i feel like im in a race with myself. not against others, not against the thief who is so intimately known as time. it’s an indescribable feeling — want to run, crawl, shed the skin that is yours to move to a different space. vibrate on a different frequency. i yearn for change.

on paper, it all looks so pristine. i “have my life together,” right? but what does that even mean? sure, I am in school and I have friends and family who I love. that said, is that all it takes to be put together?

it’s gotten to the point where im running, faster, harder than ever before. be it running away, or what i think, is so feverently running towards (towards what, i don’t know yet). at this point, my heart is pounding, sweat forming atop my lip, and i am damn near throwing up.

each thought, i focus so intentionally on. each emotion or problem that people carry, I will also hold so delicately. but at some point, holding each delicate piece of my life or others is surely going to shatter.

in the last few months, i’ve learned that there is only so much intentionality I can have. sometimes, I wonder, if my intentionality is a desire for control manifesting in another form. i love life. i love people. i want to live it. and in living, that means also feeling this innate desire to be free. to run, one foot in front of the other, towards or away, and just feel.

candidly,

avie ❤︎‬

This year, my life got full in the way that actually matters. There is palpable growth and change on the horizon, in careers, finding the right partner, and completing more exams than you can imagine. Big decisions compounded with difficult transitions. Moments when I needed support but didn't know how to ask for it. And yet, suddenly, my phone went quiet. No texts. No calls. No “thinking of you.” Nothing. At least, not from the people I expected.

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At first, I made excuses for them. They must be busy too. Life gets in the way. Everyone is just doing their best. And while some of that is true, I noticed something that was harder to ignore: the silence didn’t come from people disappearing into their own worlds. It came from people choosing different conversations. That’s when the question started to creep in, gently at first, then louder: Why am I making so much effort for people who don’t make it back for me?

It’s a hard thing to admit in your 20s, especially when you’ve built part of your identity around being the “good friend.” The one who remembers, reaches out, holds space. Letting go of that role, even slightly, feels like I’m failing at something. But what I’m learning is that reciprocity is not too much to ask for; it is truly the bare minimum in a relationship, whatever the nature of it.

Did it hurt? Realizing that my relationships are changing because I stopped putting in the effort? Yes. Absolutely. It still does. In a sad way, it was not entirely unexpected either. However, this whole situation has not been all bad, because in the quiet left behind by those one-sided connections, other people stepped forward. People I hadn’t expected. Friends who texted just to check in. Who noticed my absence. Who didn’t need me to perform consistently to earn care.

I still care deeply. I still love showing up for the people in my life. But I’m no longer pouring from an empty cup into hands that never reach back. I am choosing to invest in relationships that foster growth and genuineness, not those out of obligation.

The phone does work both ways. And now, when it doesn’t ring, I finally understand that the silence is an answer too. An answer that tells me where I’m valued. An answer that makes room for people who genuinely care. An answer that’s teaching me how to choose myself.

Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is stop calling—and see who decides to call back.

Candidly,

Avie ❤︎‬

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Sometimes, when my thoughts start looping about where I’m going, who I’m becoming, whether I’m doing any of this right—I look at that photo and ask a simple question: Would she be proud of who I am? Gosh, I really hope she would be.

I found this photo on Pinterest, and I feel like it adequately captures the image I would have if I were able to sit with my younger self. The pensive gaze. The curious confidence of little me. Just a conversation between two versions of myself, young and new.

Listen, I’ve always been forward-thinking, imagining more for my life. But not in a greedy way, more in a spiritual or emotional sense. And yet, alongside all that wanting, there’s a quiet doubt that follows me around, lingering in the shadows. When I imagine a future version of myself, it’s not vague or abstract. She’s crystal clear in my mind. She’s polished. Clean. Confident without being hard. Amusing but in a quiet, observant way. Kind. Warm. Someone whom people naturally trust. A true leader. There’s also a look to her. An undeniable presence. A way she moves through the world that feels intentional, composed, unmistakably her. And it’s a version of myself I deeply want.

Yet, still, I hesitate.

I catch myself wondering whether that version is actually in alignment with me. Whether wanting her means betraying who I already am. Whether I’m reaching for something artificial, something learned, or something that doesn’t belong to me. Is this who the younger version of me anticipated being?

