”I swallowed words to keep the peace,
And let my own convictions cease.
I bent until I lost my shape,
Mistaking silence for escape.

I gave too much, then asked for less,
Until I drowned in my own distress.
But now I choose what I once denied
My voice, my truth, my self-respect, amplified.

’Only dead fish go with the flow’…. I once adored this quote,
And held its meaning close to me.
I told myself I’d never stray,
Or let the current choose my way.

But life taught me, through every fall,
That not every tide deserves my all.
Sometimes the bravest thing to do
Is let the current carry you.”

I wrote this poem last night while I was listening to Roar by Katy Perry. There was something almost funny about the combination. Roar is such a loud song about finding your voice, standing your ground, and refusing to shrink yourself for anyone. Meanwhile, I was writing about something I have spent years believing:

“Only dead fish go with the flow.”

I used to love that quote.

I thought it was one of those sentences that could become a personal philosophy. I believed that strong people resisted the current. I believed that if life pushed me in one direction, I had to push back. I thought going with the flow meant giving up. It meant being passive. It meant allowing other people to decide where my life was headed.

So I tried very hard not to be a dead fish. I held on. I argued. I explained myself. I stayed in situations longer than I should have because leaving felt like surrender. I swallowed words because I thought keeping the peace was more mature. I bent myself around other people’s expectations because I thought being understanding was a virtue.

Eventually, I realized something uncomfortable.

Sometimes, you can be so determined not to go with the flow that you spend your entire life fighting a current that was never meant to be fought.

That realization found its way into the first lines of my poem:

I swallowed words to keep the peace,
And let my own convictions cease.

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There were moments when I confused silence with peace.

I thought not saying what I felt made me patient. I thought accepting less made me loving. I thought constantly adjusting myself made me adaptable. It took me a while to understand that there is a difference between compromise and self-abandonment. There is also a difference between surrendering your voice and choosing your battles.

That is probably why the second half of the poem feels different from the first.

But now I choose what I once denied.
My voice, my truth, my self-respect, amplified.

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I don’t think finding your voice always means becoming louder. Sometimes it means finally admitting that something isn’t right, sometimes it means saying no without writing an entire essay to justify it. Sometimes it means walking away without needing everyone to understand why, sometimes it means accepting that you cannot control the direction of the river.

You can only decide whether you want to keep exhausting yourself by swimming against it.

There is something powerful about refusing to become passive in your own life. There are moments when you absolutely need to resist. There are things worth fighting for. There are boundaries worth defending. There are versions of yourself that you should never abandon simply because someone else finds them inconvenient.

But I no longer believe that every current deserves my resistance. Some currents are simply carrying me somewhere I needed to go.

Life has taught me this through enough falls, enough disappointments, and enough moments of realizing that I was holding on simply because I was afraid of what would happen if I let go.

So perhaps I was wrong about the fish. Maybe going with the flow does not always mean weakness. Maybe sometimes it means trusting yourself enough to stop forcing what no longer fits. Maybe strength is knowing when to swim, when to stop, and when to let the water carry you.

I wrote the poem thinking I was writing about the difference between resistance and surrender. Maybe I was really writing about self-respect, about the moment you realize that strength does not always mean staying in places that exhaust you. Sometimes, the current is not the enemy. It may simply be carrying you toward somewhere you were once too afraid to go on your own.

And perhaps that is the lesson I am carrying with me now:

I can swim when I need to. I can stand my ground when it matters. I can speak when my voice needs to be heard.

But I can also let go.

Because not every tide deserves my all.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

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Some people say it like it is a compliment. They say it with admiration. They say it as if I should be proud of carrying everyone on my back.

People usually say it like it’s a compliment.

“You’re such a strong woman.”

“You’re the breadwinner of the family.”

“You should be proud.”

No, I am not proud of it.

God knows I am not proud of it. I am tired of it.

