things take time.” No, I rebuke, I refuse. I am terrified of running out of time. Of never achieving my dreams. Give it to me now, so I can sleep at night knowing that I made it.

Please, let me know if I make it.

— anonymasia

Hi dear reader,

Big news! I have rebranded my newsletter this week. From anonymasia’s tales to Functioning Fine. For everyone functioning fine while privately thinking 'is this really it?' You have thoughts you wouldn't post. I post mine — every Sunday.

With this rebranding in mind, I am also trying something different, a shorter format. I have grown quite accustomed to writing 1000+ words weekly essays, yet I feel like I tend to over-explain myself in some segments of my essays.

Thus, I have done a deep dive into all the essays I have posted so far, and I identified some patterns that drown the message I am attempting to deliver. So here it is, shorter, and hopefully punchier.

Enjoy this beautiful Sunday!

— Anastasia

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As someone who proclaims herself to be a writer, I believe that the ultimate stamp of recognition, to be labelled as a writer socially speaking, is to be published by a publishing house and seeing your work of art in a physical form. Of course, I definitely don’t discredit anyone who has not achieved that, heck, even I consider myself a writer despite not being published. But holding your work printed in a book form, selecting between paperback and hardcover, tilting through the pages, seeing how your chapters are displayed, brings all of your thoughts to transcending legacy. The kind that sits in the library by the fireside of many homes, chosen by a bunch of strangers that deem your thoughts to be worth of a spot on the shelf. Needless to say, the fantasy to write a book has always been rampant. The desire itself? Not so much.

Behind all the glory and the pride of finishing a longstanding project comes the harshest part that most people despise, the actual work behind it. And oftentimes, it’s not the task itself that is strenuous, I mean, I sincerely hope you like whatever project you choose to entail, but it’s the lengthy process of execution that is dreadful. And I’ve been personally avoiding it, delaying the ultimate moment where I’d sit at the cafe and begin to word vomit. Beginning my first chapter made everything real. If I quit even before I begin, then that idea solely exists within the realms of my mind, it hasn’t been expressed yet. But the moment that my fingers begin typing on my keyboard, everything shifts. If I abandon, then that excerpt of my thoughts exists in the universe; hackers could retrieve it once they skim through my Drive.

For a long time, I retarded my creative process by convincing myself that I required all the puzzle pieces in order to begin.

My “perfectionism” has led me to believe that I absolutely could not write a novel without having my characters figured out down to their mouth shape and without the plot line and the twists leaving the readers with their own mouths open. The desire to portray a life lesson so beautifully and originally across my pages was so vivid that I just erased myself, rather not try if I didn’t have they key at hand.

And to be honest, I would’ve preferred that. The infamous folder with a step-by-step guide on how to succeed into my future. Instead, I settled for the hard truth that I will never get more clues if I don’t dare to play. Clarity comes from doing, not waiting.

And so, I began.

I hated it. Writing cluelessly, departing from one single idea. I have no clue if the excerpt that I wrote will be my first chapter or my last chapter. I don’t know how my characters will evolve over time. I definitely have not figured out what lesson I will attempt to convey across my pages. None of it all is decided. And that terrifies me. But I’ve already spent way too long “planning”, without ever actually finishing my plan. Now? My plan is to just go. Execute. The rest will come later.

So if you have a project in mind that you have been gently pushing away by the fear of not having all the answers, begin. The answers will come along the way. Maybe they’re hidden within you, and you must proceed to action in order to unlock them. Trust yourself. Your mind is powerful enough to withstand uncertainty. You possess all the problem-solving skills to navigate through it. If you were waiting for a sign, this is your sign. Begin.

—anonymasia

Hi there,

Happy Sunday! Today’s piece, as it says in the content, stems from me finally starting out my novel production. I can’t wait to see this project come to fruition, and to share it with you eventually. Yet again, sharing a project on Substack actually forces me to take accountability and actually stick to my word and do it. So here it is, my mandate to write my first book. I aim to finish it by end of 2026, if not, then early 2027 at best.

If you have been waiting to start a project of yours, then take it as a sign today and just DO IT! Heck, let’s do it together. Don’t hesitate to share it with me. We could be support buddies.

That’s it for today, have a nice week!!

— Anastasia :))

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But to be honest with you, that money incentive has never worked on me in the past either. I signed up for the gym every second year religiously, going about 10 times in the entire 365 days, and ignoring the amount passing on my credit card, as I set it up to solely be seen twice a year. It would be like a hard knock-knock on my pocket, but still not strong enough to actually push me there. I do know why. I was skinnier before. My lack of physical activity wasn’t having a visible effect on myself. So I could nourish myself like a feather and still look fit. But at 21 years old, the woman’s body goes through a second puberty. The one you can’t find anymore when you tap the word “teen” in the Search Bar. So, of course, a woman’s body changes. Mine did.

October 1st, I obviously start on the 1st of a month to build a clean calendar. I look up tutorials on TikTok of what I should do at the gym. 3 sets of 8-12 reps, progressive overload. Twice a week to start, just to get the hang of it. **(Don’t take my word for it, I am not a certified professional). I knew that my boyfriend was coming to visit me for the first time since we started LDR, thus I wanted to feel more confident in my skin. And when he came here, his presence actually disrupted my newly established routine. I knew that this reunion wasn’t going to last forever, so I indulged in that break. Big, but temporary mistake. As soon as he left back to his country, I felt like I was falling into my old habits. No! I will workout. I have decided.