And then another, more honest, thought always follows: Why the heck would it not? Why can’t that be me? Why is that version always framed as somewhere else? Something unattainable? Later, someday, or for someone braver or more certain than I am? When I really sit with it, my values don’t change across these versions. Kindness, curiosity, depth, integrity: those threads are already here. The younger version of me, the current one, and the woman I imagine ahead all agree on what matters. There’s no real dissonance there.

If there is tension, it lives somewhere else. I have realized it lives in the physical world.

I’ve started to notice how much I hide in plain sight. The way I dress often sands me down, softens me into the background. How I mute my colour, my creativity, my boldness, because it feels safer to blend into the room than to risk being seen too clearly. I tell myself I’m being practical. Sometimes it feels less like ease and more like erasure. I often ask myself: if I changed my closet, my hair, my overall appearance, would I feel different? Or would I just be telling the truth a little louder?

We like to pretend authenticity is purely internal, that who we are lives only in our thoughts and values and intentions. But my body is part of the story, too, of how I move through space. How much room I allow myself. How visible we let ourselves be. Clothing, posture, and presence are not always superficial things.

I don’t think my younger self would have wanted me to stay frozen in who I am. She dreamed expansively, without worrying whether she was allowed to. What she might hope (or what I currently hope for) is that no matter how much I change, I don’t abandon the essence that’s always been there. That I let myself evolve without disappearing completely.

So now, when I look at that photograph, I don’t ask whether I belong in the version of myself I’m becoming. I try to ask something gentler: What would it look like to let myself arrive there honestly? I don’t have an answer yet. I know it will take a lot more reflecting. But I have a feeling it has less to do with reinventing myself, and more to do with remembering that I’ve always been here, patiently waiting for myself to catch up.

Candidly,

Avie ❤︎‬

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Winter makes everything heavier. I always get a little lost this time of year. The air gets colder, and suddenly the new year starts creeping into my mind, reminding me that I’m supposed to be thinking about goals, growth, and fresh starts. New Year’s matters to me. They always have. I love the idea of a clean slate, but recently it feels more like pressure. I want so badly to be better and to live the life I imagine for myself, but it’s hard to move forward when I’m feeling empty on the inside.

And honestly, part of that emptiness comes from work recently. Being in healthcare, these past few months have been rough in the way that clings to you even after you get home. I’ve seen really heartbreaking things happen to really lovely people. The kind of things that make you sit in your car for a minute before driving away because you need to breathe. It can get hard to breathe. It takes a toll on you in ways you don’t always notice until you’re lying awake at night, wondering why you feel so worn down. Some days it feels like I carry little pieces of other people’s pain around with me, and I haven’t figured out where to put them down.

And of course, especially this time of year, the internet is loud about becoming “THAT” girl. Romanticize your life!! Become the main character!! Reinvent yourself!! Glow up!! Level up!! And I get it. Trust me. It looks nice. But when I scroll through all that content, I don’t feel inspired. I feel tired. I don’t want to be THAT girl. I don’t want to treat my life like an aesthetic project. I don’t want a montage moment. I just want to be me. Simple, quiet, sometimes confused, sometimes hopeful me.

It honestly feels easier to minimize my world right now. Show up at work. Do what I need to do. Come home. Read my books. Study. Be in my own company. There is something comforting about that routine. I don’t have to impress anyone or perform a version of myself that fits a trend. I don’t have to be constantly improving or documenting or showing how well I’m doing.

I am so tired of the pressure to become the best version of myself. Every podcast, every TikTok, every caption seems to be yelling at me to optimize my life. But what if I just want to be Avie? Not the future me, not the polished me, not the aspirational me. Just the person I am right now, trying to figure out why winter feels so heavy and why hiding feels safer than being seen.

Whenever I decide to pop my head out of hiding, I hope the people who matter will still be there when I step back into the light. And even if they aren’t, I’ll still have myself. The real me.