Years years ago, an old group of friends and I had a conversation about what we would want to be in a second life if we were not born as humans. One wanted to be a cow in Switzerland. Another wanted to be a poppy flower blooming beside a country road. Someone else wanted to be a silk sheet owned by a professional model. Without much thought, I said “ I think I will be a f@*K!n& bread.”

Everyone laughed when I said I wanted to be a bread. Hoping they get a hint of it.

But maybe that answer came from a place deeper than I realized. In this life, I have spent so much time being the breadwinner that even in an imaginary second life, I thought of me as a bread. Something made to feed others. Something expected to fill empty stomachs. Something that exists for someone else’s needs.

Maybe that is why the word breadwinner has never felt like a compliment to me. I have spent years being consumed by responsibilities that were never mine to begin with.

So if I am going to be asked the same question if there is a second life, I hope I do not come back as bread. I hope I come back as something that exists for itself. Something free. Something that does not have to spend its whole life feeding everyone else. Something that will not settle for “That’s life. That’s how it works.”

I am the eldest daughter in a family of six siblings. From a young age, I learned that being the eldest did not mean being cared for first. It meant being expected to sacrifice first. I watched my childhood disappear under responsibilities that were never mine to carry. People love stories about strong eldest daughters. They celebrate us when we work hard. They praise us when we provide. They admire us when we survive. What they do not see is the anger behind the strength. What they do not see is the unfairness.

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When I was studying, I paid for my own tuition fee while still saving for everyday lunches and fares for work. While other children were focused on classes, friends, and dreams, I was worried about how I would stay in school while working nightshift. I learned very early that if I wanted a future, I had to build it myself.

I believe that no child should have to carry that burden. Yet many eldest daughters do. The hardest part is not even the money. The hardest part is watching ungrateful parents act as if your sacrifices are normal. As if they are entitled to everything you give. As if your hard work is simply your duty. You give and give and give. As if your whole family is your whole responsibility just because you can.

Then one day, you realize nobody ever asked what it cost you. Nobody asked about the opportunities you missed. Nobody asked about the stress. Nobody asked about the exhaustion. Nobody asked who was taking care of you.

Instead, they call you a breadwinner.

As if that single word is supposed to explain away years of pressure. As if it is a badge of honor instead of a reminder of neglect. I do not want to be called a breadwinner because I never chose this role. I chose to survive. I chose to finish school while working and providing. I chose to create a life despite the lack of support.

That is different.

When people hear that I help my family, they assume it comes from love alone. Love is part of it, but so is obligation, guilt, and expectation. I don’t know if people or any eldest daughters like me know exactly what I mean.

We are expected to be strong even when we are falling apart. We are expected to understand everyone else’s struggles while nobody understands ours. We are expected to provide without complaint. Then we are called selfish the moment we choose ourselves. That is why the word breadwinner makes me angry.

It hides the truth.

The truth is that many children, not only the eldest but also middle and youngest children, are forced to become providers because the adults who were supposed to care for them failed to step up. The truth is that many of us paid with our youth, our peace, and our dreams. The truth is that strength is often born from abandonment.

So please do not call me a breadwinner. I did not dream of becoming a breadwinner. I dreamed of having parents I could lean on. I dreamed of being supported. I dreamed of being someone’s daughter instead of everyone’s solution.

Call me what I really am.

An eldest daughter who carried more than she should have. An eldest daughter who paid for her own future. An eldest daughter who survived. And an eldest daughter who is finally tired of being celebrated for burdens she should never have been forced to carry in the first place.

Now, I don't know if this rage in me will ever leave. Some wounds stay longer than we expect. Some scars become part of who we are.

But I pray that one day I can look at my story without feeling this heaviness in my chest. I pray that I can accept what happened without excusing it, and move forward without carrying everyone else's burden along with my own. And I pray for your peace, too. I pray to every provider who carries the weight of an entire family finds a life where they are no longer valued for what they provides, but for who they are.

I hope we all experience a future filled with peace, freedom, and the chance to finally live for ourselves.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

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I watch the others drift and glide,
As winds carry them far and wide.
Yet every breeze that comes my way
Feels more like teasing than escape.

