It is no surprise that how you start your morning sets the tone for the rest of the day. It’s in the small things. Making the bed, spraying your favorite perfume, listening to a good playlist, eating before leaving for class… But, sometimes we just don’t feel like it. It is not the hardest thing on Earth, but it can feel like it, especially when you stayed up the whole night studying or it’s still dark outside and your bed is just that comfy.

So, you need a good playlist to get you started, something to wire the brain in the right direction — yes, this excludes your typical sad songs. We want to have an enjoyable morning, maybe even dance a little. (it helps)

To turn the routine of getting ready for university every morning into something you won’t dread after week 2, you need to feel excited to do it. Not melancholic, sleepy music that reminds you how early it really is and how hard your first lecture might be. Personally, this playlist makes me feel like I’m in my own bubble. Like I am starting the day before the day has started demanding things from me.

Consider this your sign to stop pressing snooze and put some music on instead.

• Suddenly I See - KT Tunstall

• Unwritten - Natasha Bedingfield

• Pocketful of Sunshine - Natasha Bedingfield

• Style - Taylor Swift

• Supercut - Lorde

• Ok Love You Bye - Olivia Dean

• Promiscuous - Nelly Furtado, Timbaland

• Like I Want You - GIVEON

• Say My Name - Destiny’s Child

• Buttons - The Pussycat Dolls

• 1 Thing - Amerie

• Say It Right - Nelly Furtado

• Japanese Denim - Daniel Caesar

• Focus - H. E. R.

• So Into You - Tamia

• Can’t Get Enough - J. Cole, Trey Songz

• Kiss It Better - Rihanna

• Damage - H. E. R.

• Bare Wit Me - Teyana Taylor

Press play, get ready, and try not to be late!

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in no way do you have to follow this or base your wardrobe on it, this is just a post about trends and my observations !!

1. Brown boots brown boots brown boots brown boots brown boots

• It feels like now, more than ever, brown leather has been in! We are talking boots, skirts, jackets, belts, bags…

And it’s for a good reason, it’s delicious!

Places to shop for brown leather:

• Boots: ZARA/PULL&BEAR

  

  

• Skirts: H&M/ASOS

  

• Jackets: Pull&Bear

  

  

• Bags: Stradivarius

  

1. Skirts

Plain or plaid!

1. Layers of course

A simple way to experiment with colors, patterns, lengths, fits and make sure each clothing gets worn

Best colors for layering:

• red and beige or grey

• pink and brown or green/yellow

• white, camel and denim

more patterns:

• checkered, herringbone, houndstooth, lace.

1. Scarves

first decided whether you prefer:

#1

Or

#2

Or

#3

Where to find each style:

Style 1: Zara

Style 2: Bershka

Style 3: H&M

p.s. thank you for being here and for reading!! let me know in the comments if you like this type of posts, if so, share it with someone that would like it as well!

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if you haven’t already:

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September approaching shouldn’t lead to a call from your bank. It’s not that serious and it’s not realistic for most families.

This month should be about new beginnings, learning, and doing something for yourself, not a competition over who bought more.

So, you can enjoy watching those TikToks where they have it all together: perfectly organized rooms, color-coded notes, and neat handwriting dancing on a 80€ notebook.

But, don’t let it make you feel bad.

September is for studying, not shopping.

You probably already have most of what you need for a fresh start. Sometimes, you just need to make what you already own feel new again.

Reset on a Budget:

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1. Haircut — even a small trim can do wonders, both for your hair and for you feeling put-together.

2. Clean your backpack and shoes — make them feel new again; wash, wipe, throw out old receipts and wrappers.

3. Fix or donate old clothes — go through your closet and see what needs to be repaired, and what donated.

4. Reorganize your closet — if you are tight on space, store away your summer/vacation clothes and make school ones easier to find.

5. Clean and organize your laptop — delete old files and pictures, so it’s easier to store new stuff; also, update your google calendar, notion, etc…

6. Nails — if within budget, book an appointment, if not, do them at home with a nail polish you already have.

7. Go through your school supplies — on a piece of paper try our all the pens, pencils, markers, etc…see what still works and what has run out.

8. Plan a few basic outfits — this will save you so much time, especially on “i don’t have anything to wear” days.

9. Create a realistic routine — not a perfect, 110% energy one you will follow the first three days. but, one that seems possible even on worst, busiest days. when to wake up, when to go to sleep, meal plan, leaving the house by…

10. Have a maintenance day — a day dedicated to “everything shower” and any other body/hair/self - care you might need.

P.S. remember that social media is fake, that you don’t need expensive supplies for good grades (in most cases). never forget why you’re sitting in that room and the potential that lies within you! your worth is not connected with what you own.

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Sitting in my nightgown,

Cold silk on my knees,

Gently moving as it pleases.

Moon whispering secrets back to me,

Feeling bad I am the only one talking,

Softly stroking my head,

Tonight I am not in my bed.

I lay on the clouds,

Smoking and listening to the sounds.

They make me feel seen.

Not to be mean,

But what does the moon know,

If nothing and everything.

Today we are discussing a book by Dolly Alderton, Everything I Know About Love.

This book was a rollercoaster of characters and emotions, of the writer and reader, me. I wanted this book for so long. I loved the way it looked, the title written on a beautiful shade of yellow. I thought it would be life-changing. It isn’t. But that’s not on Dolly. She made such a girly, easy-to-read, perfect-to-unwind-with book.

I had a bit of an odd relationship with this book, I must confess. It took me almost a year to finish it. On occasion, I would pick it up, read 30 pages and put it back in my drawer for the next four months. And again, and again. I finally decided it was time to finish it. At the beginning, I was disappointed and confused as to why I was reading multiple recipes I didn’t ask for. However, the characters started developing, the stories got more real. At times, her life was funny, serious, sad, and then all at once.

My favorite character was Farly. The way she was written is what made me love the book. It had too many ups and downs for my liking, but it still found a way to sneak in and leave this warm and cute feeling inside of me. The “for the hope of it all” ending, the older-sister advice, the inevitable human trial and error of life events and doings. Maybe I expected too much. Maybe that’s what the book is all about.

