Please excuse the title.. I’ve had it for a year and it’s stuck now (should I change it?)

I actually just wanted to know if anyone actually was interested in them.. so here they are

.I love these guys sosososo much fr

I started the whole thing around last year and the whole story of the characters and their development all took place in my journal.

The main characters are Caleb, Lucas and Lewis Reyes. More details later.

I would love to introduce each character but I wanted to know if anyone was interested first. I am NOT going to draw for hours for an empty audience.

Soo let me know in the comments!!

okk byebye

are they good?

are they fine?

are they ruining you?

destroying you?

…

The world is so dull. Like I’m living in grayscale.

No matter where I walk, or how I talk, my body curls in fear.

I do not belong here.

…

And so what do I do? I stay in my head.

It’s safer and warmer and comfier there.

I can build new realities, entire universes. How entertaining it is, to not live as an outcast in this world.

I smear it on my face. The color of my thoughts.

I try to become a part of it.

Quickly and rapidly. I have to get out of here.

The tears are flowing. Is it fear or excitement?

…

???

But alas, My thoughts are not real.

But when i step outside, I tremble in fear.

But i can’t keep on living like this.

I’m sick of performing for no one and I’m sick of talking to myself and I'm sick of imagining new friends and I'm sick of imagining myself achieving my goals.

My thoughts have become poison. They fill my soul with empty colors.

But now, there seems to be no point of return.

Nothing is real now.

I can’t feel my feet on the ground and I can’t hear my music. I catch myself asking, “am I even real?”, “are you even real?”. The lights are too bright. the tea has gone cold. My camcorder catches dust I mean, what is there to record?

. . .

I turn, and you’re there

It’s odd,

but fascinating.

It’s weird,

but entertaining.

It feels refreshing. It feels real

It’s wrong

but I can’t go back to that dreaded world I built in my head

You have to keep going

keep going

and going.

feed me

heed me

need me

am I asking too much?

Your weird gaze fills my soul with flowing blacks and whites.

I have nothing to do at the moment, but to keep your eyes on me.

My gaze is hazy as I wake

I’m washing the dishes. One by one.

The plate I ate from,

the cup I drank from.

I overwhelm the ceramic with a soapy sponge. Leaving traces of lemon on my fingertips.

It’s like some sort of transformation. A different scent lingers in the air and the whole mood shifts. As I rinse off the lather, I can feel something else wash off. Something I’ve been holding on for too long. And it washes away, down the drain.

The plate made new.

The cup turned pristine.

and I too, have formed a new person in me.

I don’t like cleaning. I’d rather watch an anime. I’d rather write a song. I’d rather take a nap. I’d rather study for exams. But chores have always been there. They will be until the end of time. In just a little while, your mother will come knocking (or not) with a belt in her hand, to tell you to do the dishes once again.

So because I cannot escape it, the dreadful pile of laundry or the messy kitchen floor, I had to learn to embrace it. And no, it’s hard.

I’m cleaning up my room. My mom gave me the last warning. I started from the bed sheets and moved up to my desk, then the closet. I found stuff. Lots of stuff. An old phone, a basketball, a fancy pen, and a whole box television (crazy).

I found fragments of the past, that I had left behind. Jazz rock playing in the background, rain pouring outside my window, I was in the moment. Like a coming of age film.

The room turned out fine.

Fresh sheets,

Folded clothes,

A desk worth studying on.

But turned out even better. In a way I couldn’t seem to explain.

There is some sort of magic in cleaning. Like a second chance. Or a third, or fourth, or fifth. Something more of a lovely gift. To hold something in your palms and make it new. To cleanse it of it’s past and put it back to use.

We can start over. It’s only one bubble bath away. Clean your skin like a glass jar. Clean your mind like a big closet. Clean your soul like a white towel, tossed in the mud. It is as simple as that. Just one bath away.

There were all sorts of clocks. Digital clocks, analogue clocks,, some hung on walls some stood on tables and bedsides. Some were huge and some where tiny. some were old, some looked sad. Some hummed. some ticked. Some said nothing.. They seemed to have forgotten..

forgotten who they were.

I moved from room to room, searching. Every room seemed to warp into itself the second I laid my eyes off of them. Constantly changing. But I could here them whisper. It was a constant argument. A never ending conflict.

The nursery claimed it was morning. It’s clocks read the same time. 7.39am

The hallway argued it was years later. year 9027

The kitchen couldn’t make up it’s mind.

I wandered from room to room, collecting me. past me, future me, even in years when I definitely should’ve been dead and gone. I carried ages that did not belong to me. I carried ages that my heart raced towards. I carried them, though, none of them made sense. Paragraphs piled up, but I couldn’t understand. Like they were constantly missing something that neither of us knew yet. I held on, until they were heavy and pressed down on me. But I couldn’t seem to let go either.

I spiraled for a moment, and began to think. I was drawn to finding one room. The present. I could see it in the distance. Or maybe not. I ran but was warped in by another room. The whispers grew louder. The gentle humming of clocks turned to screeching. I could hear plates breaking in the kitchen, which seemed to have lost it’s time.

The exit disappeared and so did my memory of it. And so I kept moving. With restlessness swirling in my blood and anxiety churning in my stomach. I couldn’t name why.

I came across a familiar room. Though, It lead to other familiar rooms. It was.. my house. It was 6.00pm. Golden hour. The trees blew in the wind. the sun seeped through the windows. I took a breath and tried to calm myself down.

I wash my face. But something won’t come off.

I trim my nails. But something can’t be trimmed.

I wring out a wet rag and wipe the floor. But something won’t wipe off.

Somewhere... a wrong remains...

I stare at the floor. Then I hear something.

I hear laughing. Then crying. Then I couldn’t tell anymore.

I realized, that house was not my home.

I kept walking. Following the sound.

…

In one room, I found a baby.

Just born. No doctor, no mother. But the baby was familiar. I recognized her immediately. Not because she looked like me

but because she carried my time

I asked her what the time was. She didn’t answer

Babies don’t really concern themselves with calendars.