Candidly,

Avie ❤︎‬

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Hear me out — I, like any person in their early twenties, have every social media app you can think of. Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, Pinterest, Snapchat, X, you name it, I am probably on it. That being said, do I create more than I consume on these apps? Absolutely not. I often will go on an evening bar-hopping equivalent of social media platforms, tapping from one app to the next, wondering what I will see, or if the next thing I scroll to will contribute to the ongoing dopamine cascade in my brain. I usually feel pretty crummy afterwards—the hangover of seeing every detail of every person’s life lingering in my mind; the good, the bad, the trauma-dumping, the pretty “it girl” pictures. I genuinely do not believe that as human beings, we are supposed to have such an intricate, intimate knowledge of the ongoings of the people we know (or don’t).

As much as these platforms can be a means of expression and creativity for some, for others, my curiosity piques, leaving me wondering whether they do so for other reasons. Is it to validate their appearance? Their choices in their home decor? Their aesthetics? Their accolades? For whatever it may be, social media offers those who desire to be seen a tried-and-true way to do so. They can, and will, be seen by each of their followers, be it friend or not. The thing that bothers me, though, is you never know the intention of the person on the receiving end of your posts — are they following you because they like you for who you are, or is it someone you do not know as well, but this person is curious about your every move? Are they looking for inspiration? Are they trying to maintain a connection? You could never know for certain.

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Personally, I say, to each their own. If someone wants to post, let them. If someone does not post at all, let them. If someone doesn’t want social media at all, let them. I myself have recently joined the crowd of “Why do I need to know so much about those around me?” “Why am I spending so much time consuming the lives of others when I could be living my own?” These questions perpetually linger in my mind. So I tried to stop. I deleted the apps for as long as I could. By cutting out social media, particularly Instagram, I have found I am much more at ease with myself. I like that I need to have a conversation with someone to find out how they’re doing, instead of seeing updates I never desired. Social media leaves me feeling disconnected from myself and others. It is numbing. It makes me feel ungrateful for what I have, even though I am very grateful for it all. It is an addictive way to live. I find that other apps like Substack or Pinterest are slower forms of content, allowing me to tap into my creativity and slow down, to read and explore.

On the note of being able to shine without being seen, I find that this is entirely possible, but it seems as though you don’t post about it, it doesn't count, as if our existence is tied only to the tangible proof of life on social media. I say this with all humility, I know I shine. I love that I can be myself and a source of kindness and love in my life and in the lives of those around me. But for some reason, if I do not conform to this online narrative of posting about every little bit of my day, a perfectly curated, aesthetically pleasing series of pictures to prove my existence, it is as though my shining glimmer dims in comparison to the light of those who continually post and get engagement online. I wonder if folks think critically about the content they consume as much as I do, always questioning why someone posts as often as they do — or maybe it’s not that deep. Maybe they just like to post. I know that for me, when I see the likes roll in and the swipe-ups on my stories, it’s quite a euphoric feeling — that of “I’ve still got it”. I am making an active effort not to let that feeling get to me, to knock the weight of that feeling off the pedestal it has in my mind, to continue lighting the fuel of my shine even in the presence of the loud voices in the digital world. Some days my light feels invisible, though.

But maybe that’s the point — some kinds of light aren’t meant to be loud. Some aren’t meant to be broadcasted or approved of. Some are meant to be lived quietly, felt deeply, and recognized only by the people who matter. I’m learning that my shine doesn’t weaken just because fewer people witness it; if anything, it becomes more real. So for now, I’m choosing to live a life that isn’t curated or captured, but one that is mine; unposted, unseen, and still bright.

Candidly,

Avie ❤︎‬

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“The cold water does not get warmer if you jump late".”

Words written on a concrete barrier, with a body of water behind it (the exact photo attached for you all to paint the same mental picture). In that moment, I pictured myself standing there, and in moments where, literally, I would be by the lake waiting to go in. Allow me to walk you through my process. At first, I stand there, hands on my hips, looking out to the water in front of me. I give it a few minutes, gently brushing my feet against the shoreline, feeling a pulse check as to how cold this is actually going to be.

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When I look out in the water and I see my friends already waist deep, swimming and splashing around, I realize “Oh shoot. I’m just going to have to go in, aren’t I?” And that I begrudingly do. So, I start my descent into the lake, walking my way deeper and deeper, one foot in front of the other, occasionally stopping to catch my breath and breathe through the pin-pricking cold water. Somewhere between standing at the shoreline thinking about whether or not I actually want to swim, and being chest-deep in the water, finally making it to my friends happily swimming around, I realize it wasn’t so bad. Right? Wrong. The reality is that it was difficult. I don’t enjoy freezing cold water. But I love to spend time with my people. And, I love the feeling of cooling down from a hot day.