What did Dolly promise us about our 20s?

Parties, boys, hangouts, drunk stories, friends, boys, love, friends, loss, friends.

In that decade, she wasn’t aware of it, but her 20s were everything. Ten years where you are the coolest person ever and have superpowers. You can try, embarrassingly fail, fall on your bum, literally, lose and gain friends, love, money, flats, and it wouldn’t be a huge deal because you have time and you’re young. It’s almost expected of you. You can do whatever and however you want. You are allowed to.

Maybe that’s why we romanticize our 20s so much. It is the decade where making mistakes almost feels like part of the job description. You can change your mind, change your friends, change your job, move somewhere new, fall in love with the wrong person and recover from it. You are still figuring things out, and everyone seems to understand that.

There is time.

Or at least, that is what we tell ourselves.

It also makes me wonder why we fear adulthood so much. What exactly are we afraid of losing? The freedom? The ridiculousness? The ability to make a mistake and blame it on being young? Or simply the comfort of knowing that we have more time to figure out who we are?

Maybe the 20s feel so magical because they are the last years where uncertainty can be romanticized instead of feared.

Does getting older also mean losing your magic?

Dolly mentions that she and her friends stopped taking pictures of silly roadsigns. They didn’t bother to stop or leave a bus just to take a silly-faced selfie. But does that really have to do with age? Or is it maybe a decision that happened over time? An outgrown habit?

Because getting older doesn’t necessarily mean losing your magic. Maybe your humor just changed. Developed, some might say.

We have this strange idea that adulthood is where fun goes to die. That one day you wake up and suddenly you no longer want to stay out until four in the morning, take stupid pictures, make impulsive decisions or laugh until your stomach hurts, and that this must mean something has gone wrong.

But maybe growing up simply means that your life starts looking different.

You might still take the silly picture. You might just take it on your way home from work instead of at three in the morning. You might still have ridiculous conversations with your friends, but now there is a discussion about taxes somewhere between them. You might still get dressed up for no reason, but maybe you have a meeting at nine the next morning.

The magic doesn’t necessarily disappear.

Maybe it just becomes less obvious.

Is the book really about love, or is it about growing up?

Throughout the whole book, these two topics are inked onto each page without a mistake. At the beginning of the book, Dolly and Farly dreaded being teenagers, especially Dolly. She couldn’t wait for the wonders of what she thought adulthood would be back then: being in her 20s, no curfew, parties, boyfriends, shopping, living alone. Then she told us about her love life, jobs, friends she loved, laughed with and was jealous of, their boyfriends, her therapist, and all the little things that made up the years in between.

Then she finished the book freaking out about her 30s and not being where she wanted to be, where she expected herself to be. But she was with who she wanted to be. Not necessarily romantically, but platonically. Her girls had been with her since page one, and maybe that’s what it’s all about.

Maybe the title is slightly misleading. Maybe Everything I Know About Love is actually about everything Dolly learned because of love, friendship, growing up, losing people, finding people and becoming someone different along the way.

And maybe that’s why I didn’t find it life-changing.

Because I was expecting an answer.

Instead, I got a collection of experiences.

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So, did I like it?

Yes. Would I call it life-changing? No. Would I recommend it? Absolutely, but with the right expectations.

Don’t pick it up expecting to discover the secret to love. Don’t expect every chapter to move you. Let it be what it is: a warm, messy, girly little collection of growing up.

And perhaps that’s why it took me almost a year to finish.

Maybe I needed to be in the right mood for it. Maybe I needed to grow into it a little.

Because sometimes a book doesn’t change your life.

Sometimes it simply sits quietly beside you while you are living it.

I imagined having a large group of friends, or at least one. My person. The one everyone in films somehow stumbles upon during orientation week. I imagined living with amazing roommates who I would eventually get to call my girls. We would host themed dinners, spend too much money on brunch, wander through museums on random Sundays and end the evening on our tiny balcony with tea in our hands, talking about life as though we had already figured it out.

Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that this was what university looked like. I am not sure whether it was television, social media or simply hope, but I believed that moving away would automatically bring belonging with it.

Instead, I discovered that adulthood is much quieter.

Making friends is no longer something that happens because you sit next to someone in class every day. Everyone arrives carrying their own worries, deadlines and expectations. People commute. They work. They rush home after lectures. You can spend an entire day surrounded by people and still feel strangely alone. Not because nobody likes you, but because everyone is trying so hard to build a life that there is very little space left to accidentally become part of someone else’s.

I also thought I would have time for everything. Morning runs before class. Three homemade meals a day. A clean apartment. A balanced routine. Time to study, time to socialise, time to rest.

Reality looked very different.

Most days, I was simply trying to study enough and sleep enough. Dinner became whatever was quickest to make or whatever could arrive at my door the fastest. My laundry waited longer than it should have. My room was not always tidy. Sometimes exercising meant walking to the library instead of taking the bus.

None of it looked particularly glamorous.

I think we underestimate how much of becoming an adult is quietly lowering the expectations we had for ourselves and replacing perfection with survival.

For a while, it also felt like the only thing that mattered was my grades.

Nobody actually told me that.

I did.

Somewhere in my head, one transcript became the measure of my future. That piece of paper at the end of the year suddenly felt like the only thing recruiters would ever see. The voice in my head became louder than any professor ever was.

You’ve worked for twenty years.

Why would you stop trying now?

What if everyone else gets the internship?

What if they get the job and you don’t?

What if this is the year that decides everything?

Looking back now, I realise how cruel I had become to myself.

It is strange how easily ambition turns into fear when you stop seeing success as something you are working towards and start seeing it as something you are constantly failing to reach.

The funny thing is that none of my favourite memories from university have anything to do with a grade.

They are the ordinary moments I never expected to remember.

Walking home after class when the streets were finally quiet.

Calling my family because I missed them more than I wanted to admit.

Buying myself flowers after finishing an exam.

Finding a café where I could sit for hours without feeling guilty for doing nothing.

Realising that I had somehow survived another week I thought would break me.

University has taught me many things that were never written on a syllabus.