I ran out the room. But the hallway was gone. Pure darkness. I turn around and found the baby, all grown up. But, she did not look like me.

Down the hallway, were numbers scattered everywhere. I followed them until they ran out

At the end of the hallway, it was there.

The final clock. Hung all alone

time 00.00

Date 00.00.0000

There was nothing at all. I stared at it for eternity or… for no time at all.

I woke up. 6.30am

Then 6.31

then 6.32.

Thank God.

But hear a faint whisper.

Repent

I will wake up tomorrow and do none of this again.

I love my friends. I really do but sometimes, I feel like disappearing from them entirely. Curl up into a ball and wait for them to go away. But sometimes, I mess up and hide and tell them that its for their own good. because sometimes, I feel like a bad guy. Jealousy, irritation, comparison,, these unintentional thoughts that leave me disgusted with myself. I curl up, hoping that they’ll leave, that they’ll hate me.

But I still wish for a friend that won't come with all of this baggage and stress. I want something of my own. Someone of my own. Someone fun but not too loud. Someone caring. Someone who can hug me when I’m sad.

and I often daydream of this person

But what I seek cannot be found here.

and even if I do find it, I’m bound to ruin it anyway.

And as these thoughts swirl in my head, a tantrum swirls in my stomach. Into a storm. and the child stands before me.

She screams and cries and tumbles over. “Why do I never get what I what?”

I think that child is me.

The immature part of me, throwing tantrums for a friend. For a perfect person in an imperfect world. Wanting to be a perfect person in an imperfect world. Now, too much time has passed. I can’t seem to hush her.

I get down and hug her. Stroke her hair and not say a thing. Because what’s the point of crying if there’s no one to hold you? I would not want her to feel the humiliation. To wish she kept it to herself. Don’t just stand there. It took so much for me to talk about this and your making me regret it. Please don’t just stand there. Even if we prick each other, we’re all trying here. Don’t just stand there. Try.

Sometimes I’m sad. and they aren’t making me feel any better. I do not want your advice. Stop telling me what to do. Can’t you take me outside for some air? Can’t you bring me a glass of water? Can’t I even get a hug? Or do I have to do all the comforting myself too? You can keep your stupid life hacks. Stop giving me a blueprint on how to fix my life when I’m dehydrated and not even eating well.

The problem is, I am surrounded by such. And that troubles me so much. The rude will always exist. The insufferable. The hard-to-be-with. But as much as they will always be in the same room as me, I’m obliged to stay at the other end of the room. For I simply cannot stand anyone who is rude. They are so inhumane. I don’t even think of being vulnerable around such. Because to them, my tears are ugly. Filled with disgust. They carry my unkept soul. No one wants to touch it.

Some are not actually rude. They have good intentions but not everyone who is good is good for me. I don’t want them to stand there while I cry. Else I curl up immediately. My quills spike in all directions. Almost to hide how embarrassed I am. I can’t seem to stop myself from doing so. I’m exhausted by all of them.

I’m always so busy, yet nothing gets done. Busy trying to the good friend. Trying to be kind, trying to say the right things and make them feel safe,, but here I am, curled up into a ball. It seems that its all in vain, so why do I keep trying again?

Maybe if I pull my quills out, I will finally be kind. But They always grow back. They are only trying to protect me, after all.

But how can a hedgehog remain gentle when the coldness of the world keeps forcing its quills to rise? regardless of these, I want to be kind. I refuse to be rude. I refuse to just stand there or talk about myself endlessly in disguise of “giving advise”.

Above all things, I will be kind. I will learn to be kind. I will learn to apologize after pricking someone. I will learn to pull away only when I need to. I will learn to try again after disappointment. I will learn to comfort badly instead of not comforting at all.

The world is cruel. So I will remain kind.

Romans 12:21

,,Dear God, Your servant is seeking.

let me show you the way the sun loves the moon

The sun loves the moon by stepping aside. Every dusk and every dawn. He leaves the entire sky for the moon. I can imagine him smiling at the moon while he sets and while she rises. He dims his light just enough for her to be seen. The sun gives and gives, and the moon becomes beautiful in that light — and the sun asks for nothing in return.

The sun loves the moon by illuminating her. He lights her up. Every ounce of her silver glow was borrowed from his heat. He warms her the best he can, regardless of how far away she is.

The sun loves the moon by chasing her endlessly across the sky. knowing that this may not work. Knowing that they are bound to be apart. But he pays little mind to this. The chase itself is the devotion.

The sun loves the moon by touching her from across the dark. A wind of charged particles, constant, relentless, darkens her skin like a slow celestial sunburn. He writes himself into her dust. He helps make water where there was none. She carries him with her, always, chemically changed by his attention.

He loves her restlessly, fully and eternally.

But they are not set apart forever.

to Yearn like the sun?

or to be yearned for like the moon?

Subject: your existence matters (no unsubscribe)

From: iamwhoiam@heaven.org

Child,

The instruction was sent. You did not open it.

…

You begged for a phone when you were twelve. You never thought you’d get one though because you really were quite young. You did everything you could do and said everything you could say. In the end you whispered in my ear. I was so delighted that you came to me. Though, I didn’t give you one right away. That wouldn't have ended well.

Jer. 29:11

Your mother wasn’t home. It was getting late. You whispered again, in my ear. Her car pulled into the driveway the next minute. I remember watching your heart do a little flip. Though you were too embarrassed to let her know. I was there. I knew.

1 Jn. 4:12

It was raining outside and you were crying. I was crying too. You didn’t know what to do. And I knew. I’d hold your hand. I’d guide you through. I want to hold your hand but only if you want that too. I’ll let you rest. I’ll hold you close. You can give it all to me. I care for you.

Matt 11:28-30

…

Look, I know you don’t read these. But I keep sending them because I remember when you used to write back.

I miss talking to you.

come back home.

…

…

…

Always with you

— I Am.

I breathe a sigh. I run my fingers through my hair. A gentle tap lands on the wooden floor. I look up at the monitor.