It’s not that I am lost or sad,
Or aching for the things I’ve had.
I know my tree. My green tree knows me.
Its brown roots and branches shelter me.

I know the bark where colors fade,
The brown and amber patterns laid.
I know the light that helps me grow,
The deepest roots that lie below.

I know when winter starts to creep,
And strips the branches bare and bleak.
Yet still I wait. Yet still I yearn.
For roaring winds that never turn.

I wish to fall. To drift alone.
To call the open air my own.
To rest upon the grass below,
Or settle softly on the snow.

To dance above a flower’s face,
And wander without fear or place.
To rise and dip with careless ease,
And float wherever calls the breeze.

Serene and free, with nothing due.
No thought of where I’m going to.
And every time that wish takes flight,
I dream of leaving for the night.

…..
I look upon that wandering leaf,
And feel a quiet, hidden grief.
But, I know my tree. My tree knows me.
Its roots and branches shelter me.
For deep within my heart’s retreat,
I wish that leaf and I could meet.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

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“Soft echoes call from days gone by,
With golden hues that never die.
They wrap the past in gentle light,
And turn our wrongs to something right.

We chase the warmth of what we knew,
In faded shades and softened view.
Yet truth is lost in what we keep,
For memory edits far too deep.

It guides the heart, then clouds the mind,
With perfect scenes it has designed.

…..

So hold the past, but do not stay,
For life still waits beyond today.”

As time goes by, I’ve reflect that there is a quiet pull in memory that feels warmer than the present. It’s like living in old songs, in familiar streets, in the scent of something that once mattered more than we realized at the time. Nostalgia does not ask for permission. It arrives gently, then settles deep, like a truth we forgot to question. We return to the past not because it was perfect, but because it feels complete. The edges are softened. The noise is muted. What remains is a curated version of life, one that spares us from the uncertainty we now carry. In memory, we are certain. In memory, we know how things end.

And for me, there is comfort in that.

Nostalgia can ground us. It reminds us who we were before the world demanded more from us. It reconnects us to simpler motives, to quieter joys. In moments of doubt, it can act as a compass. It points us back to values we once held without hesitation. It tells us what mattered before ambition complicated everything. Sometimes, that is enough to guide us forward.

But I believe that nostalgia is not always honest.

It edits without consent. It removes the weight of consequences. It erases the confusion, the boredom, the pain that also lived in those moments we now romanticize. What we remember is often what we needed, not what truly was. This is where nostalgia begins to mislead.

Decisions made through nostalgia can feel right but lack clarity. We chase old versions of happiness without asking if they still fit who we have become. We return to places, to people, to paths that once made sense, only to find that time has quietly reshaped everything. Including us.

The past does not stay still just because we do.

There is a danger in longing for a life that no longer exists. It can keep us suspended between what was and what could be. It can make the present feel insufficient, as if real life must compete with a memory that no longer carries its full truth. In that comparison, the present often loses. Yet, to reject nostalgia entirely is to deny a part of being human.

We are shaped by memory. We are built from moments that no longer exist but still influence how we see the world. Nostalgia, when held with awareness, becomes something else. It becomes a quiet teacher. It shows us patterns. It reveals what we value. It reminds us of what we are capable of feeling.

The key is not to live in it.

The past can inform us, but it should not decide for us. Decisions require presence. They demand that we see things as they are, not as they once felt. Nostalgia can sit beside us, but it should not take the lead.

There is a difference between honoring memory and surrendering to it.

To move forward is to accept that some beauty belongs only to a specific time. It cannot be recreated. It should not be forced into the present. What can be carried forward is the essence, not the exact form. The feeling, not the illusion.

We are not meant to return. We are meant to remember, then continue.

And maybe that is the quiet truth nostalgia tries to tell us. Not to go back, but to understand what made those moments meaningful. So we can build something just as real, right here, where we stand.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

Never Let Me Go feels light and reflective. I am comfortable setting it aside and returning to it whenever I feel drawn back. The Count of Monte Cristo is detailed and expansive. I read it slowly in a quiet space because I do not want to miss a single nuance in each chapter.

