I would like to think that most of my life I’ve been pretty understanding, patient, gracious and forgiving. But every time I felt a jolt of anger, I would feel this particular shameful feeling because I’m a woman. And somewhere along the way, many of us (women) were taught that anger is one of the least attractive things we can possess.

A woman can be sad. Because that’s palatable. She can be disappointed, as long as she is able to handle it with grace. She can cry, but maybe privately. She can explain that her feelings were hurt. She can forgive. She can turn whatever happened to her into a “beautiful lesson about growth”.

But rage?

Rage is sooooo inconvenient.

Rage makes people so uncomfortable. If you have rage, it makes you automatically come across as someone who is difficult.

And for years, I think I truly believed that.

I was embarrassed whenever I felt that heat rise inside me. I questioned whether I was overreacting. I wondered whether I should be calmer or softer. And I treated my anger like a personality flaw I needed to manage rather than the information my body was so desperately trying to give me.

Eventually I just stopped giving a shit.

And strangely enough, I’ve never felt better. I began to understand what my anger had been doing for me all along.

It had kept me alive.

Not literally, of course.

But in all the ways a person can slowly disappear from their own lives.

My rage kept me from accepting things I knew were beneath me. Not me.

It kept me from believing that every rejection was proof that I wasn’t good enough. It kept me from shrinking myself into whatever version of me would be easiest for somebody else to love, hire or tolerate. It kept me moving.

I have started to think that maybe female rage has been misinterpreted. But let’s be real, that isn’t actual news to a lot of us.

Because when we hear the phrase female rage, we often think destruction. We visualise the screaming, the plates breaking, the ex boyfriend’s car being keyed, the revenge fantasies. We imagine that point where a woman becomes so beyond unhinged that everyone around her has no choice but to acknowledge what they did to her. But most of the rage I have known has been so much more silent than that.

My female rage often looked like getting out of bed after someone made me feel disposable. Like submitting another audition after the twentieth person has told me no. Or realising that someone has already decided who I am and refuses to spend another ounce of energy trying to correct their version of me.

My rage looks like -

walking away
staying
becoming so tired of apologising for myself that I finally stopped

I no longer assume that my rage always means that I’m being irrational. Rage has told me what misogyny felt like before I had language for it.

For a long time, I think I tried to intellectualise those experiences. Maybe I was just misunderstood, maybe I should’ve let it go, maybe letting go IS the healthy thing to do. But I honestly think that we are often taught that “letting things go” is just another way women are taught to make other people more comfortable.

My rage eventually became a voice saying “No. You saw what you saw. Believe it.”
And that didn’t mean that I had to confront every person or wage wag against every injustice I encountered. Because most of the time, I really didn’t.

But my anger did teach me to stop gaslighting myself. I could acknowledge that something was unfair without immediately searching for a way to make it my fault. That alone felt revolutionary to me.

Rage also got me through a lot of heartbreak.

Failed relationships have a funny way of forcing you into a courtroom where you are somehow both the prosecution and the defendant. You revise conversations and get mad at yourself for not saying the right things. If only you did things differently. You romanticise the good parts and conveniently forget the moments you felt absolutely miserable.

And grief can become strangely addictive. There is something comforting about turning heartbreak into endless sadness because sadness allows you to keep loving the thing that hurt you. But anger does something different. Anger makes you question, why me? I used to think that anger after a heartbreak meant bitterness. But now I think that sometimes it is simply the moment your self-respect returns. And there have been times in my life where sadness made me want to stay exactly where I was and rage finally told me to get up and leave. And I’m so thankful for that.

I don’t want to get rid of my rage anymore.

I want to understand it.

And don’t get me wrong, I do understand the difference. Anger absolutely can become destructive. It can make people cruel and it can keep us attached to people and situations long after we should have moved forward.

But that’s not the anger I want. I don’t want to be consumed by my rage. But I also refuse to treat every uncomfortable emotion inside me like something that needs to be healed right away. Some of my anger deserves to exist. Because that is the anger that taught me how to set boundaries, the anger that allowed me to notice disrespect before my brain has finished rationalising it.

Some anger is the part of you that still believes your life could be better than whatever you are currently accepting.

