i spent most of my life battling with my body image, as most preteens do.

i struggled with eating a lot growing up because of my relationship with my family. my mom’s push for having a perfect family dinner forced me to eat as fast as i could and as little as possible just so i could leave the table. i think the amount of stress and trauma i endured as a child led me to being so underweight, which then led to me experiencing slight bullying in middle school. as a joke, some of my friends would call me “weak” or “anorexic,” but i didn’t really think much of it.

going into high school, it was almost comical that it seemed like all of the girls were striving to be as skinny as me, yet boys said i was as “flat as a door.” i think this also kind of loops into me not feeling secure in my ethnicity as a latina. in addition to having lighter skin, i wasn’t naturally “curvy” or “thick.”

finally, in college, i got the “freshman 15” and started weightlifting more. i actually felt secure and comfortable in my body for once. but i quickly realized that once you feel confident in something about yourself, others can resent you for it.

i had roommates tell me i “eat so much yet am so skinny,” which on paper sounds like a compliment. but in reality, it made me feel awful every time i scarfed a whole breakfast in front of my roommate who only had a few strawberries.

it wouldn’t make me feel good when other girls at the gym said i was “lucky” for my body, implying that i never went through any struggles and that i was just gifted this, despite me lifting for five years.

i hated going to a party in a crop top and having other girls say they “wish they looked like me” or “wish they could wear that.”

it got worse when i started dating around more. i got broken up with simply because he was and i quote, “only physically attracted to me.” i didn’t want men to love me at first glance because of how i look in a bathing suit. i wanted men to eventually love me because they got to understand my personality, sense of humor, and intelligence.

i thought i would grow out of secretly hating wearing crop tops or tight clothes. but it still knocks around in my brain at the gym or in other places. i don’t wear these things to show off that i’m “fitter” or “better looking,” because that’s how people have interpreted it. i wear these things because they make me feel good, and i worked hard on my physique to enjoy wearing them.

yet, as always, i worry about what others think or how they might judge me as a person.

will i ever be free? will i ever just wear a sports bra at my local gym and feel okay? i’m not sure, but i hope that one day i will not only feel confident in myself, but also not worry about others’ judgment.

the door that was meant to be closed. because behind that door was all the pain and suffering you caused me during the last months of college.

i wrote four articles about you. now five.

i allowed you to come back into my life because you told me you had changed. we had already been through so much together, and when i physically opened your car door for the first time again, it felt like no time had passed.

the past month has been both good and bad. when i was actually with you, i had a great time. but when i wasn’t with you, i felt insecure.

we weren’t actually long-distance, but we lived far enough apart that it was a little annoying to just stop by. but that didn’t matter to me.

slowly, i noticed the habits you said had changed starting to come back into your life.

but i kept my mouth shut.

you were never really there for me emotionally. i told you i was “immensely depressed,” and you didn’t even text me goodnight that night. you didn’t ask how i was the next day, either.

still, i told myself this was just a rough patch. that we both had flaws we needed to work on in order to make the relationship work.

right?

then you stopped calling me. you stopped texting me. i didn’t know when i would see you next.

i knew this was it.

sunday morning, you told me we needed to stop seeing each other. you told me you were unhappy and that i wasn’t “the one,” yet you also told me you still had feelings for me.

to me, it seemed strange that you suddenly realized this right after moving back in with your parents and getting caught up in the grind of interviewing for jobs.

honestly, i believe some of your unhappiness came from the situation you are in, and from the fact that you weren’t ready to commit to a relationship.

but i digress.

our conversation ended over the phone, but neither of us hung up.

the silence was broken only by our sniffles and crying.

“i don’t want to hang up because this is the last time i’ll ever speak to you again,” i told you.

maybe you were never right for me.

maybe you were, and you’ll realize it five years from now, and somehow our paths will cross again.

but i won’t know.

and i can’t put myself through that again. not right now.

maybe we were never right for each other at all.

maybe you were just someone who came into my life, broke my heart, left, came back, and broke it again.

or maybe, after everything, you were just put in my life to give me good writing material for my substack subscribers.

if that’s the case, i guess i owe you one.

when i write, it feels like i am forcing myself to reminisce about the hardships in order to create a compelling story. i sit down and think about things that have hurt me, the lessons ive learned, and the lessons im still learning. nothing about writing is easy, especially when you write about things that still cause heartache.

seeing your thoughts become physical in an article, written out and spell checked, makes whatever emotion or story feel more real. this isnt just something that happened or thoughts floating around in your brain anymore. now, this has become a piece that can be read hundreds of times and potentially influence other people.

writing a story causes you to relive the same story multiple times. it forces you to revisit your past and perfect the words you use to replicate the emotions you felt.

there is a list of topics i have noted that i really want to explore and write about, but i havent given them much thought.