Earlier, I cleaned my bookshelf. Every time I organize it, a deep sense of happiness moves through me. I truly appreciate books. That feeling inspired me to write a poem.

i gather stories bound in spine and thread,
soft constellations resting by my bed.
each cover hums with secrets yet untold,
in quiet ink and paper brushed with gold.

i read by lamplight, held in borrowed skies,
where characters breathe as their life rise.
a single page can tilt the axis true,
and make the ordinary world feel new.

i love the weight of wisdom in my hands,
the scent of time no fleeting screen commands.
margins bloom with thoughts I dare to keep,
like whispered vows the faithful choose to reap.

i chase first editions, weathered, rare,
with silvered edges worn by patient care.
each volume claims a tender, sacred place,
a gathered archive shaped by love and grace.

for books are more than paper, glue, and art.
they build a brighter country in the heart.
and in their hush I find what I have sought,
a life enlarged by language, fiercely wrought.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

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“love moves softly through the day,
in simple words we choose to say.
a quiet note. a steady hand.
a promise only hearts understand.

roses bloom in shades of red,
with gentle truths left unsaid.
one glance. One smile that stays.
warmth that lingers through the days.

not just candles, cards, or art,
but steady presence from the heart.
on Valentine’s, we pause and see,
love is choice and loyalty.”

A short poem for today. Happy Valentine’s Day my dear readers ♡ ˚ ˖𓍢ִ໋❀

Let us not forget to greet our loved ones, pets, friends, and families. Send a thoughtful message, write a letter, call a friend, and express one sincere appreciation.

Everything is perfect when you look at it with love.

I love this day so so much. Everything is pink, red, bright, sparkly, and the atmosphere is sweet and happy. I got my Valentine’s gift around the wee hours. I was so happy that I ate the blueberry cheesecake the moment he handed it to me. He simply watched me indulge, unaware that it is him I truly adore. I choose him not just for this moment, but for every ordinary day we share. I truly appreciate my man and I always pray for his health and his success everyday, forever, for the rest of my life, until his next life. Well, that is so cheesy-cringe.

Love is a complex perplexity that has been defined by a countless people. For me, love is so simple. It stays when days are not so bright, guards the truth and holds the light. It grows through trust, through time, through care, and in honest words we choose to share.

Choose love with courage. Let it lead you well.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

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I have decided to commit to consistency, regardless of how simple or personal each entry may be. I will publish four to five casual posts each week, sharing my thoughts and reflections. I have planned to do this since 2022 on another platform but never followed through. This time, I am choosing to begin. Now or never.

If you look back at my previous post titled ‘Honeymoon,’ you will see that it is written as a journal entry. I would like my future entries to follow the same title and format.It is February 12 at 6:05 in the morning lst, and I am in the middle of my work shift. This will be my consistent posting time, as my working hours follow Central Standard Time. I am excited to begin and hope you will stay with me throughout this journey.

I want lilsoftmay to serve as my online journal, a space to document my thoughts, interests, readings, writing, goals, and personal growth. I want to acknowledge my progress as a woman who accepts both her flaws and her development. I hope to look back on my short and long term goals with pride, not to diminish who I was, but to appreciate her discipline and resilience.

Thank you for reading. I will see you.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

It is 3:15 am, and Honeymoon by Lana plays softly in the background while sipping my Caramel Macchiato Iced Coffee bought by my brother for me. I am working remotely and these are my working hours, yet I have already completed my report. I cannot read my current book or even write in my journal because the lights remain off to avoid waking my sister. I am staying in our old room since October after leaving my apartment on Hornbill Street. I chose to spend Christmas here in our house before moving in to my new apartment.