Scheduled workout days determined in advance. Body groups targeted days. Gym locations chosen based on what my day plans looked like. Everything to make it fit in. And so I went.

By engraining this into my routine, I developed a skill that I consider as absolutely priceless; discipline. And this object isn’t something you can purchase or be gifted by someone, you have to earn it yourself. Dedicate time, effort and energy into doing an action consistently enough to start seeing results from it. It takes days, weeks, months, sometimes even years to start seeing your hard work paying off. Rain or shine, you saw me at the gym. Feeling sick or pain, I would show up the next day at the latest. It sucked, I hated it, I could feel the pain that my body was going through at every thrust, every rep. But, at some point, the results did come in. And boy was it satisfying.

The gym’s discipline easily made me pick up other habits that I can safely call hobbies today. Pole dancing and showing up every week despite being amongst the weaker students in my class. But when I get a figure that I have been practicing for a few classes, the overwhelming joy that rushes through my veins is enthralling. Running and pursuing my marathon training despite being much slower than all the Instagram story paces that I see on my feed. But when I see that I am running faster than my previous split, my body already hugs me and tells me to keep going. Reading before bed because I know that to be a good writer, I also need to read. Even if I have read way less than the average bookworm, I go by my pace and discover new styles with every Goodreads review that I end up publishing on the app. Even writing here, on Substack, is a discipline action at this point. Don’t get me wrong, I adore writing. But it is the consistent act of collecting my thoughts to share them with the world, once a week, that will eventually get me places and grant me the opportunities that I wish to have. I do it because I know this is how success is built. Brick by brick. Week by week. I know that success won’t necessarily knock at my door, like the gym membership fee knocked at my wallet, but I have gained the most important key success; stamina to keep going.

I won’t lie, I’ve consistently been an “instant gratification” kind of person throughout my youth and teenage years. Buying clothes, drinks, and trips instead of saving and investing that money. Having the cumulation of my recent efforts in my hand or head was much more valuable than letting it sit in my account while thinking about retirement. “Retirement, pffft, as if I will even live long enough to see that period with the ever-worrisome climate change” I would think to myself. I never saw the pleasure in refusing something for the long run. It brought me a sense of suffering. Why should I sacrifice the pleasures for my future self? The exact same logic applied to my body. I didn’t care about being healthy as I was convinced that I wouldn’t see the day past my adulthood to enjoy the benefits of a healthy lifestyle. But what a foolish way of thinking that is. Please, if you feel this way, let me convince you otherwise. Don’t make my mistakes. The reaping that you get from delayed gratification is tenfold more immense than from the instant kind.

Therefore, I believe that I have all the necessary qualifications to say that I can relate to the lack of desire in being disciplined. It sucks. It’s boring. It’s repetitive. It’s painful. But it can also be so much more satisfying once you set your mind to it. Let me give you my pieces of advice that have personally helped me set a sense of discipline:

1. Start small. Just commit to one week, or even one day. Test it, see how you like it. If you liked it, then great, try it again in the next few days. If you absolutely hated it, it’s okay, sometimes it’s part of the process. But try it again, please. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week. But try it again in a timely matter just to wire your brain into thinking that this is going to be a recurring pattern.

2. Give yourself a genuine incentive that will kinda force you into keeping that habit. I did this with running. Signing up for a half-marathon. I have an end date and a specific timeframe for that goal. If I train, then I will have a much better time during my run than if I don’t. I could technically improvise and run to the best of my capacities, but I will for sure pay the price for the lack of my preparation.

3. Do it with friends. This is probably my biggest game-changer. Having people that share a similar challenge to you can help you push each other, even in the harder times. And if you don’t have friends to do it with, do it with strangers. There are so many communities that can motivate you into pushing through.

4. Record your progress. Seeing what you did in tangible form is a receipt of how far you have come. Pictures, videos, activity logs, journals, you name it. When you feel like your progress is stalling, revisit those recordings to remind yourself how far you’ve come.

5. Have fun with it! If you absolutely hate that activity, switch to another one. What’s the point in performing something consistently that you absolutely despise or that makes you feel uncomfortable, even after several weeks or months of trying. Find something that makes you look forward to the next time. Have some discipline but don’t torture yourself either. You are supposed to surpass yourself a bit, but once it becomes genuinely painful, or you get an injury, then you should obviously stop and reevaluate. Do what makes you happy at the end of the day.

Discipline is not the easiest to engrain, but once you have the system in place, it almost becomes impossible to stop. Because you are too invested and motivated to keep going. Cross that threshold and you will be welcomed on the other side of pleasure. The pleasure in seeing something gradually grow and bloom is indescribable. Please stick to it. Try it. I promise you, it’s worth it. You will never want to stop once it kicks in. And you will become unstoppable going forward.

— anonymasia

Hi dear reader,

This week’s piece is inspired by my mom’s advice on writing a bit more positively, as she has noticed a pessimistic tendency in the last pieces I wrote. So here it is, my first more-or-less advice piece, one that hopefully spreads drive and motivation. I won’t claim that I am the perfect discipline guru, I still have some slacking days, but I have greatly improved since I was a teenager, now having numerous hobbies rolling on a discipline cycle. Take what resonates with you and don’t be afraid to start!