…

I’m pulled back into reality. The sun is beating down on my face. There’s hints of lemon in the air. I wonder where it’s coming from. The sun is getting unbearable, so I tell my sister its time to go. I remember being with the darkest tone of skin in my very light skinned family. I never knew why. I hated going out and I hated going to school (I mean, I still do). Maybe the sun rays can secretly go through the ceiling of my bedroom and get to me while I’m unaware.

My dad has always seemed very cross about my skin. I can’t always tell if he genuinely cares about it or if he’s just being materialistic. Either way, he goes out of his way to help my skin get better. I’m grateful. I don’t like having acne. And I didn’t like how some parts of my face were darker than others.

Back to the present day, my skin is definitely lighter. I started using sunscreen— but I still have acne traced on my skin. Some are red, some have been popped. Some are no longer acne but scars. I tend to look at these longer than others sometimes. I don’t know how it got to this. Maybe I was stressed out to the point that I was too scared to fall asleep so I began piercing through my skin as if maybe if I chipped long enough, I would feel better. Maybe I was bored in the middle of a test that I didn’t know most of the answers to but didn’t really care either and I simply didn’t know what to do with my hands.

I’m walking back to the hotel my family always stops by for lunch every Sunday. I don’t like Sundays. My little sister, who’s little hand is folded into mine says she’s thirsty. We agree to get a drink when we get back. A few steps later, the scent of soda is floating in the air and lingering on my nose. It was my favorite soda as a kid, I stopped drinking it because I thought it was childish and switched to something else like coke. Maybe I should order a soda.

I head back into the hotel. I’m about to order a soda but my mom says we had soda yesterday, which isn’t inherently a lie. I had soda for breakfast, soda for lunch and I swear I could’ve had another glass for dinner but the soda had run out.

I like the smell of my mom’s car. It has an organic scent to it. Its quite old too. Its falling apart even. But its the one that drove my mom to the hospital to give birth to my sister. I can’t say I love my dad’s car. Its smells too new and is really fancy. I don’t think it could smell like my mom’s in a million years.

I feel bad for my sister. She was born when we moved into a bigger house. She would never understand the joy of sharing a room with the entire family or the box television that had everyone’s favorite channels. She would never know what it was like to see a rainbow at 6:00pm when the sun hits the glass coffee table just right.

I’m 8 years older than my sister. My older sister is 10 years older. Me and my older sister did everything together. I feel bad for my little sister. I wish she was born earlier.

What am I saying? I’m still a kid myself

Journal entry_207

We meet. We have fun. I feel safe.

I’m not necessarily thinking at the time. We make all the memories, we build all the inside jokes, we share all our tears and all our laughs. We were inseparable. We slept in class together, we topped our grade together, But then I blink and we’re two completely different people.

When did it happen? How did I not notice? I wish I could’ve done this and this and that. Maybe then, things would’ve gone differently. I am no longer the quiet girl with super strict parents. She are no longer the super social and goofy person she was. Now I like talking, but I can’t say the same for her.

We tried to make it work. All we did was talk about school, the weather, small talk.

I miss her so much, but what can I do? She’s right Infront of me but at the same time I ask myself, “who the heck is this??”

If soulmates are real, I don’t think they last forever.

I always have dreams of reuniting with an old friend that I miss a lot

but always wake up to disappointment

“It was a dream” I mumble to myself

I had one dream of her in particular

It was crazy because I asked in my dream,

“Am I dreaming? is this a dream???…..oh thank God, it’s not a dream. I’ve missed you so much I always dream about you”

I woke up to find out

— that too was a dream.

I don’t dream about her anymore

and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing

or a bad thing.

ugh.

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Hello hello! Happy May!!

I wanted to start posting monthly articles on what I’ve consumed every month and what I’ve been up to recently. Enjoy !!

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 🕮

1. 𝐈𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐬— 𝐛𝐲 𝐊. 𝐀𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐦- [A young art thief falls in love with the son of the man he's been stealing from, and together they uncover the secrets that have trapped their families for years.] I’m currently reading (but I’ve been so lazy omg) but so far, I really like it. I find it easy to read and I’m looking forward to finish the book soon.

2. 𝐀𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬— 𝐛𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡- [A 13-year-old girl chronicles her chaotic and romantic summer in a journal for school, exploring themes of love, death, friendship, and family.] I got back into some children’s books to attempt getting out of my reading slump (did not exactly work) But I can say I loved this read. It was truly an interesting one. I’d rate it a 8/10.

3. 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐱 (𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬)— 𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐨𝐮𝐣𝐢 𝐌𝐢𝐮𝐫𝐚- [The series focuses on Taiki Inomata, a student at Eimei Junior and Senior High, an athletics-oriented school, where he is a member of the boys' badminton team and is considered simply average.] My heart is lowkey racing as I type this. 1000000/10. I haven’t even finished it but I love it so much. I’ve never been into sports mangas but this has definitely opened a few doors.

4. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞- After being in a bible rut for most of march and a bit of April, I managed to finish some devotionals that have brought me back to God significantly.

   • Written in heaven: His story, Our lives- ‘Uncertainty and pain can cause us to doubt God’s presence. But what if we saw each day as a part of a divine plan shaped before we were formed?’ This one week devotional helped me get back up and start fresh, and you could say it was the foundation of my April comeback.

   • Following Jesus- ‘discover what it means to walk in faith, abide in Christ, serve with humility, worship with abandon and rely on God completely.’ I decided to start from square one and begin to learn the basics once again which really has improved my relationship with God. I can say this devotional carried my month.

     • Bible verses that stood out to me

     • 1 Corinthians 3:21-22

     • Proverbs 3:5-6

     • Philippians 2:5-7

     • Colossians 3:2

     • John 15:4-5

     • Matthew 18:3

     • Psalms 55:22

     • John 14:27

     • Psalms 143(whattt):8

5. 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬-

   • How to have original thoughts (Feifei’s substack)

   • You are the love you see in everything (To things that matter)- (life changing)

   • Home is a person (Atufa)

   • You’re so beautiful, please don’t turn out to be another empty person (Zayan Ahmed)- Really made me think about my friendships.

𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 [ ▸ ]

I didn’t watch a lot of media last month.. sadly. Here’s what I managed to see though.

1. Sonny Boy (2021)- [36 students, some with newfound super-powers, find themselves all alone in their high school, adrift in a black void, unable to contact the outside world. Some students try to impose order, but are faced with opposition— Sci-fi] The colors and writing of this was what really pulled me in. I enjoyed watching it while eating lunch or procrastinating doing my homework or something. Jokes aside, I enjoyed it’s rather uncanny feel. Really good escape from reality.

2. Hyouka (2012)- [The story is weaved around Hotaro Oreki, who joins the high school's Classic Literature Club to stop it from being abolished— Mystery](A rewatch) I always seem to come back to this anime. I personally enjoy watching boring slice of life content if you know what I mean.

Youtubers!

• HannahLee! - one of my current favs. Shes a christian, Korean-American vlogger studying design and graduating this spring. Her videos are very refreshing and enlightening. (I love watching her vlogs with a drink like water for some odd reason)

• Alex Bondoc- I’ve been watching her videos for the past three years (and will continue watching her videos). Alex, a Filipina-American vlogger also in university. She focuses more on her life outside school which I enjoy watching very much.

• Jongwoo- I only recently started watching his channel and I’ve been eating his videos up. Jongwoo is a Korean-American vlogger (…) who navigates through his life as a full time barista. He’s a pretty silly guy.

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂!!!ᯓ‎𝄞 ˎˊ˗

(can you tell this was a good music month?)

Singles

1. Pandora- Rainbow Clark

3. Forevermore- Hangsung

4. HOLY GHOST FREESTYLE- Josh P

5. UNCHILD-UNCHILD (they debuted a week ago!!)

6. Ditto- Newjeans

I cannot even begin to describe how much I love this song (I’m listening to it while I type this). I need it in my veins, I’m not even kidding right now. If you don’t like this song, the door is that way.

Albums

1. Stay with the ocean, I’ll find you- Yung kai

2. Stompin’ around- Casa Loma Orchestra

3. Homemade- Mamerico

   Playlists

   • All time fav <3

     Top five songs I loved.

     1. Holyland- wave to earth

     2. Ditto- newjeans

     3. I hope my cat likes me- Yung Kai

     4. Pandora- Clark Rainbow

     5. Hold me, Oh me,- David Terner

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

Winter is approaching (YES I SAID WINTER) I live in the south-ish and I’m the only one in my bloodline who refers to seasons (I’m too whimsical to use ‘dry season’ and ‘rainy season’) and I’m quite excited for the season change. I can’t wait for hot cups of tea and clothe layering.

I’ve been quite invested in k-pop ironically. Especially with the NewJeans, Enhypen and Katseye drama. It’s quite a shame that none of my friends are into k-pop so we can yap about it tho.

Welp! That was my April. I hope you enjoyed reading! Feel free to also comment your own experiences in the comments !!

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Anywho, have a nice day <3

Ecclesiastes 3:12-13 (NIV): "I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God".

My worst nightmare is to draw for years and years and years, and getting showered in praise for work that was never even mine.

I get to school. I walk into class and immediately get a page from some expensive smelling notebook shoved in my face. I take a step back to see what’s the hype and its a drawing from the girl who’s been straight up copying every damn thing she finds ‘aesthetic’ on Pinterest and yet still has the guts to shamelessly flaunt around the room while everyone glazes her for her ‘artistic skills’

Everyone called her an artist. Why? Because we’ve taught the world to think that anyone who draws is an artist. I think the world has gotten the definition of an ‘artist’ completely wrong though. these days, if you can pick up a pen and make the pen obey you, then congratulations! you are an artist!… What does that even mean? If all its takes to be an artist is to make something that looks like something, then doesn’t art lose it’s meaning? It’s no longer special. Because anyone can learn how to draw. Anyone can watch a five minute YouTube art tutorial. Anyone can trace. Anyone can copy. And art is too big and vast to be squished into such a vague concept.

We’ve been taught that an artist is someone who has the skill to make something. But maybe that’s not always the case. You might know anatomy, color theory, perspective, composition (…..my enemies..) and what you do with that skill is copying reference photos, re-drawing other people’s work. Yet, there’s a kid out there who has never heard the word Pinterest in their half a decade of life and look at what they made.

We’ve been taught that you need skill to be an artist. But in reality, You can have skill without creation. You can have creation without skill. You can even have both. But you can only call yourself an artist when you have creation — with or without the skill.

Creation is a fundamental in art.

Art is a form of expression. You can stretch it further from there (to make it a career, a hobby etc~). Sure, to actually make something decent, you may need to practice some basic art fundamentals. Copying is not wrong. in fact, copying helps you grow. If you’re planning to improve your skills, then copying other artists work can help you learn new techniques (just make sure you give them credits!!) but that is the learning part. Copying is a valid learning tool. Not an identity. Like I said, skill or no skill, to actually make something of your own, you need creativity. Its easy to obtain skill, not so much to creativity. While art skills are tangible, measurable, and can be learned by anyone through repetitive practice, creativity is often described as a more elusive "vision" or "voice" that requires curiosity, risk-taking, and emotional investment.

I can argue that creativity is much harder to obtain compared to skill. Artistic skills are learnable fundamentals such as drawing perspective, anatomy, color theory and usage of different mediums but on the contrary, Creativity, defined as the ability to produce original, meaningful, or unique work, is a more nebulous skill often considered harder to train because it requires curiosity, emotional vulnerability, and unique personal perspective.