It taught me that loneliness and being alone are not always the same thing.

That friendships rarely arrive looking like they do in television shows.

That taking care of yourself is much harder than anyone admits when nobody reminds you to eat vegetables or go to bed at a reasonable hour.

That sometimes success quietly steals your attention from everything else worth noticing.

I still worry about what comes next.

Interviews.

Jobs.

Rent.

Taxes.

The strange realisation that one day there will no longer be semesters dividing my life into manageable pieces.

The future feels enormous.

Sometimes I wish someone would tell me that everything will work out exactly the way I hope it will.

But maybe nobody can.

Maybe growing up is accepting that certainty was never promised in the first place.

When I look back at the version of myself who packed her suitcase and imagined balcony conversations every evening, I don’t feel embarrassed anymore. I understand why she believed those things. She wasn’t naïve. She was hopeful.

And although university turned out to be much lonelier, much messier and much less cinematic than I expected, it quietly gave me something I wasn’t looking for.

It introduced me to myself.

Maybe that was the point all along.

Open TikTok and search for “Lush haul.” Within seconds, you will find videos of people completely replacing their bathroom products. Shampoo? Lush. Conditioner? Lush. Face cleanser? Lush. Body lotion? Lush. It is not even about trying one product anymore. It is about switching your entire routine.

The popularity is not accidental. Lush has become one of the most recognizable names in ethical beauty, with hundreds of stores worldwide and a strong online presence built around sustainability, cruelty-free products and activism. The brand has managed to become more than a cosmetics company. For many consumers, Lush represents a certain type of person: someone who cares about animals, the planet and what they put on their body.

But this made me wonder: when did buying a product become proof of having certain values? And more importantly, is Lush actually the ethical alternative we believe it is, or have we simply found a brand that makes us feel like we are making better choices?

First, let’s give credit where it is deserved.

Lush has built its reputation around ethics for decades, long before sustainability became one of the biggest marketing trends in beauty. The company has actively campaigned against animal testing, not only by refusing to test its own products on animals but also by funding and supporting wider campaigns against the practice. This distinction matters because there is a difference between avoiding something because consumers expect it and actively fighting against it because you believe it is wrong.

Packaging is another area where Lush has made a noticeable impact. One of the brand’s most recognizable ideas is the concept of “naked” products. Shampoo bars, bath bombs, massage bars and soaps often come without traditional plastic packaging. According to Lush, around 65% of its products are sold without packaging, while its packaging strategy focuses heavily on using recycled materials and reducing unnecessary waste. The company also states that its shampoo bars have prevented millions of plastic bottles from being produced, with one bar lasting approximately 50 to 80 washes, depending on use.

These changes are not meaningless. In an industry where products are often wrapped in layers of plastic and packaging that is quickly thrown away, reducing unnecessary materials is a real improvement. However, this is also where the conversation becomes more complicated, because sustainability is not only about what we can immediately see. A package-free product is easy to recognize. A colorful store filled with handmade products is easy to associate with being ethical. But the reality behind a product is always more complex than what appears on the shelf.

The price of being ethical

One thing that immediately stands out about Lush is the price. A shampoo bar usually costs around €12 to €15, a conditioner bar can cost around €13 to €18, fresh face masks are often around €14 to €17, and some body lotions can go beyond €25. Compared to many drugstore alternatives, the difference is significant, especially when a basic bottle of shampoo can cost only €3 to €5.

This raises an uncomfortable question: has ethical consumption become something that only certain people can afford?

While some people have the option to choose the more sustainable product, many others are simply choosing what fits their budget. Being unable to afford the most ethical option does not mean someone does not care about the environment. Sometimes responsible consumption looks different depending on someone’s circumstances.

At the same time, the price comparison is not always as simple as looking at the number on the shelf. Lush argues that its prices reflect handmade production, ethical sourcing, higher-quality ingredients and concentrated formulas. Their shampoo bars are a good example. Although the initial price is higher, the company claims that one shampoo bar can last around 50 to 80 washes, making it comparable to several bottles of liquid shampoo.

This changes the question. Instead of only asking “why does this cost more?” we should also ask “how long does this product actually last?”

The problem with buying values

The part that interests me most is not only Lush itself. It is the way we interact with brands. Because sometimes we are not only buying a product. We are buying a feeling.

The feeling that we are making the right choice. The feeling that we are becoming the kind of person we want to be.

And brands understand this.

Lush does not only sell shampoo bars and bath bombs. It sells a story about caring, about being conscious and about choosing differently. There is nothing automatically wrong with that. Brands have always represented something beyond the product itself.

The question is whether we are still thinking critically, or whether we have started believing that the product alone creates the identity.

When sustainability becomes an aesthetic

This is where TikTok makes the conversation even more interesting. Ethical consumption has also become visually appealing. The colorful products, the paper bags, the minimalist bathrooms and the “switching my entire routine to Lush” videos all turn sustainability into something that can be displayed.

Sometimes the focus shifts from “how can I consume better?” to “how can I make my consumption look better?”

Those are two very different things.

Buying a shampoo bar is not the problem. Buying something because it aligns with your values is not the problem. The problem appears when we start believing that one purchase defines us.

A person who buys Lush but throws away half-used products every month is still participating in unnecessary consumption. A person who buys a cheaper product because that is what they can afford is not automatically less thoughtful. Intentions, habits and awareness matter too.

Is Lush perfect?

No. And it should not be treated as if it is.

Like any large company, Lush has faced criticism over different issues, including workplace concerns, pricing and questions about consistency. Ethical companies should not be protected from criticism simply because their mission sounds good. In fact, they should probably be held to an even higher standard.

But after looking into the brand, I also do not think it is fair to dismiss Lush as just another marketing trick. The company has made genuine efforts in areas where many beauty companies have not. Its approach to packaging, animal testing and ethical sourcing shows that the brand is not simply copying a trend.

The impact is real.

The question is not whether Lush is good or bad.

The question is whether we expect one brand to solve a problem created by an entire industry.