“There are violets in your eyes
There are guns that blaze around you
There are roses in between my thighs
And fire that surrounds you
It’s no wonder every man in town
Had neither fought nor found you
Everything you do is elusive
To even your honey dew”

If someone said that the text above was written by Jesus, I would believe it. That bridge comes from the song Honeymoon by Lana Del Rey. I love this song deeply, and it is currently my most played track this month. The vocals and lyrics is just so ethereal. I feel like I’m in heaven surrounded by my singing angel.

Sometimes a talk that trembles with truth,

Sometimes a body folded in a room stripped of youth.

Sometimes a topic fractured like glass on the floor,

Sometimes a hip warm in the dusk asking for more.

Sometimes a hush pulled from a heart trying to stay,

Sometimes a touch soft as a vow drifting away.

But sometimes it’s a drink calming the storm in your chest,

And it carries you home to a slow life that feels like rest.

A slow life that settles in breaths and soften grief,

Slow life rises in quiet that offers relief.

A slow life holds you with gentleness that flavors your life like a thyme,

The slow life that ends in a peace shaped by time.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

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To nerd out is to care deeply, to explore endlessly, and to fall in love with the act of learning, no matter how strange, niche, or wildly specific your interests might be. So grab your drink (can be soda, coffee, matcha, or tea), settle in, and let’s celebrate the things worth obsessing over.

Because here’s what you need to nerd out about:

• Rising signs, rom-com supremacy, replaying your own ig story, psychology, mythology, history, equation that you can literally solve, manifesting, current media / social media impacts, literally any movie ever, the supernatural, the concept of time, feminism, afterlife, goals, food, pop culture, british pop culture, poetry, romance, tokyo drift soundtrack, flames, bookstagram, writing, medicine through time, stories of our past, current passion / obsession, our future, vampires, old fave tv shows, hobbies, the idea of love, (shoe) box of memories, theories, disney films, tim burton, stop motion films, soulmates, dreams, deja vu, fashion, literature / film / music, death & grief, childhood & memories, 10 things i hate about you, witch trials, yearning, growing old, hot haircuts of 2000’s actresses, souls, psychological thrillers, indie music, invisible string theory, coraline, theatre, being a weird girl, pile of tbr, comfort things, culture, any favourite artists, beliefs, autumn & winter, 500 days of summer, playing sad songs when you’re sad, lana del rey aesthetic and many many more (please comment something that brings out your hot nerdy side)

Each topic holds its own little universe. A conversation waiting to unfold, a moment of recognition waiting to happen. You don’t need to feel cringey for the things that make your heart light up. Whether it’s unraveling the mysteries of time, decoding pyramids of Egypt, tweeting about new Juno’s position of Sabrina, or crying over your favorite fictional death—these obsessions are what makes you, you.

So don’t dim your sparkle for the sake of seeming calm. Embrace the storm of your curiosity, the chaos of your creativity, and the warmth of connection that blooms when you share it.

Because to nerd out is to live out loud, without fear or doubt.

If joy’s your theme, then scream it out.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

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Life rarely feels like destiny in motion.

More often, it feels like wandering through a fog, uncertain of where the path will lead. Yet within that uncertainty, every choice is a spark, igniting something within us—sometimes faint, sometimes fierce. It’s in the act of choosing, again and again, that we slowly craft the outline of who we are meant to be.

The truth is, we are not born whole. We are born raw, unformed, carrying fragments of potential waiting for the right moments, the right decisions, to awaken them. A single act of courage can awaken resilience. A fleeting moment of compassion can set roots of gentleness deep in our character. Every time we choose love over indifference, growth over comfort, honesty over ease, we are shaping ourselves into the person our soul quietly knew we could become.

There’s something genuine about this evolution, how the seemingly mundane becomes monumental in hindsight. A blank stare at the coffee shop alone after heartbreak. A sincere text never sent. A risk taken on a dream that once felt impossible. These are the turning points not captured in grand epics but written in the language of real life. Our choices ripple, softly at first, until one day we look back and realize we’ve been in a slow-motion transformation all along.