Happy Easter and happy Sunday,

Anastasia :))

For some background context, I am a clubbing veteran. A retired baddie, you could say. I would go clubbing for the exact purpose that a club was subconsciously intended for; meeting people. I counted down the week days, one by one, plucking my corsets as the weekend approached, contemplating which colour would look most seductive on me according to the season outside. On birthdays, an extra effort would be made. A dress, a pair high heels and an bottle of Disaronno later, and I was unstoppable. Ready for the hunt. And boy I enjoyed it. It was the perfect recipe to boost my confidence, to cope with the whirlwind of emotions that the average girl in her late teens lives. The satisfaction I would get from pulling someone I deemed as attractive was fuel for my broken teenage soul. Faces became blurry. Mouths became numbers. And then I was taken.

Relationships have always been objectively more fulfilling than independence for me. I love love. I could write thousands of pieces about my current boyfriend and how he is the love of my life and how eternally lucky and grateful I am to have found such a strong and, most importantly, compatible connection. Heck, we are so sure of ourselves that we fly to each other every few months just to remember how our fingers collide when we hold each other’s hands. We call and talk every single day, and we get upset at each other as soon as we go over 24 hours without proper contact because of how much we miss each other. He is my best friend. My life partner. Everything I could wish for. The sensation of clubbing as a single gal doesn’t even come to 5% of all the wonderful feelings I get from being with him.

And this is exactly how I feel about clubbing. I miss going clubbing while specifically being single. I miss the thrill of never knowing how my night would end, what my roster would look like, which boys we would gossip over on our way home. I still technically get to do that, but from a passenger seat, a 3rd person omniscient character that sees everything, but can’t ever join the party. I remember being the main character, the 1st person that actually goes through the emotions of my legs freezing from the cold breeze, feeling flustered from a compliment, engaging with a chemically pleasing stranger, walking out disgusted by cigarette breath. Going clubbing while you have someone waiting for your good morning love message feels counterintuitive, almost sinful.

Then why do I still go if I don’t enjoy it as much as I used to? Because I am actively on a mission in reconstructing perspectives from past experiences and still making them fun. I don’t need to be single to enjoy clubbing. Yes, I would much prefer being single while frequenting this type of environment but that definitely doesn’t mean that the pleasure can’t exist in other forms. Getting ready, picking an outfit, doing my makeup pre-drinking with my girls, laughing in the cab, dancing my ass out on the dance floor, grabbing a delicious late night shawarma, all these things can be enjoyed regardless of my relationship status. My happiness entirely depends on my perspective. Yes, I can dwell as much as I like about how ‘‘clubbing was better before’’ or I can stop whining and finding joy in the little things that I can still control.

I won’t lie, yesterday wasn’t one of those days where I whimsically pretended that clubbing while being taken was the best feeling ever. I felt tired, groggy, hot in my double layered pants, out of place because of how modest and low-effort I dressed, guilty for accidentally spending way too much on a rum and coke, and most importantly, mad at myself for even agreeing to do this. Naturally, when in a bad mood, nostalgia kicks in. I was stuck like a sardine in a crowd full of girls in skirts, wondering what the fuck am I doing here while staring at the ceiling. What’s the point if I can’t go on a hunt? Why am I putting myself through this when all I crave to do is just lay in bed with my boyfriend, the one that I can’t even share a bed, let alone a country with?

I go out because I am in that exact middle point. Today, this specific version of me. The one who has a boyfriend but also has single friends who want to go dance and create memories for the plot line. And if I refuse to go just because clubbing was better before or because I could be in bed instead, then I am the ultimate loser here. Because I accept defeat before even trying. Who says that clubbing while being taken sucks? Only my perspective does.

My life will never be fully cohesive or completely up to my satisfaction. I will always miss past aspects of myself, just like I am already missing the future ones simultaneously. But I can choose to make the best out of what I have today. I have my Saturday night off and my wonderful friends with who I can sing, dance, laugh, cry, eat, drink, and so much more, but most importantly, live life to the fullest. And this version of me chooses to embrace it (and go clubbing) today.

— anonymasia

Hi dear reader,

Happy Sunday to you. This piece was actually inspired by my friends with who I was actually going out yesterday and in the Uber, on our way to the club, I was asking them:

“What should I write about?”

“Today”. They both replied.

So here it is, today. Waving at the past and the future, while choosing to live in the moment.

Hope you enjoyed it, and I will see you next week!

— Anastasia :))

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So, there you are. You start at the new job. Settle for a salary lower than what you would initially anticipate because the job market is so scarce. Rather have some bread on the table than none, right? Clock in. Everything seems nice at first. The colleagues come off as friendly, the management as well. Oh wow, there is even an open office space, I will feel even more connected to my colleagues! The feeling of novelty is appealing. Clock out. Until it isn’t anymore.