The conclusion I keep coming back to

Maybe the most sustainable choice is not finding the perfect company. Maybe it is becoming a more thoughtful consumer. Buying less. Using what we already own. Researching before replacing everything. Supporting companies that genuinely try to improve.

Lush is not a solution to all problems. But it is an interesting example of what happens when ethics, business and identity all meet in one place.

Because at the end of the day, sustainability is not something you can buy.

It is something you practice.

I’m sorry, but if anything, that made me trust you less.

What happened to professionalism? Or just... saying you’re educated?

Then there’s disgustingly well-read.

Oh, so you only read Lolita and/or The Bell Jar. I got it.

At this point, “disgustingly” has become the official adjective of people who desperately want you to know they’re interesting. It’s no longer enough to be talented, educated, pretty, disciplined, or well-read. You have to be disgustingly all of those things.

And don’t even get me started on Substack. I open the app and see ten different posts titled How to Become Disgustingly Disciplined, How to Be Disgustingly Productive, How to Be Disgustingly Confident. Nine times out of ten, it’s the same advice you’ve already read a hundred times before, just packaged with a word that clearly wants to go viral.

I understand that nobody means anything bad by it. Language changes, and that’s fine. But the repetition is exhausting, especially on an app that prides itself on writing. Sometimes it feels like people choose the title before they choose the idea. I understand why this happens. We all want to be seen. We all want our work, our interests, and our effort to be appreciated. Sometimes following trends is just a way of participating in a conversation, and sometimes we genuinely like the things that become popular. There is nothing wrong with that.

But let’s not jeopardize the very thing we want people to appreciate by turning it into a performance. If you are truly educated, well-read, disciplined, or talented, those things will speak for themselves. They don’t need a word that makes them sound bigger than they are.

I vote we let "disgustingly" go back to describing mold, expired milk, and the occasional public restroom.

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Ten words you can use instead

Instead of disgustingly beautiful... try stunning.

Instead of disgustingly educated... try highly educated. Revolutionary, I know.

Instead of disgustingly well-read... try well-read. It already means what you’re trying to say.

Instead of disgustingly rich... try obscenely rich. At least that one makes sense.

Instead of disgustingly productive... try disciplined.

Instead of disgustingly talented... try exceptionally talented.

Instead of disgustingly confident... try self-assured.

Instead of disgustingly organized... try meticulous.

Instead of disgustingly pretty... just say beautiful. I promise it’ll survive.

This is just a little reminder to live boldly, to be so loud, passionate, and unapologetically yourself that it only bothers the people who are too afraid to do the same.

Because here’s the truth: people who practice self-love and feel secure in themselves rarely judge others for their choices, hobbies, or the way they choose to live.

But if Anna isn’t happy with herself, she’ll probably have something snarky to say about you taking care of yourself. If she’s too scared to try a bold nail design and always plays it safe with milky white, she’ll roll her eyes at your 3D nail art. If she chose the safe career path, she’ll question why you’re freelancing or, heaven forbid, pursuing life as an artist.

You get the idea.

So if you’re going to take one piece of advice from Substack, let it be this: you are allowed to do as many things as you want.

Read twenty pages. Draw two branches. Dance once a month. Practice archery on Wednesdays. Learn pottery, take an improv class, say hi to a stranger, publish your work.

Do anything and everything that gives your mind room to breathe and recover from the weight of everyday life. Yes, it will feel scary until you do it.Then you’ll wonder why you waited so long. It is freeing and highly rewarding. What helped me is to see that everyone is scared and that realisation made me sad. Why have we created such an environment? If this isn’t enough, try to tell yourself what you would tell a friend. It’s okay, I support you and I think that’s a great idea.

Ever since I started practicing this and investing in my hobbies instead of brushing them off (as not to get taken seriously by people because then they can judge me) I feel calmer and softer, finally kind enough to myself.

Be yourself. Try things. Fail. Try again. Or decide it’s not for you and move on. Listen to your heart instead of other people’s fears. And I hope this goes without saying, the people who truly love you will cheer you on, not shrink you down.

Create and love.

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I got ready for the date, used my expensive makeup from Sephora. I showered and shaved. My hair smells like J’adore hair perfume by Dior (retails for 69 euros).

Genuinely, what do men even do to get ready? What’s their routine? If you’re super lucky, they will have a quick shower. However, they’re going to reek of Dior Sauvage. Even picking an outfit is such a non-issue for them. Jeans or pants, T-shirt or button-up and that’s it. They are ready.

The fact that he invited me on the date, for me, means that he has to pay. I saw mixed opinions online, but me and all of my friends agree. Because if you do not have the money to pay, sorry, but you shouldn’t date.

Hi. If you made it this far, I hope you realized this is satire.
Or at least slightly exaggerated. Because the scary part is that it is not that exaggerated.

This idea is everywhere. If he asks to split the bill, block him. If he does not pay, he is not a real man. If he suggests something simple, he is cheap. And if you think I am making this up, I am not. This is literally what people are saying, out loud, confidently. Even bragging about it on TikTok: “I know my values, what does he think inviting me for coffee as a first date?”

There is nothing wrong with a man paying on a first date. It is nice. It can be attractive. In some cultures, it is even expected, otherwise their masculinity disappears or something. But somewhere along the way, a nice gesture turned into a requirement, and a preference turned into a personality trait.

It is completely fine to prefer being treated. It is not fine to act like it is the bare minimum and anything else is disrespect. Because now we are not talking about kindness anymore, we are talking about entitlement. What does he owe you? You are strangers in most cases on a first date. Whether you met through work, friends, or a dating app. What does it prove about him if he doesn’t pay? The same disrespect that can be flipped onto you.

The same people who talk about independence and not needing anyone suddenly have very strong opinions about who should pay. Effort, but only when it comes from the other side. As if the entire value of a person can be summed up by whether they picked up the bill or not.

At this stage, it cannot say much about the person.

Also, can we talk about the pressure this creates? Especially for younger guys. There are boys out there thinking they should not invite a girl they like out because they cannot afford an expensive dinner. As if a date has to be Nobu or Zuma to count. What happened to an ice cream, a walk, something simple where you actually talk?