To create requires you to bring in your entire being into a piece. You might argue that art isn’t therapeutic and rather stressful maybe because you focus more on making it perfectly ‘accurate’ instead of just doing whatever and find out. To be creative means facing the part of yourself that no one else sees. maybe even the parts you can’t dare to look at. It would be almost impossible to not bring something new to the table because you’ve brought something that no one else has— you. Your experiences, your heartbreaks, your laughs, your cries.. are all yours. Its just up to you to take your anger or your fear and turn it into something beautiful.

You can call it a ‘soul signature’ — It's the accumulation of all your specific choices. The subjects you're drawn to, the way you use color, what you find funny, what makes you sad, the tiny details you always include, the things you always leave out. None of those choices are random. They're you and no one can replicate it. And even if they try, It doesn’t change a thing. It’s still you.

Not a lot of people enjoy being vulnerable. To kneel and face themselves. To strip away their flesh and bones to get their soul. To avoid being seen by others or looking at themselves truthfully. Because of the fear of seeing what’s actually there. Yes, some parts of you aren’t pretty. They aren’t presentable. Your jealousy or that one grudge you’ve been holding onto or the fears you haven’t named yet or your sensitivity that can shatter your heart in pieces. Yes, it’s ugly. But that doesn’t make you an ugly soul.

But here's the thing. That same capacity that makes you jealous is the same one that makes you love deeply. The same sensitivity that makes you cry over nothing is the same one that makes you notice everything. The darkness and the light are not opposites living in separate rooms. They are the same room. They are made of each other. And when you put them together and create — When you put in everything you are, What you get isn’t ugly. It’s human. It’s in it’s fullest and honest form. It’s the most beautiful thing art can be.

All made out of you. You gorgeous weirdo.

So I’ve been challenging myself and I’d wish to challenge you too. To go out there and make something. Don’t bother if its bad or a little wonky. I just need you to pour out everything you’ve been holding onto. Don’t hold expectations. Just go for it. Whether its drawing, music, writing— whatever you please. Because the one who copies off Pinterest only shows you the pretty room. The artist shows you the whole house.

Go and turn your turmoil and existential dread into something beautiful.

Silvia Plath was wrong. We are not the figs, we are the tree.

I never thought I’d get dragged into the fig tree analogy but here we are. I always saw myself as someone who had a clear goal: be a designer. But weirdly, I guess the fig tree analogy hasn’t cursed my career choices so I don’t find myself jumping around when someone asks me what I want to be (and thank God for that) So this is not going to be about changing my dream job like it’s underwear (If you do that though… I’m sorry ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ). So as I go on about my life, I’m obviously consuming smaller, more subtle stuff on the daily. Whether its a new manga or song genre. But one thing I’ve noticed is that, in the middle of any silly interest I was engaging in, I’d always think to myself,

“Maybe I should be _______?”

And it’s so mind consuming. I feel like I’m going to pursue that thing for the rest of my life. New playlists, new Pinterest boards, new color palettes… just for my fig, that I once thought was the one begins to rot and I shift my focus to the next fig. I have a basketball, apps for learning Korean, Japanese and Italian, three cameras, sixty four Pinterest boards, eighty Spotify playlists… I don’t know where that basketball is. Those language learning apps are rotting in the corners of my phone. I only use one camera (hardly). I only actually invest in twelve of my boards, and I listen to around three playlists everyday. I think its a waste.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t feel the urge to be everything. To just be a spectator. Other times, I feel blessed. I’m truly grateful for this rather insufferable urge. But I don’t like throwing my food away. I don’t want to be the figs.

I want to be the dang tree.

I want to be everything. I’m going to be everything. I want to look at the full picture. If it means waking up and choosing to be a whimsical princess one day and hesei retro the next. I want to be a little bit of everything instead of making Sylvia Plath's mistake — watching them wither and fall due to her indecisiveness. If I can’t pick one, I’ll take them all. I WILL BE THE DANG TREE.

If you want to be everything, be everything.

How beautiful it is to see someone yearn. To see one sacrifice for the other without a care in the world of what they would get back. To lose their mind by the mere thought of them. Romantic or not. I watch people lay their hands bare, becoming a captive of the beloved. They willingly hand over their souls fully aware of the possibility of getting it back in a million pieces, yet they enjoy every second of it. Even when when its inconvenient. Even when its awkward. Even when its over.

I see this everyday. I see it in my dad who tries his best to give my siblings and I the best living standards even if it means he himself will have to strive for a bit. Even when we’re irresponsible— He does his best to make us happy and all he asks in return is a thank you. I see it in my five year old sister who is so in awe of my older sister since she hardly ever gets to see her. My sister could yell at her, she’d cry, and go back to her when she’s done. She’d get ignored, yet insist to share a bed with her at the end of the day.

Even God is a bit crazy for us.

But I feel that I’m outside all of that.

What would it actually feel like to be in love like that? Romantic or platonic. Love that I can lose myself in, even if I don’t receive anything in return just because their existence would be enough. To want someone so badly it makes me look a little insane. To want someone whole. From their easy parts that everyone loves to the parts that are a little bumpy and rigid to the rotting parts that they try to hide. To give them all of me and to have all of them. I want to wake up thinking about them. I want to ask them how their day was and what they ate. I want to be able to hold every part of them. I want to choose them when its easy and choose them when its hard. Even if it ends, I’d wish to love them from afar.

I want to be stupidly, embarrassingly, unreasonably in love.

And that is why I admire you all so deeply. All of you who love without fear nor shame. You who are willing to try, willing to stay even when it’s inconvenient. Those who feel blessed to be inconvenienced by the one they love. You who will choose them over in every lifetime. I don’t know how you guys do it (and God, I wish there was a tutorial how). I’m still observing, and I’ll keep taking notes. But a part of me hopes that one day I’ll be brave enough to be that stupid too.

I’m not able to trace back to why exactly I do this. Maybe I’m looking for something complete. Something familiar. Maybe an escape route. A distraction even. Whatever the reason may be, I’d always find myself turning back. Almost as if I’m rejecting the present. Tapping into forgotten songs and playlists, rediscovering old perfumes and scents, faithfully thinking that these things just might take me back in time, even just for a few minutes.. And, I feel that it does— and it feels like a breath of fresh air.