I can be compassionate and still be angry. I can forgive someone and still never let them have access to me again. I can understand why somebody behaved the way they did and still believe their behaviour was unacceptable to me. I can be disappointed by every rejection without allowing it to become my identity.

The older I get, the less interested I am in becoming a woman who never gets angry. Because I’m much more interested in becoming the woman who knows what to do with her anger.

And that’s why I’m no longer embarrassed by my rage. Because when I look closely at the moments I thought anger was making me ugly, dramatic or difficult, I can often see something else underneath it.

A woman fighting very hard not to abandon herself.

And I think she deserves a little more credit.

we’ve seen it again & again in films like Before Sunset, Call Me by Your Name and Past Lives. different ages, different cities, different endings. but the feeling is the same.

so why does first love hit so hard on screen?

i was in bed, awake at 3 am spiralling about this. because apparently that’s when my brain clocks in for its shift. as a certified hopeless romantic myself, i love a good romcom. especially on valentine’s day. and while mentally ranking all of my favourite movies, i kind of landed on a realisation that i wanted to write about.

1. because it’s usually the first time we feel chosen
there’s something seismic about someone seeing you for the first time & deciding, consciously or not, that you matter. in real life, that feeling is overwhelming. in movies, it becomes cinematic: the lingering eye contact, the music swelling, the train pulling away, the summer ending.

there is literally nothing subtle about first love. it’s heightened. and cinema loves heightened.

2. because it happens when we’re still ‘becoming’
most first loves happen when we’re young. when we’re still figuring out who we are. that’s not random. i read an article where a psychologist talks about how adolescence & early adulthood are when our memories burn the brightest. everything feels like it’s happening for the first time because… it is.

so when movies center first love, they’re not just telling a romantic story. they’re telling an identity story. who were you before this person? who did you become because of them? who are you after they leave?

first love is a character arc disguised as a relationship.

3. because nostalgia is powerful (even when it hurts… and man it does)
we don’t remember first love clearly. we remember it glowingly.
even if it was messy. even if it broke us. even if it was one-sided.

cinema understands that memory isn’t factual- it’s emotional. that’s why first love films are often drenched in golden light, long summers, quiet music, and pauses that feel infinite. we’re not just watching the relationship, we’re watching someone remember it. and nostalgia makes everything feel sacred.

4. because first heartbreak is the first real fracture
first love introduces something else: first loss.

the first time when you realise love doesn’t guarantee permanence. the first time you understand that timing matters. the first time you grief over something that isn’t death, but it sure as hell feels like one.

the emotional rupture is deeply cinematic. it’s clean, it’s formative, it changes a character forever.

5. because it mirrors our first dreams
i think this is why i’m personally drawn to first love stories.
they remind me of being younger. of wanting something for the first time. whether it was a person, or a career, or a version of myself i hadn’t met yet.

there is purity in that kind of wanting.

& movies are one of the only places where sincerity isn’t cringe, it’s kind of beautiful.

first love in films isn’t really about romance, but about vulnerability before the world teaches you to armour up. it’s about who you were when you didn’t know how things would end. it’s about the version of you that loved without strategy. & maybe that’s why we keep returning to these stories. not because we want to relive the relationship, but because we want to revisit that version of ourselves.

the one who believed that feeling something deeply meant it would last forever.

it teaches us that love can be intoxicating.
it teaches us that love can be devastating.
& most importantly, it teaches us that we are capable of both.

here are some of my favourite romantic movies:

He’s Just Not That Into You
500 Days of Summer
Crazy, Stupid, Love
La La Land
Past Lives
Materialists
Along Came Polly

But here we are, eight years deep. And wow, what a ride it’s been. This city has given me so much… and yet, sometimes, it feels like it gives me so little. I know that probably makes no sense on paper, but if you’ve ever packed up your life and moved here with a dream in your back pocket, you know exactly what I mean.

LA is a contradiction I’ve fallen for completely. It gives you everything and then snatches half of it away. It dazzles you and tests you, often in the same breath. And if you know, you know, that strange ache that comes with loving a city that never quite loves you back the same way.