Now it is less about getting to know someone and more about proving something. And if you cannot prove it financially, you do not even try.

Then there is the “princess treatment” content. Taking his card, not bringing money, only carrying lip gloss. It is funny until it is not. Because at some point it stops being a joke and starts being an expectation.

Suddenly, asking to split is not neutral, it is offensive. Meanwhile, someone can pay for your dinner and still disrespect you in ten different ways, but that does not seem to matter as much.

The part that makes the least sense is what happens after the first date. Because maybe you like being treated in the beginning. Fine. But if you are months into dating and the most you have paid for is one coffee while he is handling everything else, that is not princess treatment. That is imbalance.

Real effort is not expensive. It is consistent. Small things that people overlook because you cannot post them. Opening the door. Walking you home. Bringing you coffee. Being emotionally intelligent. Actually listening, actually understanding you, actually showing up.

That is harder than paying for dinner, but it matters more.

Maybe the problem is not whether he pays or not. Maybe the problem is how quickly we reduce someone’s value to something that can be solved with a card.

Because in the end, paying is easy. Showing up properly is not.

When I was small, I idolized my brother. Not because he was anything extraordinary, but because our parents were so bad that I needed someone good. Usually, when your parents divorce, one of them becomes the bad one. In my situation, they both were.

I think I convinced myself that everything I was missing from them could be found in him. Only now do I realize how unfair that was. He is older, yes, but that does not make him responsible for me.

Still, I am angry.

I am angry that he let me into his world too early. I was nine, sitting around his friends, listening to a man who showed up unannounced talk about how much he hated his mother while trying to sell them colorful drugs I did not understand. The conversations, the sounds, the smells stayed with me. For a while, they made me someone I did not recognize.

Now my friends are going out and discovering that same world. I stay at home. Not because I think I am better than them, but because I have already been there. I got over something before I should have ever been introduced to it.

He still tries to keep in contact. Our conversations are dull, full of pauses and repeated questions. Every phone call starts the same way, just like with our father. Why did you not call me first?

Another thing I am angry about is how differently we were treated. He was given patience, sympathy, room to fail and try again. I had to get things right the first time and move on. He could put already folded clothes away and be praised for it.

I tell myself this anger is not his to carry, that our mom should have known better.

I do not even know him anymore. We have different lives, different routines, different ways of being. I cannot remember what we used to talk about, or why he was once my favorite person in the world. Now it feels like he only cares when it is convenient. Sometimes he acts like a version of our father. He wants to control where I go, but he is never there to pick me up or spend time with me.

There is one memory I cannot let go of.

Our mother once gave us money to go to McDonald’s. I was so happy when he said yes right away. Not excited, but certain. That was enough for me. We walked there together. I remember my legs hurting the next day from trying to keep up with him.

On the way, he said it was nice that our mom suggested it. I agreed. It made the moment feel even better. Then he said we should do it every week. I felt something open up in me. He wanted to spend time together. He said it first.

Then he added that we could walk there, split the money, and go to our friends instead. We could tell her we had a nice time eating burgers.

I remember feeling cold all over. I think I cried on the way back. I still said yes.

Of course, I love him. I want him to be happy and successful. But the things he exposed me to, and the ways he failed me through neglect, do not just disappear.

I do not know what runs in my family that keeps us all so distant from each other. I do not know what runs in me either. It hurts sometimes, even if I pretend it does not.

He is living his life. I am living mine. The difference is that I have learned to live with the distance.

The wind would not bother me. It would play with my hair and bring the smell of flowers closer to me, flowers which I have regularly watered for many years. The house is small, yet not modest. It’s filled with all my memories and things I love. Every piece, material, and the edge of each piece of furniture is calculated and fits perfectly for me.

The dogs play, sometimes outside, sometimes inside, especially when I take the steaming dinner out of the oven. They have made a deal between themselves to always run five circles around my legs. I know that, so I let them.

My mornings are slow and calm, but never lonely. Because I am content. It would be a grave mistake to describe me with such an offensive adjective as careless. I am simply care-free. I take care of my body, and it takes care of me. I enjoy breathing and feel like the luckiest person alive, for having anything and everything.

I could sit on a plastic chair and watch the ants follow their queen and her commands on where to leave today’s treasure. I wouldn’t need stronger stimuli than that. I would never worry, just exist and do what has to be done. But that wouldn’t be a bother as it is in the real world.

Here, you don’t wake up with a headache or go through any pain. Here, you become yourself. You awaken your whole being and finally find out who you are and what you are meant for.

Surely, there are moments when you just want to rant to someone, get it out of your system, and feel better. That is normal. The problem is not the occasional complaint, but the repetition of the same story, told over and over again, with no intention of changing anything about it.

You are my friend. Of course I do not mind you coming to me with problems or questions. I actually love it. You trust me, and I want to know what is going on with you and do anything, within healthy boundaries, to help. But when every single time I see you, you repeat the same monologue about something you asked my opinion on two weeks ago, it becomes different. Not because I know better, and not because I am better, but because you asked. I listened, I thought about it, I gave you the most sincere advice I could. And then you said, you’re right, and did absolutely nothing with it. So when you invite me for an iced latte, I hesitate. Just a little.

At some point, you start to realize that this was never really about fixing anything. You need to know people well enough, or at least observe them closely, to understand what they actually need. Some friends genuinely want your input. They value honesty, not cruelty disguised as honesty, and they take what you say seriously. Others simply need to say out loud that they had a bad day. They are not looking for solutions or even sympathy, they just want to be heard. And that is fine. In fact, it can be healthy. The difference is what happens after. They share, they release it, and then they move on. They ask about you. They change the topic. They continue with their day. That is not draining. What becomes exhausting is when someone keeps returning to the same problem, asking the same questions, and staying exactly where they were.

Why nothing ever changes is harder to answer. Honestly, we can only speculate. But one of the most frustrating patterns is how easily people start tying their identity to a problem. “These things always happen to me,” they say, while repeating the same avoidable mistake. Maybe they got caught in the rain because they did not check the weather app. Once or twice, sure. But every time? That is not bad luck. That is a choice. Or the classic, “I am always late, it is terrible.” Then do something about it. But instead, it becomes a personality trait, something quirky, something to joke about, something that makes them them. At the same time, it would be unfair not to acknowledge that there is comfort in familiarity, even when it is negative. At least it is predictable. At least it requires no change. Still, at some point, awareness matters, because your habits do not just shape your life, they shape your relationships too.