I’m stuck in my head, a little overstimulated when I shift my gaze to my open laptop playing my yearner: final boss playlist for the gazillionth time. I pause what was supposed to be my favorite song that I played one too many times until the melody collapsed. What once was a masterpiece, turned into two minutes of mind-numbing volume…. I scan the screen for a moment until the text catches my eye. I click on the folder labeled 2023 (it’s labeled way worse than that but for the sake of our sanity…) and I scroll through the different playlists stoically, shuffling through songs one by one, each one taking me back to a different time period more vivid than the last. I get up, I scramble towards my stack of old journals and flip through a few while my corny music (it sounds kinda good I swear) plays in the back.

That’s one way how I build my own 'liminal space'. Its not something new I discovered. Most of us do this the time… don’t we? (please tell me I’m not the only one).

Before I know it, I’m three years younger. Time slows, the air feels cool and everything feels light again. I know the space. I can feel it’s scent in my lungs and it’s vivid colors staining my bones. A paradise all made up in my head, taking place in the comfort of my room. I know this is wrong. I know nothing good comes from living in the past for any reason. I knew if I stayed there too long, something dreadful from that world would crawl up my skin and into my blood. Commanding me to go back to where I belong— the present. It wouldn’t drag me there no. I think its because it knew I would simply come back. Instead. It told me the truth. It teared down the flimsy walls I built up and showed me that my ‘eternal bliss’ was nowhere near eternal nor blissful. Nostalgia wipes everything bad clean. Tops it with whipped cream and cherries and serves it to you innocently. Behind my cardboard walls, I was surrounded by ruins and rubble and peeling paint. The scents I loved so dearly now concentrate and intoxicate my every breath while the colors once so vivid and lovely begin to peel my bones apart in anguish. The melodies that softly hummed from my laptop speaker shift to gnashing teeth and deafening screeches still making out the words; ‘you don’t belong here. Go back home’.

Only then will I realize, I am not in 2023. and I never will be. Every second will pass you by. whether you were eating, sleeping, drinking, studying, scrolling, building your life or breaking it, every second will pass you by and you will never be able to return. Each moment of will slip away until the final grain falls.

You can never go back to the past. You can stand still but time will keep moving. It’s the cruel reality of time that none can tweak or change or bargain themselves out of. You’re a part of it whether you like it or not.

I still don’t know what to say in regards to this word.

I’m not just missing 2023. I’m missing something that might never have existed in the form I’ve been reaching for. The past is just the shape I’ve poured that longing into.

Sehnsucht is also interesting because it’s inherently unsatisfiable — you can’t find the thing because the thing isn’t a place or a time. It’s a feeling of home that has no address. Which is why the return always fails. I keep going back to the closet expecting to find it and it’s never quite there.

If my time runs out, down to the last grain and I still haven’t found it here on earth,

I think the place closest to this thing to me just might be heaven.

I’m 13 years old— which makes me feels so freaking small since a lot of people on here are like, 15+ (please don’t click off because I’m a literal fetus) and after finishing four journals in 6 months, I decided to post my more polished thoughts here.

I’m on a journey of learning how to write but more importantly, learning how to love. Every article I write on here, will one way or another lead back to love, whether either of us see it or not. But I’m also learning to write so no, you may not be seeing some Shakespeare level poetry on here, sadly, but I’d appreciate writing tips if you have any to support my writing journey.

I mainly write from experiences I have in my day to day life that move me more than others. I use this app as a way to organize my thoughts (giving my website the name Ella’s Coping Mechanism) and not profession or anything. I’m here purely for fun. Plus a little side note: I’m a Christian teen but my account genre isn’t Christianity. Although, I sometimes make small and hardly recognizable references and post bible verses every now and then. I’d appreciate if you, dear reader, respect my belief in exchange for my respect for yours.

But anywho, thank you so much for reading this all the way! If you’re considering subscribing, please do so here.

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I’m trying to make this place a safe space for anyone interested and I hope one of my works will be able to make someone feel seen some day too.

Have a nice day! :D

Its not my fault I swear…

…ok, maybe it is.

I’m still in the middle of learning how to ‘sit with my feelings’ without them taking full control of my life and potentially ruining it plus after full on crashing since late December until February, now its literally 10x harder.

I’ve realized a pattern lately. I simply can’t stand not being ok for more than at least three days. I sulk, I get depressed, I stop taking care of myself, I chew myself down with negative self-talk… the list could go on and on but not long after that, obviously, I get fed up with listening to sad music while crying in the rain like I’m in a coming of age film. So I decide to get my butt back up but uhm, well..

It’s a bit harder (and more annoying) than I anticipated.

First, I tried to fill in as many gaps possible. The whole time I’d just been walking around with a post-it note written “sad” on it plastered to my heart. So yes, actually naming the emotion really does help but rushing to fill everything as fast as possible doesn’t.

What I worried about the most was that once I started ‘fixing’ this problem, I felt if I left this thing untouched for too long, my life would fall apart. Whether it meant me acting upon that emotion or the fear that the emotion would grow into something even worse that I might not be able to fix. Regardless, I felt the need to fill it fast before I spiraled back to January all over again. I’d dig through every self help book and YouTube video, occasionally asking Claude (It’s not any better than ChatGPT, I won’t lie to you) and if I were really stuck, I’d talk to someone older or a friend (this never worked)

I worked hard to get to the bottom of it… without damaging my pride and distorting the truth to get what I wanted. I’d tell myself I’d be ok by the end of the week and one way or the other, I really did feel better after a week, with a fresh new mindset…

…That I didn’t even know was 10x worse than the last.

Because even after “solving” one problem, another would surface almost immediately — school, friends, religion, the purpose of my existence... I was always filling gaps, covering cracks before they spread. Assigning my own meanings to things. Trying to fully understand something as complex as love. Bending it’s truth until it fit the shape I needed.

At first, I thought I was emotionally intelligent. But as time passed, I began to feel more and more suffocatingly confused.

