but studying is something almost everyone does. so who am i outside of academics?

i have always been deathly afraid of self introductions in a new class. my name and age were all i could offer. i’d promote a past version of myself to avoid shame: one that didn’t exist anymore, using hobbies i enjoyed from years ago. i’d push aside that uneasiness in my stomach, afraid that someone would ask me details about it.

telling somebody i had no hobbies was humiliating, and it mattered more to have a hobby of my own, even if i didn’t enjoy it the way i used to.

‘oh i’m not that great at it anymore’ was my instinctive reply when someone questioned me about volleyball. it had been so long since i had played competitively, yet i’d always talk about it. truth is, my skills had deteriorated so much that i didn’t enjoy it as much anymore. but i still refused to admit that.

nobody calls it a hobby if they aren’t good at it.

so for a while, hobbies became non-existent to me until one day i decided to change that. i picked up a tennis racket, bought some new paint and a few colourful brush pens.

this would be my new identity.

i probably came up with hundreds of ways to tell everyone my new hobbies and how much i enjoyed them. everyone would be in awe: not only was i excelling academically, i was creative and talented too.

as time went on, reality struck me hard. it felt as though the tennis racket got heavier with every swing, and every stroke of paint seemed like a mistake, and my calligraphy twisted in some odd, grotesque way.

so with the frustration that nothing was working, i sort of gave up on the idea of pursuing new hobbies. i refused to join clubs and returned to what i did best: learning from the textbook. it didn’t feel like me at all, but it was my strength and pride. so this had to be my identity, right?

wrong.

among the constant approval of my academic achievements, i had forgotten what personal fulfillment felt like. i didn’t know if i really enjoyed learning or if it was something i tolerated to the point of enjoyment.

had i mistaken my ability for preference?

recently, i came across a video of someone narrating the process of their artwork. of course, i was initially impressed. however, she made a couple of mistakes throughout the video but noted that it was nothing she couldn’t fix. the final piece was eye-opening. its colours blended so messily, yet the painting looked so effortless, almost like it wasn’t trying to be perfect.

then came my obsession with substack. i found substack creators to be articulate writers with profound thoughts. the more i read, the more i wanted to be like them. but it wasn’t their complex vocabulary that made a piece well written; even the simplest string of words touched my heart. they, too, weren’t trying to be perfect.

for the first time in a while, i wanted to try again.

but this time, i decided to sit with the imperfections of my work. whether it’s a word choice i wasn’t satisfied with or a stroke i didn’t mean to paint, i allowed it to exist. for once i didn’t worry about my skill, but rather my enjoyment.

suddenly my documents were flowing with words and the empty pages of my sketchbooks flourished with colour.

without the incessant thought of a perfect result, it was finally easier to create.

my writing hasn’t been perfect. i don’t think it ever will be. but that doesn’t bother me anymore. i don’t need an excellent article to tell others i love writing. all i know is i love pulling up a new document and typing whatever comes to mind.

i know we all have had doubtful thoughts like these: feeling lost and confused with no sense of belonging. but identity isn’t something you have to prove to others. it doesn’t matter whether you do things the right or wrong way; it matters that you do it your way. so draw that funky picture and write that awful paragraph; you’re doing it for yourself, not for others.

thank you for reading my substack article! please consider subscribing if you’ve enjoyed it and i’d really appreciate any feedback :)

– author’s notes: this took a really long time to write, but i’m so glad its done now. this article explores a struggle i’ve been dealing with for the longest time, so i hope it’s meaningful to some of you

when your friend’s boyfriend cheated on her, only one thought comes to mind: leave him. time passes, but she is trapped in this constant cycle of heartbreak and lies. how ridiculous can she be? if it were me, i would’ve left already. but is there any truth to that? we often tell ourselves what we would do more than what we actually did. i’ll start my new diet tomorrow, i’ll go to the gym next week, i’ll study properly for my tests next term. it’s easy to say, but even more difficult to execute. endless suggestions are constantly thrown around to appear useful, but how many of them are actually meaningful without compassion or mindfulness?

i used to think i was able to control my own life and the problems that came with it.

how difficult could it be to simply do what’s best for me?

however, during my struggles in a relationship that wasn’t good for my well-being, i was torn between the decision to leave or to stay. knowing what should’ve been done did not make it any easier to do it. i remained at the crossroads, even as the obvious decision lingered in my mind. the weight of letting go of something i heavily invested in, both emotionally and physically, held me back. 

 the truth is, everyone’s problems are just as heavy as ours, no matter how insignificant they may seem. there are so many emotions attached to them: the fear, the love, the desperation, the doubts; it’s what keeps us from doing what’s good for us. our emotions distort the person we thought ourselves to be. and suddenly, we are unable to do the hard things, the scary things, the things we swore we could overcome.

this is where the heart finds itself at war with the mind.

we don’t always realise just how much someone has to sacrifice to earn their peace: the emotional baggage we carry when leaving a relationship, the discomfort we have to endure to go to the gym, and the personal time we must sacrifice to get the good grades we want. 

so the next time you decide to offer advice to a friend, or even a stranger, approach them with compassion. with love. with mindfulness. we always seem to be able to solve someone’s problems, until we experience them ourselves. we’re not geniuses because we can see the solution; we’re merely experiencing their problems without the same intensity of fear, doubt, or despair that suppresses them.

 and to the reader, remember to forgive yourself for all the promises you couldn’t keep, for the things you’ve tolerated, and for all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to do, because it will never be that easy. it can never be that easy. 

– p.s 

thank you for reading this article! if you’ve enjoyed reading it, feel free to subscribe or drop a follow! any form of feedback is greatly appreciated. 

if anyone wants to be mutuals, please don’t hesitate to send me a message! i’d love to meet more people in the substack community.

Occasionally I look back at photos and videos from years ago and a wave of emotions flood back to me. Each photo carries its own specific story alongside my personal feelings at the time. It’s captured in such precise detail that I haven’t forgotten how that moment in time felt. Even when I’m old and gray and may forget my own name, I still think the same wave of emotions will come back to me if I saw those photos again. Some memories hold significant emotions and experiences which have shaped our identities. Perhaps that’s why we instinctively reach for our phones to capture the moment.

It’s not just photos that stay frozen in time, it’s also the playlists and journal entries dedicated to specific times of our lives. Every playlist and every entry has its own story written in it. During the darkest time of my life, the playlist of my favourite songs spoke to me with comfort and peace. Looking back, these old playlists have proved to me that time does heal and there’s always a reason to keep going: more songs to discover, more experiences to record, more photos to take. Maybe they’re there to show you just how much you’ve gone through and that even the bad days will pass.

Throughout my years growing up on social media, the saved folder has piled up hundreds of posts ranging from movie characters to favourite cafes to fashion inspiration. The other day I was looking through my “books to read” folder and as I scrolled deeper, the content gradually changed from classic literature recommendations to young adult fantasy books. As I scrolled further, it was an interesting glimpse into the mind of my younger self. These saved collections serve as records of our identities and they reveal what remained with us and what didn’t.

Perhaps we aren’t documenting our lives to share with an audience at all. We’re documenting it for ourselves. Our future selves, who may eventually forget the things that shaped us into who we were.