There is also the illusion of effort. Asking for advice feels like doing something. It feels productive, like progress is being made. But it is not. It is only the beginning. Real effort starts when you take that advice and act on it, even in small, imperfect ways. Without that, it remains just a conversation, repeated and refined, but ultimately unchanged.

And then there is the part no one really wants to admit. The problem is not that you are not taking my advice. The problem is the loop. At some point, it becomes exhausting, not because I do not care, but because I do. It is frustrating to watch someone you care about stay stuck, especially when the way out seems so obvious. Slowly, something shifts. You start avoiding them. You hesitate before picking up the phone. Conversations that used to feel easy begin to feel heavy. They talk, you listen. They vent, you absorb. And somewhere in all of that, you disappear. They do not ask about your life. They call at the worst possible times. They unload everything, and then they leave. You feel guilty for feeling this way, but also tired. Eventually, a quiet distance forms.

The truth is, you cannot want it more than they do. As a friend, you want better for them. You want them to stop wasting their time, to take care of themselves, to change the pattern. But no amount of advice will work until they are ready. Until then, nothing you say will make a real, lasting difference. And that does not make you a bad friend. It just means you are human.

It is worth being careful with these kinds of friendships. Try to recognize whether this is a pattern of someone using you, or a good friend going through a difficult phase. There is a difference. And maybe the most uncomfortable part is this: we have all been that person at some point. Which makes it easier to understand, but also harder to excuse. In the end, it is still your responsibility to decide what you tolerate, and to protect your peace.

Journaling became aesthetic.
Somewhere along the way, it stopped being honest.

Journaling has become very popular in 2025/2026, with all the re-branding campaigns and TikToks. But of course, the actual act of writing your thoughts down has existed for maaaaaany decades, think of your mom, grandma, favorite writer, etc. What we see online now is much different than what journaling used to be in their time.

Now it’s all about the covers, not the insides.

Mine is 490 euros, real leather, chipmunk tail, with exotic dragon’s eyelashes; what about yours?
Ohhh, you didn’t get it in Paris? It’s still cute.

The Myth of the Perfect Journal

We wait or long for the perfect journal to start. Then we feel bad writing in it. Starting a new notebook can be stressful, what if you smudge the title, or the pigment goes through the next two pages?

But guess what? It doesn’t have to be perfect.

The same way you might wait for your life to get more “interesting” before documenting it.

Remember the mistake we all made as kids… we never used the special stickers because we thought there would be a better moment.

With the notebook, you have two options: use an old one you already have lying around, or buy one you like. But do not concern yourself too much with the brand. Stay on track with what’s important, and that’s not how important the pages are, but what you do with them.

The expectation of your handwriting looking perfect will only limit you. What if it was wobbly because you were excited? Or because you were late for a train to see your grandparents but still wanted to remember it?

Is that not worth it?

What if it’s messy because your pen is dying… isn’t it beautiful that you used it so much to write and keep the moments forever?

Focus on the moment. The story. The feeling. The idea.

In a few years, when you read it again, you won’t remember that one “p” was bigger than the others.

Feeling like you have nothing interesting to journal about will plant an unnecessary negative image of your life.

Journaling has no rules, and your life doesn’t have to feel like you’re the most popular girl in high school in order to do it.

Again, we are not performing, we are living.

You deserve to write it down.

A Conversation With Yourself

Journaling is a tool for building routine and getting in touch with yourself.

Yes, it can look like warm tea, soft jazz, a candle burning slowly.

But it doesn’t always have to be that.

Sometimes it’s five quiet minutes before bed.
Sometimes it’s writing in your phone notes on the bus.

The ritual is helpful, but the honesty is what matters.

Your mind will recognize that it’s safe. It will begin turning emotions into sentences, organizing thoughts that were tangled in your head.

With that, you can work.

It becomes easier to share something with someone when you didn’t know how to word it before. It becomes easier to understand yourself.

Over time, you’ll detect patterns. Sometimes small yet crucial ones.

What drained you.
What overwhelmed you.
What scares you.
Where you could have responded better.

And one day, reading those pages will feel bittersweet, because you’ll realize how far you’ve come.

Making Space for Your Thoughts

Sometimes we don’t slow down because we don’t want to face what’s there.

Finding time can be difficult. But we also need to acknowledge the emotional avoidance we ignore.

Ask yourself:

What am I avoiding right now?
What is something people do that I pretend doesn’t bother me?
What is one good thing I achieved today?
What would I do if fear wasn’t holding me back?
What are my ins and outs for this year?

On hard days, instead of writing nothing, write one sentence.

Or be mad. Vent. Scribble.

It’s your space.

Care. Care always, but about the right things.

When you stumble upon your journal in ten years, know that you showed up for yourself. That you listened to the younger version of you.

There is no perfect moment. Only this one.

Just be honest and write.

If this resonated, send it to someone who’s waiting for the “perfect” notebook.

You always want one, but you don’t find the time. You know you should own it, yet you don’t prioritize going out of your way after a long day to buy it, even though you could use it a lot. You always put it off, maybe even borrow it from people, and each time you have to give it back, you promise yourself you’ll go to town and get your own. It felt so good having it for a day or two, you think to yourself. It was comfortable, I looked pretty, and I had a nice time in it. However, you wonder if maybe, if you had your own, the feeling wouldn’t have to stop. But then responsibilities pile up again, and you postpone it and postpone it until it starts to lose its importance in your head. Or you think that you don’t need just another shirt and maybe should save up for something else. That is, until you need it again. You create a loop.

Also, a white shirt always gets dirty. Always. No matter how careful you are. However, never skip on your favorite pasta or ice cream just to keep it clean. You can always wash it, the stains fade, the happiness, I mean the shirt, is restored.