The routine kicks in a bit quicker than initially anticipated. 3 months in and the management’s flaws already start to show. “Okay, I see why they hired me and why they mentioned a strong sense of autonomy required in the job description” you think to yourself. “It’s because my boss can’t be bothered to teach me, how lovely!” So now you must learn how to execute everything by yourself. Despite your CV showcasing your seemingly similar experience in that field, every organisation is built differently and so are its set of tasks. Granted, most corporations have a test period, but it also comes with the expectation that you are a fast learner, otherwise, you are on the chopping block pretty fast.

Let’s assume you succeeded in impressing the bosses and locked in your seat in this organigram to see another day, week, month and even year. But that’s the thing in corporate. Your time is always counted, whether you want to believe it or not. No matter how good you may be, if the company is not performing well on a financial level, then you will be fired. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do to prevent that. So you show up, hoping that the next day isn’t the last. It’s like sitting on a time bomb never knowing when it will explode.

After a year of devoted service, you are finally eligible for a performance review and a salary discussion. First of all, who decided that the salary increase discussion can only be held after 1 year? Is a performance worth being this analyzed and scrutinized? And let’s be honest, those increases aren’t even that big if they occur. “Following the course of inflation” as they claim. But how is that an increase if that little gap is aimed at paying the extra price that everything else costs? I have the wonderful privilege of dealing with higher rent, necessary but god-so-expensive utilities, don’t-even-get-me-started groceries, insurances* (emphasis on the * as they signify dozens of loopholes that prevent you from getting paid when needed), transportation and so much more. Can we even call it an increase? Let’s instead call it as it is: a flawed adjustment for me to survive in this economy. Worse even, slowly crumble under the pile of rising costs. A flawed adjustment for me to slowly crumble under the pile of rising costs. Ah, much better!

And the worst part is that it’s marketed as something beneficial. No, boss, it’s a necessity. I can’t encompass the idea that in some cases, the “increase” is not even guaranteed : “A performance review is executed to evaluate the development of the employee within the organization, and does not automatically incur a salary increase.” Be so for real. I don’t know a single person that is working in corporate for the love of the game. If you are not worried about salary increase, that means you have enough capital for it to not be a worry of yours. If I wanted to do a job that I truly did for the love of the game, I would be an arborist or a scuba diving instructor for fucks sake. Not a financial consultant, a payable accountant, an executive consultant or a senior account manager. Of course I want a salary increase in my performance review, why should management think otherwise?

Now you may say, “but are you deserving of one”? And this is exactly where you are feeding into the capitalistic mindset. About generating value or whatever the fuck. It doesn’t matter to me. Everyone deserves to have a decent salary that can allow people to substantiate to their needs. We don’t always need to be providing value to be worth something. Our existence was never meant to be quantified. Ah yes, you deserve 500 thousand for saving lives, but you deserve 50 million for singing songs. I can hear the economists chanting from afar that discrepancies are necessary to separate the rich from the poor.

I also hate the etiquette of corporate coworkers. That awkward in-between where you have to pretend to care about strangers, but we all know that it’s surface-levelled because we are bound by the same weekly schedule to be constantly interacting together. Granted, I’ve made some of the best friendships of mine through coworkers at previous student jobs, but when you land in corporate, everything suddenly becomes so serious and formal. One wrong sentence and next thing you know, you are stuck in an HR office for something that was perceived as inappropriate and out of line. Office politics are so contradicting. You are expected to be friendly, but not overbearing. Outgoing, but not imposing. Performing, but not complaining. Where is the perfect middle? Does it even exist?

And don’t even get me started on open desk settings. Just another way to snoop on your work habits (or lack thereof). Everyone cramped in the same big room, with an open access to our screens, so we can very well see if you are playing solitaire by your desk. Open desks generate a plethora of sounds, music to my ears. Keyboard typing, mouse clicking, chewing, sneezing, yawning, and most annoyingly, talking. Why do I have to show up to the office just to hear my colleagues sit in meetings and say “let’s just circle back on this”. Why make a circle?? Why not just solve it and go straight to be point?? If you have the wonderful privilege to attend a corporate meeting, you will quickly realize how nonsensical the corporate conversations sound. Nothing is ever explicitly said, you’d have more chances of solving a mystery in an escape room than understand business jargon.

Speaking of talking, nowadays, the talk about productivity has been rampant. AI is used to gradually replace us, the employees busting our asses to produce value for the company, while the shareholders laugh their way to the bank. I can’t believe how stupid they are to think that artificial intelligence can be trusted with their operations, or that suppressing humans is a perfectly sustainable business strategy. If there are no more employees and solely AI machines doing everything, then who will buy your product / service? Please enlighten me, I am very curious. How will you, dear shareholders, keep generating value, if no one can fucking afford to buy what you are selling?

There are a couple of words that come to mind to describe how working in corporate feels like: modern day slavery. Because we are financially stripped to abide. If slavery in the past was much more physical, now it’s psychological. You feel guilty calling in sick one day when you have a genuine fever. You feel humiliated having to ask for a day off to go see your family doctor. You feel anxious proposing the dates for your 2 silly weeks of paid leave in the entire year. You feel horrified having to ask for a raise. But most importantly, you feel so scared of losing your job so you do everything to dim your voice. Because raising it even in the slightest will hit you where it hurts the most, your pocket. So you shut up. And abide. Clock in. Clock out. Day after day. Week after week. Cry yourself to sleep and repeat.