There’s something quietly magical about LA, but my relationship with it often feels like a messy, toxic love story. I love it endlessly and can’t imagine my life without it… and yet there are days when it feels like LA hates me back, like it’s threatening to leave me for someone more deserving. But still, I stay. I always stay.

As Taylor Swift said in Opalite, “Failure brings you freedom.” That line hit me hard because it perfectly sums up what this city has taught me. LA has given me pieces of myself I’m so proud of, but it’s also shown me failure and taught me not to run from it. Failure is necessary. It’s how you grow, how you get better, how you build strength you didn’t know you had. It’s a brutal pill to swallow, but it’s also the one that sets you free.

Living here has made me fiercely independent in ways I never thought possible. I was a shy, timid girl once. Now, there are days when I find myself wandering this city alone — grabbing coffee, going to events, watching sunsets — and I catch myself thinking, wow. Ten years ago, I could never have imagined this life. And that reminds me to never take dreaming big for granted.

LA also taught me about love, the kind that lifts you up and the kind that breaks your heart. It gave me my first love, and it brought me my forever love. And no matter how winding or painful the journey in between was, I wouldn’t trade a single step of it.

So maybe that’s what these eight years have really been about — not the highs or the lows, not the wins or the heartbreaks, but the quiet understanding that this city and I are growing up together. We’ve learned to forgive each other’s flaws, to show up even when it’s hard, and to find beauty in the mess.

LA has been everything I hoped for and nothing I expected. It’s broken me open and built me stronger. It’s tested my patience and rewarded my persistence. And through it all, it’s taught me that dreams are never linear. They’re winding, stubborn, and often disguised as detours.

I don’t know what the next chapter here will look like. Maybe it’ll be harder, maybe it’ll be softer. But I do know this: I’m still here. Still chasing, still learning, still falling in love with this impossible city over and over again.

So, here’s to the past eight years, to every tear, every late-night doubt, every tiny moment that made it worth it. And here’s to whatever comes next. Because no matter how far I wander, a part of me will always belong to Los Angeles.

Sincerely,
D ♡

I wish I could say I’ve been off doing something wild & exciting, but honestly? I just hit a wall with inspiration. I missed writing so much, but every time I sat down at my computer, my mind went completely blank. Still, here I am, giving it another shot, because I really do love this, & it’s always been something that feels deeply therapeutic for me.

The last couple of months have been… something. So much has changed, & for the longest time, I was terrified of change. Honestly, I still am. I like my routines & my comfort zones, thank you very much. But I’m slowly getting better at reminding myself that change isn’t always a bad thing. It’s necessary. And maybe even good? (Still deciding.) The unknown can feel like a big, scary void, but looking back, I’m actually really happy with how things turned out. I wouldn’t trade this version of my life for anything.

I recently moved into a new apartment with my partner, & without a doubt, it’s been the biggest (& scariest) change of my year so far. I won’t lie, I was nervous. The kind of nervous where your heart’s racing even though you know deep down you’re doing the right thing. But the moment we started unpacking boxes & making this place our own, I felt this deep sense of peace. Like, this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Living with the person I love, my best friend, has been nothing short of magical. We cook dinner together while laughing around the kitchen, binge the most ridiculous reality shows (he gets way too invested), laugh until we can’t breathe over something one of the dogs did, & fall asleep every night knowing we’re in this together. It’s not always picture-perfect, there are dishes in the sink & laundry piles we (mostly him) sometimes ignore, but there’s so much love here. So much warmth. And knowing I get to come home to someone who truly sees me, supports me, & chooses me every single day? That’s everything. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Something that I’ve been relentlessly working on is being good to myself. I truly dread how hard I was on myself in 2024. I was constantly people-pleasing, judging myself, and it resulted into me feeling horrible. Not only emotionally, but also physically. I was going down this rabbit hole where I didn’t even realise I was in until it got to dark place and I was questioning how this actually happened. How? When I truly look back and ask myself, I know exactly how.

Last week, I did the most LA thing ever: I went on a hike. At Runyon Canyon. I know, I know, go ahead, roll your eyes & call me a cliché. But hear me out… it was actually kind of amazing. I’d never gone on a hike by myself before. I’ve been trying to hit 10,000 steps a day, & that morning I just couldn’t bring myself to walk the treadmill or do another loop around my neighborhood. It was one of those perfectly sunny Los Angeles days, blue skies, warm but not too hot & I thought, why not?