But, as you know, quality matters. Just because you really need it, or it’s cheaper and more convenient, doesn’t mean you should get it at the first place you see it. Especially if it’s not your fit. Because then it won’t be as good as it should be. It won’t last as long as you hoped and paid for, and it won’t make you look as good as you anticipated. Work a bit more, save up if you have to, and then buy a good, long-lasting one. Because happiness is not an overnight thing, unfortunately like many things in life.

It requires loads of hard work, honesty, vulnerability, discipline, and sacrifice. But, oh man, is it worth it.

Dear reader, I hope that you never stop wearing your white shirt. And if you currently don’t have it, I hope you believe you’re worth it and that it’s going to look stunning on you. Because everyone deserves one. Don’t forget the importance of it, of going out of your way to make your life more enjoyable and comfortable. Even though it’s not always easy, due to many circumstances and the different opportunities each of us has, we need a white shirt. No amount of good grades, parties, or partners will make up for it.

Yeah, running is healthy for you. But, you know — the one on the track, not the kind that makes you chase trends and ever-changing yet still unattainable standards.

Because why are you spending your last dime on a gym set that goes for over 100 euros and trying to tone it down with humor? Why are we making irresponsibility funny now?

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely do value buying something nice for myself and do see the appeal of a nice gym set. However, I do think we have taken it too far and neglected some things and values because of that.

It goes so far as people, when traveling, checking for fancy places to go out or eat rather than informing themselves about monuments. (This does not come from a place of me being a saint or saying that going out is bad, just that there should be balance, at least.) Being uneducated by choice is pathetic. It is such a privilege, and it doesn’t take only a “history nerd” to appreciate these cultural heritages.

Be aware, be open. Like fashion and expensive restaurants, stay at 5-star hotels — sure. But make sure you work on yourself from the inside as well. I see so many empty people that it is sad. Obviously, we don’t have to like the same things or share many traits, but if I cannot hear anything interesting (not even necessarily “smart”) from you, other than “tonight Sephora has a sale” and “Zara tomorrow, but only online, BE CAREFUL,” us knowing each other will never deepen.

The important thing is: like what you like and be unapologetic about it. But whatever it is, when there is too much of it, it gets boring. There is nothing wrong with going to the mall, buying makeup, getting coffee, or buying a planner. The planner is the perfect example of how we like the feeling we get when deciding to change (and having an excuse to buy something) rather than the actual process of doing so, and I’m saying that because I know you have 10+ planners sitting on your shelf (and I am not immune to this myself).

The difference between preparation and appearance has gotten mixed up with actual growth. Preparation can help sometimes, making change less stressful and harsh, being the small push someone might need…but it can’t replace the work itself. Because not everything is a trend, an aesthetic, or meant to be romanticized.

Trying new things is healthy. Let’s be real, staying the same forever sounds horrifying to me. Changing is human. Personality and qualities should evolve, not “fly” away with every new trend that pops up on our screens. Always make sure there is something steady and pure underneath. Exist.

Don’t limit yourself. Invest in more than your clothes. Dig deeper than what’s served to you.

Dear stranger,

A new school year is terrifying — even if no one admits it out loud. Regardless of your age, gender, race, or economic status, stepping into those hallways again can feel like walking into battle. And “we should all just be nicer to each other”? It rarely works. Teenagers are often self-centered, obnoxious, mean, and clueless. Sadly, adults don’t always do better.

So much can go wrong — a new city where everything is unfamiliar, old wounds from bullying, or the weight of boredom in a small town. But listen: you don’t have to be miserable. You matter, and nothing can take that away.

Here are a few thoughts, pieces of advice, and kind words — things I wish someone had told me:

If you’re the new kid:
Change is scary. Maybe the move feels unfair and you miss your friends. That’s real. But here’s the truth: this is where you are now, and you can still make something good out of it. You can miss your old home and still build a new one. You can hold your old friendships and still make new ones. Both things can exist together.

On your first day, wear something you love and listen to music that calms you. Yes, it might feel awkward when the teacher introduces you or you don’t know where to sit. But here’s the secret: we always judge ourselves more harshly than anyone else. And if someone does judge you? That speaks more about their emptiness than about you. Everyone has been new at something. You are not weird. You are simply beginning, and beginnings are messy but temporary.

In your first week, learn the basics — where things are, which groups hang out where, and what activities exist. Join something if it sparks your interest. Even small talk can lead to something real. And if you’re brave enough to approach someone first? That’s power. If they aren’t kind in return, that’s on them. You tried, and trying is enough. You will be fine, no matter what.

If you’re being bullied:
This can crush your spirit and make even waking up unbearable. Please, reach out to someone you trust — a teacher, parent, sibling, counselor. And if the first adult you tell doesn’t act? Don’t stop. Try again. That failure is on them, not you. Too often, adults forget what it feels like to be a teenager drowning in cruelty. But you deserve better, and you are allowed to demand change.

Maybe the school steps in. Maybe a therapist gives you tools. Maybe your parents move you somewhere new. Whatever the path looks like, it can get better. But only if you speak. Staying silent will only hurt more. You are not weak for asking for help; you are brave for refusing to let someone else’s hate define you.

And if you witness bullying? Do not look away. Do not let silence become permission. Step in, or find someone who can. Even if you don’t know the victim — they’ll remember you as the one person who didn’t walk away.

If you don’t fit in:
You’ve been here for years, technically fine with everyone, but not close with anyone. And you wonder: what’s wrong with me? The answer is — nothing. Sometimes it’s the town, the small-mindedness, the lack of shared interests. Sometimes others had their circles before school even began — through sports, church, or family ties. Sometimes, yes, fear keeps us from reaching out. But it isn’t always that deep. Sometimes two people desperately want a friend but are both too scared to speak first. One word could change that.

Take the risk. Maybe you’ll gain a lifelong friend. Maybe just a school-year companion. Either way, you win because it was real. It gave you memories worth keeping.

And listen closely: never shrink yourself to fit in. Never fake a taste in music or join gossip to seem “cool.” It won’t last, and it will drain you. True belonging comes from being yourself, even if that means standing alone for a while. Better to be real and lonely than fake and surrounded.