— anonymasia

Hi reader,

I hope you enjoyed this piece, it’s probably my longest one yet on Substack. It was written in a foggy state from a challenging week of despair and gloom, so perhaps it is a tad bit too pessimistic. I did try to play more with styles, particularly the dashed-set-of-words, as I’ve really liked reading my friend’s piece who used them. Let me know if some of the excerpts resonate.

Happy Sunday and see you next week,

Anastasia :))

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I can’t deny, initially, my ego face-planted in front of that low participation rate. It is incredibly easy to blame oneself when people disappoint us. Too easy. I call it “the mind’s default mode”. Perhaps it comes from some hidden lack or self-esteem that I hadn’t gotten the chance to tackle yet in my twenties or from my lingering belief that humanity is good, that they totally didn’t skip that meeting on purpose. That I scheduled it at the wrong timing, that my presentation of the program wasn’t good enough, that I could’ve found a better company to partner with, that I could’ve been so much more pushy with the marketing of my initiative amongst my colleagues. Do you notice a pattern in these thoughts? Do you hear how insane I sound?

If they wanted to, they would. As simple as that.

And before you attempt to find arguments in my colleagues’ favour, I do wish to precise that there has been an interest shown for these types of initiatives in the past. Between a community fundraiser run and a culinary potluck, murmurs of lifestyle changes have been discussed. “Oh yes, Ana, I would love to be healthier” my colleague declares as they chug the prescription pills that keep their body from collapsing. “Count me in” another one responds. Do you think they showed up to my meeting? I’ll let you deduct the answer.

This corporate flop left me thinking on a grander scale. Why do people complain about their issues yet fail to do anything that might solve said issues? I am evidently referring to problems that possess solutions, the ones that are reversible and moldable as time passes. Personally speaking, if I don’t like an aspect in my daily routine, I am the first to change my fate. Why should I settle for an inconvenience? Why should I stay stagnant? Why should I suffer?

And then it struck me. A lack of initiative is a choice. If you are so unbothered with your health habits that you’d rather choke on your medication before you eat the proper nutrients your body needs, then it’s a choice.

I must admit, sometimes I struggle with picturing myself in another person’s shoes. I can imagine how difficult it must be to motivate yourself to change a habit that seems so engrained in your behaviour and circumstances, but I simply reminiscence myself at a stage where I would paralyse my life from being scared of change, but change is good for you. Ever since I started taking risks, my life has gotten increasingly happier. Not because I necessarily changed overnight, but because my nervous system has calmed down from anticipating the worst. I wholeheartedly agree, change can be terrifying, but so is staying the same.

I couldn’t force my coworkers to sign up for this wellness program. I am not the decision-maker in their lives. Matter of fact, they have completely different lives from mine. I have absolutely no idea what someone else has been through, is going through and will go through. But I also can’t deny that I couldn’t understand their decision during that 90-minute Zoom call in which there was only 2 people per breakout room that was meant to be filled by mic noises and laughter amongst us. Employees of our company, the people I’ve shared tender moments during our last Christmas parties. The ones I would joke on call with. But those are the same ones that are more strangers than friends at the end of the day, aren’t they?

I’m taking this a tad bit more personally than I should, am I?

Hey there, thanks for reaching the end. I hope you liked this piece, this was actually nested in my drafts and composed in the plane on my way to a work trip and what I was supposed to publish as I landed, but the fatigue got over me and I never finished it. But here it is, and I quite like it.

See you next Sunday!

With love,

anonymasia

It’s me again, Anastasia. I took a 2-week involuntary break from writing and posting on here, and I feel like absolute shit about it. I guess you could say it’s because I didn’t have the time nor energy to gather my thoughts while traveling across the continent for a 5-day trade show convention that required me to stay on my feet for 12 hours straight and to socialise with thousands of strangers, so by the time I would come back to my hotel room, my brain would be foggy and craving the bed to recharge for yet another day of physical and mental agony. Heck, even my Garmin watch would indicate my 20,000 steps and my 12% bodily energy battery. Yet, I still felt extremely guilty while closing my eyes and drifting off into my thoughts because of you, Substack. Because I craved to write and keep my assigned schedule of posting a piece every Sunday like it was my religion. I promised my audience. I promised myself. And I failed, yet again.

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Truth be told, you just got a little glimpse of how my mind is wired. Eternal search for perfection. Anything outside of the perfect score is a failure to me. And when I began this journey here, I thought to myself: “Finally, at least this social platform will hold me accountable for pursuing my dreams”. And, here I am, not even a month in, and I already can’t keep up with my imaginary schedule. Oh what a great advertisement I am currently making for my page! This will definitely convince people to subscribe, congrats Ana, way to go!

Before you check up on me and DM me a bunch of mental health ressources for me to consult, I do want to clarify that I am okay. My younger self would’ve beaten herself up even further for this mishap. I can recognize that I was genuinely overwhelmed with my outside-Substack duties in these past few weeks, and that no one died from me skipping a few weeks. Maybe I did? I hope the artist within me didn’t die. Despite how insane I may sound right now, I can guarantee to you that writing is the only thing truly keeping me sane in the world that we are witnessing today.