And maybe that’s what destiny really is, not a fixed endpoint, but a series of choices that bring us closer to our truest selves. The person you were always meant to be isn’t waiting somewhere far ahead. They are unfolding inside you, every time you dare to choose differently, bravely, intentionally.

So when the world feels uncertain, remember: your story is not on pause. Every decision, small or monumental, is carving light into the corners of who you are. The life you dream of doesn’t arrive fully formed; it’s built, moment by moment, choice by choice. And one day, without even realizing it, you’ll stand in that light and recognize yourself completely, not as who you once were, but as who you were always meant to be.

So take heart in the in-between. The small choices matter. The unseen efforts matter. One day, you’ll look back and realize the person you are now was built from a thousand quiet decisions that no one else saw.

And that’s the most precious thing of all….

Becoming who you were always meant to be, softly, choice by choice, until it feels like coming home, home in beach with clean and quiet shore. It’s through your choices that you start becoming the version of yourself that destiny has been waiting for.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

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What if everything you seek already blooms within, waiting for your awareness to begin?

Time doesn’t create manifestations. Awareness does.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ ˚⋅

We often think of life in timelines, minutes, days, years. We set goals, make plans, and wait for things to unfold. But manifestation doesn’t operate by the clock. It happens in awareness.

Everything you desire already exists within your consciousness, right here, right now. When you focus on something and believe in it deeply, you begin to align with it in the present moment. There’s no waiting period required — it’s already real within you.

What slows things down is the belief that you need time for it to happen. But time is only an illusion.

The instant you shift your awareness, you begin to shift your reality. Your desires aren’t far away or hidden in the future — they’re simply waiting for you to recognize that they’re already yours.

So instead of asking “When will it happen?”, ask yourself, “How deeply do I believe it already has?”

The universe doesn’t respond to your calendar; it responds to your conviction. It mirrors your belief, not your impatience.

Once you truly understand that what you want already exists in your awareness, everything begins to move differently. You stop chasing, and start allowing. You stop waiting, and start becoming.

Because the truth is simple — manifestation doesn’t happen in time.
It happens in you.

…

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

i never like to admit that i feel like flying and poetic every time i feel this thing. but i never like to keep my love, i need to let it swing. it’s like hymning like a bird and i’ll eventually sing, the feeling of picking rose with thorns and you’ll get sting. below, a poem i wrote in 50 minutes like i’m 15 in a fling.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

i love reading it’s like breathing in, i love writing it’s like walking out

i love all shades of green, earthly and calm, no doubt.

i love red lipstick too, it makes me feel strong and bold

like i am about to walk in Louboutin with all the weights of gold.

ᡣ𐭩

i love buying papers and pens, i feel good when i write

i love standing by the window all day and night, i feel warm and bright

i love to bake cake and focaccia, i’m still not good at it though

i love listening to lana when im sad, happy, or existing, i just love it, no woe

౨ৎ

there’s more things that i love truly, but not deeper than my love for you

you make me proud when you do the things you cherish wholeheartedly, i fancy you

and if the moment comes that you make me your dearly love

i’ll fly my eighteen turtledoves, in the sky high above.

- lilsoftmay 𓂃۶ৎ

 
23, named after a talented lady. Eldest of two simple and quite easy people. Truly loves all her siblings but loves to be free. Now, working and living alone in a big city.

She’s got a fetch handwriting and journals too much. Likes alternative music, lily flower, and she never utter. From the way she walks and talks and such, to the way she swear to never end up like her mother.

Leo moon, rising is Capricorn. Her hair is dull and frizzy like husk of a corn. She unfailingly stayed up late just to read until dawn. Outlandish, how she simply wanted to be remembered as the girl who runaway and gone.

She’s only 23 but acts like 43. Dress like 33 and complains like 53. Effortless, uncomplicated, plain pretty. Simply ethereal with lots of hobby, such a dreamy.

ꕤꕤꕤ

Now you know some pivotal facts about me through this short poem of mine. I hope you can express yourself too, freely. Keep conveying what’s on your mind and you’ll be fine.

- lilsoftmay 𓍯ོ

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