Cut to me driving to Runyon, only to realize I’d forgotten my AirPods. Cue internal screaming. But then I thought… maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe I shouldn’t listen to a terrifying true crime podcast while hiking alone in the wild. So I left them behind and just… listened. To the birds, the breeze, the occasional jogger’s heavy breathing.

It was 10 a.m., peaceful, not too crowded, just the right amount of cute dogs trotting around & I swear, I felt like I was breathing in happiness. That’s when it hit me: I needed to stop being so hard on myself. All this agonizing self-talk, the pressure, the guilt, it wasn’t helping. If I wanted something in my life to change, I had to be the one to change it. It didn’t need to be big or dramatic. It could start with small, intentional steps, like getting outside and hiking, even without a murder podcast for company. (lol)

Consider this your gentle, slightly dramatic call to action: do one little thing for yourself today. It doesn’t have to be revolutionary. Cook yourself a meal that feels like a warm hug. Take a solo walk like you’re the main character. Be DRAMATIC about it. Just something small that says, “Hey, I like hanging out with me.” Because let’s be honest, being alone is lowkey terrifying. I know I’m not the only one who hits play on a podcast the second the door shuts behind me, just so I don’t have to be trapped in a room with my own thoughts. Silence? Never heard of her.

And yet, we’re all out here preaching self-love, while simultaneously sprinting away from the sound of our own brains. Isn’t that kind of… ironic? And also, maybe, a little tragic?

So today, be brave. Be alone. And maybe, just maybe, enjoy it. ◡̈

Until next time,

♡

D

As I approach my final week of being 26, I reflect with immense gratitude on the past year. This year has granted me the space and the opportunity to grow in ways I never anticipated. In a moment of reflection, I realized something significant, this is the first time in my life that I feel I’ve built a complete, solid circle of friends. This sense of belonging, which I’ve struggled to find for so long, is now something I hold dear.

This time last year, my life felt completely different. I was overwhelmed with confusion and a sense of purposelessness. I felt lost. And, of course, there are still days when I feel that way. But as I mentioned in my previous post, I’m actively working on being kinder to myself, and that’s something I really want to carry with me into this new year of my life.

Life doesn’t always unfold the way we plan, but there’s so much I’m grateful for. I’m thankful for my family’s health, for the opportunity to live in Los Angeles, for a loving boyfriend who brings me so much joy, and for the friends who support me unconditionally.

During challenging times, I want to remind myself that life isn’t solely about achieving the things we desire. True happiness lies in the in-betweens, the small moments, the simple joys, and most importantly, the meaningful connections we share with the people around us.

The past year hasn’t been without its challenges, but it has gifted me a deeper sense of self-awareness, a stronger connection to those around me, and greater clarity on what I want from life. While everything around me seems to be speeding by, I’m trying to remain present, to appreciate the journey I’ve been on, and to recognise just how far I’ve come.

This past week, I hosted a cozy fall-themed dinner party at my place. I spent the entire day in the kitchen, preparing everything from a pumpkin cauliflower gratin to mushroom risotto, a butternut squash and kale salad, along with a few other delicious finds from our trusty Trader Joe’s.

I had always longed for friends I could truly call my own, my people. Those I could count on no matter what, who would love me unconditionally and without judgment. It warms my heart to know that I finally have those people in my life now.
This night was full of laughter and love. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I felt like it was time to switch up my hair a bit. I’d had long hair for what felt like forever, and I was getting a little bored with it. So, I decided to chop off a few inches and freshen up the color. My friend and amazing hairstylist, Sabrina, always does an incredible job, there’s no one else I trust with my hair. She’s definitely worth the hour-long drive it takes to get to her.

WATCHING:

One Day (TV/Netflix) - It took me a while to jump on the One Day bandwagon. Part of the hesitation was knowing my heart isn’t quite strong enough these days for anything that might make me cry. But watching it with my boyfriend definitely makes it easier.