Here’s what I kept skipping; I know most of us can’t function without something playing in the background but I’m okay with sitting in silence. this article is not about sitting in silence. The real problem wasn’t the silence. It was sitting with my thoughts long enough until they finally decided to pass. And every time I rushed past that part. Named it, filled it, called it solved— the problem just came back a week later saying— “ermmm, you didn’t really get it right the last time.”

where it started

I guess the most common place to start with would be getting caught in a comparison trap.

I moved schools around a year ago because the competition in my previous school was kinda buns. I was used to topping the class every time, until I moved there. My friends there were all smarter than me and I didn’t pay too much attention until finals were getting closer. That was around October. We got these mock tests every now and then and 1.) I was failing each one more than the last regardless of how much I studied. And unfortunately, 2.) I am the type to get jealous.

I spiraled about those two facts until school was over. It was torture based on what my journal pages read. During the break, I was (finally) away from all the socializing and commuting and presentations and EXAMS. As any introvert, I was glad I could finally take a breather. The problem was away from me so I felt that I’d already gotten over it.. until I started talking to one of my ‘better’ friends later during the break.

I hate to admit that I felt that way about my own friend but what I did was far worse than the mere feeling of jealousy. I got so frustrated as we leaned into the new year, my jealousy turned to bitterness.

But being sad is actually really tiresome and genuinely sucks so that’s kinda why I decided to ‘solve’ it.

I told myself they were losers dressed up well — that their wins were luck, their confidence was performance. Pick them apart. Find the flaw in the armor. It was petty and I knew it.

I thought I was finished with it. I entered a new grade with my.. arguably crappy mindset, thinking I would crush this year. It didn’t take long before it all unraveled again. After realized how messed up my mindset was, All sorts of things went wrong. I got irritated easily, I found myself wanting to pull away from friends or just cut them off entirely.. and more morally questionable actions spun and twirled around in my mind for weeks.

I fell into a 1 month rut which again, was torture, from what my journal pages read.

the byproduct of that was fear

Fear of being upset, fear of being uncomfortable, fear of being annoyed, fear of yearning for something, fear of feeling anything at all.

That season was such a hellish experience, once I got out and finally had peace of mind, I swore never to get myself into something like that ever again. So everytime an emotion pressed down on my chest for ‘too long’, I hurriedly pressed and folded it into one simple statement, neatly tucking it into the back of a shelf.

After a while, these emotions would burst back open, even more aggressive than before, staining the walls and the furniture but most of all.. me. And I sat on my bedroom floor, the lights dimmed, the music stopped. It was just me and the mess I just created with whatever the hell I was already ‘fixing’ that week impatiently standing in the corner.

It’s like already having a pile of school work that’s due in two days and another pile of work that you have to re-do just spawns before your very eyes.

And ironically enough, I dealt with my January slump pretty well in the end regardless of the fact that at the time it felt like I was thrown into the fiery pits of hell. I was stuck with my thoughts for so long, I had no other choice but to just listen to what they had to say. I learned to accept my then circumstances and started doing things that lead me back to what grounds me.

But that took time.

I don’t understand myself at all..

But neither do you

This all really came from a lack of security in oneself. We’re all still figuring ourselves out. What harms us, what comforts us, what makes us feel uncomfortable, what makes us feel loved… But to understand yourself, you must experience life to it’s fullest and see what you body says about this and what your heart says about that. It demands authenticity and vulnerability. But it gets to a point that understanding is too draining, complex or just takes too much time. Plus being a feeler can take it out of your depth even more.

I must admit. Feeling a lot… is exhausting.

It can get to the point of watering down situations instead of seeing them for what they are, messy and all, without distorting anything just to ‘save energy’. But all of that mess is still a part of who you are. You need these experiences to understand yourself. As scary as they may seem. And understanding yourself isn’t a three month workout plan either. This can by the very least take a lifetime and you’ll still have a few more blind spots left. The best and only way to truly ‘get’ yourself is by experiencing that feeling. The only way out of is through. Not tucking it away, not covering it up, not labeling it just to get it out of the way.

So grab a cup of tea and slide it across the table towards whatever emotion that showed up in your heart to hang out with you today. Ask it how it feels. Don’t say anything at all if you wish. Lets not speedrun through life. Not anymore.

I don’t think I know how to love.

I’ve said it before, (it’s in my bio for heaven’s sake!) and I may or may not be starting to feel a bit sad about it.

The thought arrived quietly, the way most uncomfortable things do in a way. The air cooled. My tea went cold. And I sat there, genuinely stumped.

I don’t really know how to love.

And that bothered me a lot. I actually got Substack a few days after concluding and from then, I studied it. I learnt what it looks like and how it’s done and I saw people who are unable to put it into words and others who explained it so beautifully… (which made me question my own writing).. Love is no simple concept. I feel like I know so much, yet looking on the outside, I barely know anything at all.

But why do I say that?

Yes, as much as I’ve read all the articles and asked ChatGPT and scrambled through my bible (Yes, I’m Christian :D) to know what it is. I had never really tried to love anyone in real time and know how it feels. So, of course, I knew that I’d have to actually love someone, and I’m not saying I’m some cold-hearted bucket of bolts, I love my family and friends but, you know, we’re talking about love: a deeper level of friendship.

I know I can’t just magic myself to love someone. It’s the desire for them. To hand someone your entire being and mean it, even whilst knowing it might come back to you in a million pieces. And I can’t ‘learn’ myself into that, so I waited. I didn’t think it would work, but I waited for the desire to present itself to me and ironically enough, it did.

So who is the lucky guy? I’m not telling you :D

But there was someone. Let's call him... actually, let's not. He gets a pronoun and that's enough. Him. He was enough to make me want to dig.

But I didn’t see him and long to dig right away, there was a way he just saw me. He’s a bit weird (a bit is an understatement), but I felt good around him. And that’s what made me want to dig. No, I did and do not see him in a romantic way. But I wanted to know him. I wanted to see his inmost being. I listened to his words, I wished to let him know that he meant something the way he always did for me.