In summary:

You hold more power than you feel right now. You are worthy of kindness, love, and real connections. If this school year feels lonely or harsh, don’t blame yourself. The cruelty of others is a mirror of them, not you. Remember: one good friend is enough to change everything. And even if you stand alone, you will still be okay. Focus on the things you love — the subjects, the hobbies, the dreams that excite you. Friends come and go, always for a reason.

Be open. Be brave. Everyone’s timeline is different. Some find their person at five years old; others stumble into them senior year. Some friendships last decades, others dissolve overnight. Life is unpredictable. Don’t punish yourself for where you are. You are not late. You are not less. You are exactly where you’re meant to be.

I often think about how I lost you as a kid. Gosh, how the world lost you as a kid too.

I reminisce about the benches near the river you liked, the necklaces you’re not wearing anymore, and all the musical instruments that, even before you left us, were collecting dust in your basement. But you liked to run your fingers nimbly on a chord or two from time to time, just to check if they still worked. I wonder whose possession they’re in now, and if they even know about you.

I think about your brother, who was just a baby. I think about how weird time is—that it’s been eight years. How cruel of it not to wait, but rather to pass without you. How you’d love the fact that I’m still writing—just like you were once. How I’ve never heard of any of the bands you talked to me about. How I wonder if you’d even recognize my now-adult face on the street—if we were given the luxury of seeing each other again, that is.

Many moons ago, you wrote me something deeply touching for my birthday, and I still know it by heart, pigeon. But sadly, you won’t be able to read this. Still, I write because no one can take away my memories of you. How unique, funny, mean, and hurt you were. An odd combination for a fourteen-year-old. But most of all, you were scared and shielded. All the love you carried scared you, and all the rejection you received hurt you.

But you were always safe with me, and the fact that not only you knew that, but told me so, eased this as much as losing someone can be eased.

I often thought about where we would be now if you were still here—best friends, friends, strangers? But I always came to the same conclusion: I’d even be enemies with you if it meant you were here with us. I’d live with the fact that we are not close anymore if you were laughing and breathing.

Despite what you thought, given how young and clueless we were, I’d never forget you, my dear friend. I told you that then, and I’m telling you now. I just hope you can hear me now just like you could then.

You can tell when a flower was picked with thought — the same way you can tell when love is.

I don’t care how old I am, or how much I have in my pocket — or my loved one.
Please, don’t stop with the hand-picked flowers.

Not necessarily or solely to bring us back to our youth — making us feel like kids again, which we already have a way of doing with each other — but to never stop letting me know that I’m seen.
To never make me wonder whether I’m on your mind.
Whether you see me in all the beauty the world has to offer when you’re wandering the streets.

For you and for me — find beauty wherever you turn, and I hope you’ll think of me.
It’s not the petals or the stems I care about — it’s the pause in your walk, the way you stop to notice beauty and tie it back to me.

There has always been more to flowers than meets the eye.
They’re not a “fix” when you don’t show up — emotionally or physically — nor a mere decoration.

They’re a symbol. A soft, gentle whisper of I love you, my darling.
These beautiful petals were dancing in the wind and they reminded me of the way your soft curls do too.
Please accept this, and accept me.
I tried picking the best ones for you — look, this one is yet to bloom.
How lucky are we to see it together.

Best of all, you know how much I love them — and how much my skin would thicken if I were to receive them with anything but pure intention.
Sounds silly, I know.

But don’t use them to better yourself.
Or to make someone forgive and forget.

Because flowers don’t make you forget.
They make you remember.
That’s one of the things that makes them beautiful.

They make you remember why you’re here — in this exact moment, with this exact person.

Each petal carries a story, a compliment, a shared laugh, and the warmth of your shoulders.
Don’t make me see them any other way.

Don’t send them my way through a mailman or a fancy florist carrying a big bouquet without your eyes behind them.
Because what do you think makes them shine so much?

It’s not the flowers, but you — the way your eyes find me even in the smallest, simplest things.
It’s the silent message that says, “It’s my way of saying, ‘You’re never far from where I am.”

We always swim around them — only the brave swim with them. But don’t mistake movement for healing. Because what’s the point of swimming, if you never face what’s beneath the surface?

Let me introduce you to a Great White Shark — fast, aggressive, often feared but rarely seen. Sounds a lot like traumas, doesn’t it? Or maybe yours looks more like the Hammerhead Shark, with its unusual head shape which gives them a wide field of vision. Creating a sense of trauma distorting how you look at everything, or having an unshakable feeling that your trauma is looking over you whatever you do. Or, in some cases, we have ‘a symptom of a Nurse Shark.’ Bottom-dweller that isn’t aggressive, and it rests a lot. It doesn’t chase. It just waits. Hidden on the ocean floor until one day, you step in the wrong place and it’s suddenly there, dragging up everything you thought you’d buried.

Much like sharks, traumas are more scared of us than we should be of them, and traumas, like sharks, are scared we are going to ‘kill’ them and they will disappear. It fears being brought to the surface — being named, faced, and let go. Because what do we know about sharks? — They need to keep moving to stay alive. So do unspoken traumas. They survive on motion — on the mental loops, the silence, the stories we tell ourselves to keep from drowning. I’d like you to pause and think about what parts of yourself you have kept out of the water entirely, afraid they might attract sharks. Is it a simple scratch on your knee from a family climbing trip? Or a wound of someone you once trusted deeply?

Like traumas, we know sharks are out there, somewhere, so we choose not to approach them, hence most people stay in their comfort zone their whole lives. Swim with your sharks. Don’t let them scare you away or restrain you from reaching the best, warmest part of the ocean. Allow the shark to show its teeth, and eventually become your guide, not your threat. See where the shark lives, what it does, and how that affects you. Don’t just let your trauma circle you while you keep on feeding it.

Because not all sharks are dangerous. And not all trauma means destruction.

There’s a misconception that facing pain means drowning in it. That there is no light at the end of the tunnel. But sometimes, surrender isn’t collapse — it’s transformation.

Don’t allow yourself to miss out on the whole ocean because of sharks.