Reading this quote, the reason it stuck out to me so much was that this is how I felt in so. many. other. areas. of. my. life. It was a stark reminder of how long I had waited to take the leap. To jump in the water. For some reason, my brain has convinced me that by standing there, with my hands on my hips, the water has magically started warming up. Sometimes, if it’s a hot day or the right time, the water may actually get warmer by midday. But I’ve now wasted the entire morning when I could have been swimming already (bummer). I want to enjoy the cool water on my warm skin. And I love to swim.

I have since reflected on how this concept manifests in my relationships, career, and personal development. I’ve decided I am no longer that person who waits. And truthfully, at some points in my life, I wouldn’t wait. I would take the leap. Jumping in, whether or not I was truly ready. But there is something about this stage of life that has me pausing, just before I am about to jump. I fear rejection, making the “wrong” choice, not being good enough — all things I have long identified and been slowly working on. Since seeing this quote, I’ve realized this is often rooted in perfectionism for me, waiting for the “right moment” or “right mindset”. News flash, the right moment doesn’t exist. I know that now. And I do it scared.

Allow me to paint yet another picture for you (I love painting pictures). I loved the idea of curating a personal style. Clothes that make me feel like me, and reflect the dark academia vibe that I believe deep in my bones, suit my thoughts and my energy. I haven’t always dressed like that, though. The thought of putting together one of those outfits and walking into the world, being perceived in any sense of personal style, scared the living daylights out of me, especially in a city as fashionable as mine. I preferred to blend in with the crowd rather than stand out. One morning, I bit the bullet and decided to do my makeup, style my hair, and put on the outfit I really wanted to wear. And you know what? At first, I was a bit intimidated, thinking to myself, “Is this really me?” But I’ve never actually tried, so how would I know? It felt great, though. With each step, my confidence grew stronger and stronger, and I'm proud that I took the first step. I recognized the water wasn’t getting any warmer by standing there. So I jumped. It was so freeing—a small example of my putting theory into practice.

And so now, I brace myself, count down, take a running start, and lift my two feet off the ground. The water is freaking cold at first. But that was to be expected. And now, I get to expereince the joys of swimming again.

Candidly,

Avie ❤︎‬

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Hi lovely people,

I’m Avie, a medical student and young woman in my 20s. I love to read, write, and explore the world. Though right now, my life is a lot of reading and writing medical knowledge. During my time in medical school, I developed a love for writing poems and reflection. In these short three years so far, I have witnessed a great deal of love, grief, and humanity. I have seen some heartbreaking goodbyes. Thankfully, I have a wonderful support system. That being said, sometimes, I just need to be alone, sit down, and write.

Like many of you, writing has become a safe haven of sorts. A place where I can articulate my thoughts (albeit, sometimes very poorly), and connect with other people typing into this seeming abyss. I think it’ll be amazing to look back on my growth during my 20s, especially as I experience such rapid changes. I don’t know what my future holds, if I will continue living and working in the same city, or if it’s time for new adventures, but what I do know is that I am not alone in these feelings of uncertainty.

My career will likely dominate my 20s (and probably my 30s). There is a lot of sacrifice in medicine, sacrifices I am more than happy to make. However, part of me uses this reflection as a form to regain a sort of clarity and confidence in my life. Outside of work — who is Avie? What does she do for fun? Where does she go? How does she dress? Who does she spend her time with? How does she spend her time? These are questions I’ve been pondering, and continue to ponder, especially as the year comes to a close.

Contents of this Substack

On this Substack, I hope to share:

1. Reflections on personal growth and my journey through self-development in my 20s, as well as;

2. My experiences and lessons learned from my training as a doctor, and;

3. Some short poems that capture the essence of it all.

Perhaps the contents of this blog may change. Or they may not. I’m open to whatever happens — a parallel to my own life at the moment.

I would love it if you joined me on this journey. I hope to connect again soon.

Candidly,

Avie ❤︎‬

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