And then I fell off.

I don’t exactly know what happened. It’s almost like I emotionally have a low iron deficiency because on a random Friday, I had no energy at all for anyone. Not even him. And I don’t think this is one of those classic introvert traits either. And the whole day, I wanted to snap at him veryyyy specifically. It was so weird. The other day, I overflowed with joy to hear his weird yap and now, I felt like telling him I hate him. and I truly did hate him as if I had never been friends with him before. I just couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. I had lost myself whilst ‘loving’.

He was visibly confused and maybe even hurt (don’t worry, I never told him I hated him to his face). And on top of the still lingering exhaustion that potentially just ruined my friendship, was where a baggage of guilt and judgement was carelessly plopped onto.

I felt that the damage was already done. I created distance and got mad at the littlest of things, which lead me to leaving every other relationship that took that effort including my relationship with God. I could imagine myself surrounded by four walls, a little window being the only thing between me and the people I had chosen to shut out. I was like this for a week. Any form of kindness that they gave me didn’t feel warm like it used to. In fact, it felt annoying. Disgusting even.

So no,

I know exactly how to love. I know it costs everything. I did it once, gave it everything I had.. and failed. And now someone out there is showing this love to me and I want to pull away. I remember what it asked of me. what it stole from me. And I'm afraid I don't have any more. I am a foreigner in the midst of love’s presence.

But as much as I am afraid, This quote by Janelle (one cup of tea) was a bit softer and less scary and kind of moved me even.

The hope that love would change me. Make me it’s own, transform me. Instead of looking at it as something to hide from, something draining, to stay away from, It reminded me that when you love, it doesn't just change the person receiving it — it changes you. Maybe even more.

To think that this love sees so much of my potential and is gently nudging me, not to turn me into a person I am not, but because it looked at me and said I can be more. Maybe I had been looking at this like I was the one losing. I treated it like a job. Like a chore.

The only one that can each me how to love is love itself and that slowly, I may learn the language, and no longer be a foreigner, nor an immigrant, but to belong to love, belong in love and and embody it — every costly, transforming bit of it. Someone who loves and is changed by it and doesn't run from what it asks.

I’m not quite ready yet, but I am truly willing.

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But I cannot exhaust how good Janelle’s article was! I really recommend giving it a read and checking her other works too.

one cup of tea

to be loved is to be changed

i used to believe that love does not come with any requirements. that love must be given unconditionally and asks nothing of us — that to be loved is to be accepted wholly as who we are, untouched and unedited…

Read more

7 months ago · 797 likes · 16 comments · janelle

I believe sex isn’t the most intimate thing; conversation is. If I give you my body, I can take it back. But if I give you my thoughts, you walk away with a real piece of me. You walk away with what’s under my skin. You walk away with what I am intimate with myself about.

-Ivy Oceans

But what if I give them a real piece of me, and they place it at my feet and walk away?

I think it started back in November.

I was on break. It was a great month, don’t get me wrong, but I felt a weird tension between a friend and me, let’s call her C. So C had this habit of kinda not caring about what you said (?). You would text her or send her something and get left on seen or she shifts the topic, and I didn’t pay much mind to it until I would share something important and kinda get the same treatment? A change of topic, a ‘mmh’ or just nothing. I didn’t know what was going on. and what I did was just talk to her less. I stopped sharing stuff with her.. until I had to go back to school.

We grew a bit distant and I totally forgot about that pattern until school started again and I noticed it again. Something was off. It was like she didn’t listen to a word I said. I tried to figure out what was going on and I was told that maybe she had her own stuff going on. I tried to believe that.

The one time I had something heavy on my heart, I let her in. I was vulnerable. Really vulnerable. And her response? A 'mmh. Have you seen __?' Then she was gone. Hurt doesn't even cover it. I was done.

We hardly talk much these days. We didn’t fight. If I’m being honest, she has no idea what’s going on. As much as I’d wish to talk to her, she wouldn’t listen, so what’s the point?

So now what?

Now, that was just one example of being vulnerable followed by utter failure. I can say I’ve been ignored, left and rejected because I trusted that person enough to see me but they didn’t know or even want to deal with it. Those people weren’t bad people at all. I actually still talk to most of them. The only thing that’s changed is that we don’t have the same closeness as before. I don’t blame them nor am I mad at them. But what I want to know is,

Will anyone actually choose to stay?

I think any close relationship should at least have vulnerability. I mean, how will there be any intimacy if the relationship is purely made up of liking each other’s Instagram posts and complimenting each other’s face cards? These relationships aren’t bad, but they only go so far. There's a difference between people who know your face and people who know your heart. And I think everyone deserves at least one or two people who know the weight of what you carry. Someone you can fall apart in front of without having to explain yourself. That kind of intimacy isn't built on compliments. It's built on the conversations that happen at 2am, the ones that find you when you least expect it, but you talk anyway. the things you say out loud for the first time, the moments where you let someone see the unfiltered version of you. And they stay.

I’m afraid I won’t find someone who would stay.

And I know those people don’t just pop up randomly and you live happily ever after. It takes a lot of time, effort, strength.. You never know, I might be building that right now with a person that I would’ve never guessed to be the one to ‘stay’. After what happened with C, I’ve been a bit closed off. I don’t really know when to talk or who to talk to.

I want to be seen

Without judgement. Even if it means sitting in silence until I feel better. Even if all they can do is take me outside to catch some sun or making sure I’m eating. I don’t want to be ignored. It takes courage to open up and that courage deserves to land somewhere safe. I'm still figuring out who deserves that version of me. But I haven't closed the door. Not yet.

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This is actually my first post/article. Thank you so much for reading. My name is Ella and I’m really only posting so I can improve my writing and learn how to navigate through my feelings and relationships. My bio is real and wasn’t ripped off from Pinterest ok?? I’m not sure if anyone will actually read this to begin with haha but just in case you did, sending lots of love from here.

Until then, farewell~