I want to make it big, Substack, I genuinely do. The absence of writing, even for a mere week (Sunday to Sunday), made me lose my mind. I felt so empty, so soulless. If anything, my work trip proved me yet again, and more vividly than ever, how much I want to change career paths. How I want to make a living out of my craft, no matter how impulsive and raw and intimate my thoughts may be. I’d rather share my soul with the unknown than sell my soul to yet another corporation. I want a life, with purpose, with meaning. And that’s exactly why I’m so upset at myself for missing out on these 2 weeks. It feels like I am giving up on this potential version of myself. The one in which my utmost dream comes true. That, instead, I will be stuck in this current one in which I settle. My inaction has consequences. And my culpability is eating me alive for it.

On the brighter side, I am so glad to be back. Feeling my dream slip right in front of my eyes and witnessing the absence of something that I love just proved me how much I want this, and how I will do everything in my capacity to keep writing. Just as I’m hastily typing this piece, I feel so alive. I love pouring my emotions into coherent sentences, slapping the keyboard so aggressively that I need to spell-check every second word, as my brain processes my words faster than my fingers do. In the meantime, I came up with several topic ideas that I can’t wait to dive into. And to be honest with you, I also like writing more personal and raw pieces like this, where you see how my psyche is wired. Just give me a space to share my thoughts, and I will ensure myself to honour that spot in your newsletter folder.

Whilst I could’ve come up with another article and pretended like these 2 passing weeks never existed, it wouldn’t have felt true to myself to just put a plaster on an aching pain of mine. To break a promise and not hold myself accountable for breaking said promise is just unacceptable in my book. Granted, I don’t owe anyone any explanation, especially one so angsty and full of sorrow, but I would just be lying to myself and to you if I didn’t address it. Yes, my reason for not writing is totally justified, I don’t want this setback to become a routine, a low standard I set for my work. If I want to be one of the greats, I need that discipline and the accountability that comes with the privilege of having such a great platform on which I can share my work. So yes, this is my official apology, sorry Substack. I will pre-write pieces if that’s what it takes to keep the consistency and standard I wish to set on my page. But, I will ensure myself to avoid this scenario ever again (unless a genuine death strikes someone close to me - not my ego death - that, I unfortunately cannot control).

That’s it for today. Thanks for reading, and see you on Sunday, for real this time.

With love,

Anastasia / anonymasia

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It is no secret that life has gotten increasingly hard since Covid. Costs rising across the world, wars causing supply shortages, basic supplies such as food and rent swallowing our whole pay checks, the job market treating us like absolute dog shit, you name it. When I call my family who still lives in Ukraine in the midst of the war, they imagine that we are swimming in gold. That everything is easy here. I have probably chosen one of the worst country comparisons to illustrate the point I am trying to make, because yes, life in Canada is indisputably easier than in Ukraine right now. But the human mind gets used to the comfort is possesses quite easily. Almost too easily.

Despite being completely aware of the privilege I hold to be sleeping an entire night in my bed, under a heated roof, without hearing air drones and running down to a bunker, my brain cannot retain that sense of gratitude because it is simply not part of my reality. It lasts a few minutes — or one hour in the instance of my FaceTime call with my family — until I turn off my iPad and go on with my day. I disconnect with what is happening in Ukraine, in Gaza, in South Sudan, because I sadly have the privilege to do so. I could have stayed behind if my parents didn’t choose to immigrate. War could have exactly been my reality, one I could never turn off, yet a matter of luck separated me from that fate.

So here I am, living in a first-world country, still bitter. And truth be told, that sentiment seems to be shared across my fellow Canadians. Between friends, colleagues, acquaintances, strangers, you can find a sea of dissatisfaction with the regression of our life conditions in the past decade. We don’t need the news to tell us some bullshit excuses about inflation influencing grocery prices for the 5th year in a row, we want our government to give us solutions. The stagnation of wages compared to the rising of everything else is on the edge of breakage. Homeless shelters are in full capacity, food stamps are out of stock, third places are increasingly closing, hospital wait times are exceeding 24 hours, gambling becoming the new way to make a buck, and on top of that, everyone is running as a hobby all of a sudden? And so many more borderline crisis indicators can be witnessed in my own city, the one in which I have the privilege to live.

So, how can I call it a privilege? When I compare my living conditions with my Ukrainian family, of course, I am swimming in gold. But it heavily doesn’t feel like it. And my guilt is eating me alive about it. Because despite having everything someone else in a lesser lucky geographical position would wish for, I still find ways to complain and take it for granted. I want more than just to survive, I want to live. I want the freedom, the community, the joy of being surrounded by nature, the life I was promised as a child, the life my parents were promised to gift me by immigrating.

I am privileged — but not enough to even catch a glimpse at the benefits that are supposed to come with that label, at least in North American terms. I am eternally grateful to have a roof, a job, and a good support system, but I am nowhere near the opportunities that richer people get. I will always have to work to achieve them, that’s the legacy of my lineage. I console myself with the thought that achieving things from scratch is more satisfying anyways.

Who am I lying, please Canada, please the rest of the first-world countries responsible for this, stop hoarding wealth and start investing in our public sectors to make life more accessible again. Raise our wages accordingly. It is not normal that the median age for purchasing a home is 40 years old.2 It is not normal for homeless people to sleep in bunks of snow and die of hypothermia under -30°Celsius weather.