Love is Blind (TV/Netflix) - Honestly, the less I say, the better, this is pure entertainment. I grab my Cava, settle into bed, and binge-watch, and just like that, I’m one happy gal.

Shrinking S2 (TV/Apple+) - AHHHH! I can’t even begin to express how excited I am that this show is finally back. If you’re looking for something wholesome, this is the one!

The Real Housewives of New York City (TV/Peacock) - It’s back and it’s better.

LISTENING:

Honeybee - The Head And The Heart
Nonchalant - Suki Waterhouse
I’m Gonna Miss You - Milli Vanilli (for all my Menendez Brothers fans)
Hospital Beach - Cottonwood Firing Squad

I’ve also been on a podcast kick off late. (Spotify links below)

Rotten Mango - Teen Girl “Gossips and Jokes” To Cops After Beating A Young Man to Death

Crime Junkie - MURDERED: Jessica Chambers

Modern Love - Andrew Garfield Wants To Crack Open Your Heart

READING:

Currently Reading: The Drowning Woman by Robyn Harding

I just finished reading The Boyfriend by Freida McFadden, and as a die-hard McFadden fan, I have to admit I was a bit disappointed. It wasn’t bad, per se, but compared to her other books with their mind-blowing twists and turns, this one just didn’t hit the mark for me.

THINGS I BOUGHT:

OURA Ring 4 - I finally gave in and bought the Oura ring, and I love it! I’ve worn and loved my Apple Watch for years, but I always felt like it didn’t quite complement all of my outfits. The Oura ring, on the other hand, is so versatile and elegant. Plus, I got it with the specific goal of improving my sleep hygiene. I struggle with getting a full night’s sleep, and I’m really hoping this helps.

Estée Lauder Double Wear Stay-in-Place 24-Hour Longwear Foundation - You’ll never convince me to buy a foundation that doesn’t have a matte finish. I don’t care what anyone says, a glowy look just isn’t for me. I love matte, and I always will. And this foundation is absolutely perfect.

Gisou Honey Infused Hydrating Lip Oil in Cherry on The Cake - I always thought this lip oil was overhyped, until my best friend Adi swore by it. I finally gave in a few months ago and bought the original honey gold one, and I was hooked. It’s incredibly hydrating and not sticky at all. Gisou recently launched new colors and flavors, and right now, I’m loving the Cherry on The Cake one.

See you guys when I’m 27!

Until next time,

♡
D

“Be kind to yourself, the world is tough enough.” my therapist tells me every week when we talk. I try. Believe me, I do. But recently, I’ve been finding it hard to do it. It’s easier to be mad at myself. It’s almost a self-defence mechanism. Because being mad at myself makes me feel like I have control over it. It’s just me. But man, it sucks. I don’t want to be angry at the one person I know needs love right now. I don’t want to belittle the girl who just needs a little love. Why is it so hard to do that though?

It’s wild how easy it is for me to be so harsh with myself. I keep asking, how do I forgive myself, for just being human, for making human mistakes? As I sit here at my desk, listening to Lizzy McAlpine’s new album, with this sinking feeling in my chest, all I want is for this anger I have toward myself to fade away. It feels like a constant weight, and some days, I can’t remember what it’s like to not carry it.

There are times when I close my eyes, especially at night, and picture myself as a little five-year-old girl. I try to imagine how I would talk to her. Would I be as critical and unforgiving as I am to my 26-year-old self? Definitely not. I’d be gentle with her. I’d tell her that it’s okay to make mistakes because she’s just figuring things out, the way we all are. I would hug her and let her know it’s okay to not have it all together.

This journey of growth isn’t linear, and I know that. I’m not going to wake up one day as a completely changed person, suddenly feeling different about myself and the world. I’m learning to accept that it’s a process. But in the meantime, I just want to be kinder to myself. I want to forgive myself. I need to remind myself that I’m doing the best I can with where I’m at, and for now, that has to be enough.

I realize that being human means embracing the imperfections, the missteps, and even the moments of self-doubt. It’s about learning to quiet that inner critic and replace it with compassion, which I know will take time. But maybe, step by step, I can start treating myself with the same kindness I’d show that five-year-old girl who just wants to be loved.

Please allow yourself to forgive yourself. And be kind.

♡
D