It is not normal that people have to die before they ever get the chance to properly live again.

Privilege should never exist. That is unfortunately too unrealistic of a statement I am making given the world that we live in. Inequalities will always exist. But I still have hope to see the day where that privilege gap vanishes and stabilizes at least. This has never been a war of the left versus the right, but a war of up versus down. And until the privileged people of the commoners can understand that, we will yet wait to see the day we overthrow the elite.

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With the Winter Olympic games airing on my TV in the living room, I cannot help but imagine myself on the big rink or slope, swaying the judges away by my speed or style. I always visualized myself either at the very top of the podium, or completely devastated to have missed my perhaps sole chance to represent my country. For some of these athletes, a medal can be the golden (or silver or bronze) ticket to financial freedom. Of course, if you mess up in the exact moment where your life could change for the better, your brain fogs your thoughts with anger and sorrow. That’s exactly how I felt in moments where I was denied, turned down and told that there were other “better candidates” for competitive teams, academic competitions, job positions, or even school trips. Why them, not me? What am I lacking so much that my attempt is not enough? Skill? Luck? Divine timing? Either way, none of these mere excuses is consoling enough for me or for figure skater Ilia Malinin who fell on the ice when he was expected and pressured to win gold after he landed a backflip in his first short program.1

Whilst the Olympic Games are mainly an entertainment event for the average person, we feel that exact pressure to succeed in several other areas of our life. Capitalism in itself is the root behind the competitive wheel in which we are all a bunch of hamsters endlessly running inside the same giant plastic space to reach the end of that goddamn structure. Our owners (the C-level billionaires) give us a bit of seeds (money) just so we could keep on surviving, but never too much just in case we would be enticed on stopping on producing energy (capital output) for them. If a few hamsters die along the way, it’s okay, as it will warn others to behave. If they hate each other, even better, since they will do anything to survive over their own brothers. Who cares if they die if I get to live, and with their ressources belonging to me now? Less seeds for them, more seeds for me. Because there is no one more important than me, myself, and I, right?

With the competition system being set in stone, comparison is the trendiest train of thought. Grades in school since the age of 6, classroom billboards of the top students in every subject, medals given out in every junior competition. We are conditioned to compare. Humans are inherently social creatures; we do care how other humans perceive us and where we stand on the development scale, starting as young as at the age of 3-4.2 Relief comes from encountering a less successful individual (at least from our own self-inflated subjective opinion), but as soon as we meet someone who is more attractive, more intelligent, more funny, more kind, and most importantly, possessing something we secretly wish we inherited or achieved ourselves, bitterness invades our mouths and poisons our thoughts.

I always wanted to be the absolute best, at everything. Excellence was the only solution. Because any other outcome meant I was unworthy. And that’s exactly how capitalism wants you to feel. Worthless. Because you will do everything in your lack of power to produce a glimpse of worth. But will you feel worthy after pouring your soul in something you may not even care about? That’s for you to answer. :))

Coming to terms with my inability to be the greatest was harsh, humbling. I associated my ordinariness with being boring, forgotten. No one cares about the common Pokemon cards, everyone seeks the rarest kind, the 1998 Pikachu Illustrator. Who remembers the mere peasants living in the Middle Ages? We remember the merits of Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Joan of Arc, not a random sewer in a tiny French village who had to sell his rags for 3 livres per piece. Who will remember me, if I was yet another ordinary peasant in this modern capitalistic slavery system?

You see, yet again, I compare. Comparison is the thief of joy as if it can be a source of joy, depending on the perspective with which you look at the scale. The best (and most cliché) advice is to compare yourself vs yourself. Albeit generic, it rings true. Because, spoiler alert, there will always be someone better than you in a certain aspect. It’s inevitable. If you’re not part of the Olympics, it’s because the participating athletes are objectively better than you at these sports. And that’s completely okay. These same athletes may suck at sewing, singing, saving, swimming (unless it’s a professional swimmer) and so much more. Therefore, invest your energy in the things that you truly care about, measure progress over a lengthy period of time, and exclude any peripheral perspectives. Easier said than done, but once you do turn off that background noise, the stillness is so peaceful. Perfection doesn’t exist. Thus, why try to mold yourself into it?

Going forward, I classify myself as a winner in my books. Even when I objectively lose at something, I think to myself: “I didn’t lose, I gathered the courage to try.” And that, is a victory in itself.

You possess all the agency in the world to choose how you want to be defined.

There, I said it. If you are reading and happen to be amongst those commenters, I am not sorry and I will not take my words back. If it offends you, it’s okay, it absolutely should because perhaps it will strike a chord in your senseless spine and make you straighten you up and grow an ounce of critical thinking. It seems like a lot of you do not know the meaning of the word “sonder” so here I will provide it for you:

sonder

the strong feeling of realizing that every person you see has their own life story in which they are the most important person:

Sorry to break it to you, but you are not the most important person in that blueberry pie girl’s life. She cannot consider 8 billion opinions on her recipe, and especially consider yours as the utmost source of truth and priority. Blueberry pie girl has to make videos that appeal to several different audience types, and to her own tastebuds. If she likes and can afford blueberries, then she should make her fucking blueberry pie video, end of story. And the same logic applies to every other example I cited. And before you cut me off, I will naturally limit this logic to heinous content types (racism, sexism, homophobia, etc.) as they do not bring any good sentiment to the discussion table. I can already hear the roars of “freedom of speech” flooding this comment section. Sure, you can complain about a blueberry pie video made whilst you are allergic to it, but it simply showcases your lack of character judgement rather than the fact that you could just quietly scroll and look up a recipe that you can actually eat. No empathetic person is agreeing with you on this one. Just fellow selfish sheep herds.

The concept of an algorithm has transformed you to be so entitled, self-centred, that if a video is slightly off you typical radar of exactly what you like, you immediately angrily type your disagreement onto you keyboard and purposefully choose to ruin someone else’s day. Yet again, I will repeat myself: The world does not revolve around you. Before personalized content even existed, we shared a monoculture, one in which we saw the same memes, references, skits, and we all indulged in the joy of discussing those creations, despite us disliking the content itself. Now, you expect everything to be crafted just for you, for your preferences, opinions, values and so much more. If you cannot tolerate a different perspective, then I hate to break it to you; you are ill-prepared for the world outside your phone, the one in which you will inevitably meet people with different realities from yours, and in which you won’t be able to hide away behind your spam account to write stupid, unnecessary and selfish comments. Accept that time and place exist. Be kind. You never know what someone else is going through, even yourself.

So please, I beg you, think twice before commenting next time. Create your own video instead if you so wish to express yourself. And perhaps another herd of selfish sheep will step over your comment section and complain that your content is not catered enough for them. And perhaps then, you will learn your lesson.

Hi, Internet. My name is Anastasia - and I go by anonymasia. Anonymous + Anastasia = anonym / asia. I have been writing in my iPhone’s Notes app since 2016 (since I was 13), and writing has been my source of personal therapy for the past 10 years. It has shaped my communication style to be poignant, impactful, and life-changing - at least according my language teachers across my education, and my friends who have taken quite a few advice sessions with me.

In all honesty, I've have always secretly wished to make a career out of my writing. But given that our world is built around mathematics and sciences, I always shoved my linguistic skills aside. Writing was just never in my options, because my environment has repeatedly told me it shouldn't even be, that I would barely scrape by to pay my rent just so I could publish my semi-mediocre poems, and then owe another 10 thousand dollars to the publishing house for all the unsold books that they have printed. Given that I wanted to survive in this economy, the choice to pursue a more stable career has always been the more obvious option.

But shortly after my university graduation, business bachelor degree in one hand, full-time job related to my degree in the other hand, I am having doubts on whether I chose the exact career path that I would truly like to pursue. Do I see myself working the next 45 years in corporate? Most likely not. I could handle it, sure, but what about 13 year old Anastasia? The one that dreamed to make a living out of what she loves doing most?

I’ve always sheltered myself behind the excuse that I am choosing a “stable” business degree because I am sure I will make money this way. I’ve always looked at my artsy friends - those who chose creative career paths - and would say “oh you’re so brave for doing that”. But in this economy, even my job position is not guaranteed anymore, so does that also make me brave for working full-time in corporate? Technically yes! Because AI can do my silly little social media posts, AI can do my pitch deck powerpoint presentations, AI will be able to do basically anything in the next 5 years. Granted, AI is the absolute best at writing texts in the span of a few seconds. But does that mean that I should just give up on my dream of becoming a full-time writer and public speaker? No! Because any other alternative would eventually make me miserable and regretful of never trying, matter of fact.

So, here I am, 10 years into the craft, finally gathered the courage to create a Substack, and allowing myself to be seen, to be perceived, to be judged. It is by far the hardest thing for me to do on social media. But to just live is to be seen, to be perceived, and to be judged. It is absolutely inevitable, as much as I would like to avoid it. But to be successful in my craft requires exposure, because how else would you resonate with it, and decide that yes, you like it? I have been gradually telling myself that exposure is not always inherently negative. Those who want to misunderstand you will never take the extra time to listen to you, no matter how many times you try to over-explain yourself. You cannot please everyone. Might as well stay true to myself and keep my voice, while attracting those that DO want to listen to what I have to say.

Here’s one of my journal entries of this week where I made myself the promise to finally publish something on Substack by the end of this week, and here I am, doing it exactly as I intended, because If I don’t hold myself accountable to make my dreams come true, then who will?

If you’re still here, then thank you! It’s my utmost pleasure to know that people enjoy reading my craft (despite me mainly blabbering around in this post - it’s my very first post, give me some slack please, I needed to give a bit of context before jumping into more interesting topics ;))

I aim to publish at least once a week, on Sundays to be more precise, but if I can fit in more essays throughout the week, then it will be my pleasure to publish even more. Topics you can expect are :

• Philosophy (happiness, agency, courage, discipline, etc.)

• Societal issues (economy, generations, injustice, privilege, etc.)

• Cultural issues (monoculture, loneliness, selfishness epidemic, etc.)

• Love (dating culture, LDR, commitment issues, etc.)

• Anything that comes to mind or is requested to be honest :)

I listed topics on which I already have some thoughts that I developed, but I may figure it out as I go.

That’s it for today! If you are curious to see what I will be up to next, then do not hesitate to subscribe to my Substack, and stay tuned for next week’s post on Sunday February 8th!

With love,

— anonymasia

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