personally, i have been going through a difficult time in my life with my self-confidence, relationship, job, family, and basically everything. writing used to be my escape, but recently, it has felt like a challenge to compose a story based on hardships. and as for changing the scene and writing something on a more positive note, it has been difficult to find something positive that i feel passionate enough to write about.

i feel lost and stuck in life right now, and the only way i can get out is by having someone or something pull me out of the mud. for a while, that was writing. but rather than thinking about stories, i have been pondering what actually makes writing scary.

and no, its not the fact that no one might read it, that i could get rude comments, or that people might dislike what i published.

its simply the fact that i am not in the state to dive deep into the parts that hurt — the parts that would create the best story and bring it back to life as entertainment or a lesson for others.

months leading up to the trip, we called a couple of times, texted, sent reels, snapchatted—the whole gen z shebang.

this man was the best writer i knew. when i met him abroad, he shared with me a love letter he wrote for his ex girlfriend, and i thought about it often.

he and i drifted but still checked up on each other. he had a girlfriend at one point, and i was yearning over a man, so we were both occupied.

until he reached out to me in april, as i was planning my trip to his state. i decided to make a side quest and stay with him for two days. see his neck of the woods, and see if this idea of him in my head could translate into reality.

and let’s just say... nothing was resolved.

this was the text i sent him after seeing him:

“i kept playing different scenarios in my head of how things were going to turn out when i saw you. and i had no idea what to expect.

in all honesty, i think i had feelings for you the past couple of months. which was weird because i hadn’t even seen you since november, and you weren’t single.

i was confused about my feelings after you texted me after your breakup. because i knew exactly what i liked about you on paper. you are the smartest person i know, and (or i thought) more emotionally mature than me. i don’t know if you know this, but i have major respect for you in so many ways. i look up to you. i would even say you were the reason i turned down jobs because you inspired me to be as passionate about something as you are. i want to find that.

i also loved the way you wrote, and i guess deep down i wanted to be her. i wanted to be the girl you wrote the letter for.

i wanted to see how our chemistry matched when i finally saw you again. but as the day got closer, i felt like i was racking my brain 24/7 with mixed signals from you. some days it seemed like you wanted to talk to me, and other days i felt completely ignored. i knew you were busy, so i tried to use that as an excuse.

and i want to thank you for paying for everything, taking the time to show me around, and letting me stay. i had a good time.

yet i didn’t leave with the clarity i was hoping for. it felt like one moment you would be flirting, and the next i would tell you a story and it seemed like you would rather be anywhere else.

i guess at this point some line needs to be drawn. are we friends? friends that flirt? friends that hook up?

i don’t really know what else to say. i don’t hate you, and i’m not mad at you. i’m just frustrated because this uncertainty for months hasn’t been fair to me. and yeah, maybe i am reading into it too much, and maybe you never even had any interest or intention.

i don’t need a whole explanation about your messy past and confusion. i just wanted to say my part because, like i said, i’m honest. if you have an answer, cool. if not, just don’t say anything.”

ultimately, i realized i do this a lot. i get very excited about something that could be real, something that could change my life for the better. i start thinking about my future with this person, job, apartment, friends, etc., only to realize that when i walked up to your front porch and saw you, all of the scenarios i had played in my head were false.

you weren’t the man i created in my head. you didn’t take care of me the way i imagined you would. and you admitted that “when things got too real, it was scary.”

i guess the lesson i learned is to stop falling for potential before i fall for reality. i need to look at the facts instead of creating this naive, hopeful perspective that everything will turn out exactly how i imagined. because most of the time, it won’t.

the group i went with were my ride-or-dies throughout high school and college. it was easy because our friend group somehow pulled off a perfect 50/50 split between my college and the nearby rival school, so staying in touch never felt difficult.

though we’ve been a consistent group for years, it’s not the same anymore. people found new friends, started weird beef, moved across the country, or just don’t participate in the group chat anymore.

which fucking sucks.

i used to be the happiest i’ve ever been when i was with them. we used to climb rooftops, go to our local diner and talk until midnight, drive around looking at fancy houses, use my telescope while smoking hash, or just go on long walks around the neighborhood. that was my crew.

so what changed?

i’m aware that things aren’t supposed to stay the same forever, especially throughout college when you’re figuring yourself out while being surrounded by thousands of new people. things are bound to chage, and thats okay.

the problem is no one wants to be around each other anymore.

what i mean by that is we used to go to extra lengths just to see our friends face-to-face. whether that meant sneaking out or pulling up to a function in our work clothes...

we would make it work.

but now, gen-z is lazy. (see what i did there?)

everyone is constantly tired, bored, or too drained to actually show up. and even when we’re all together, people are checking their phones because whatever is happening on there feels more fascinating than the people sitting next to them.

during the game, i tried talking to my friends about my insane week (which even my substack peeps know about), the fourth of july, the world cup, or fun trips we have coming up.

no one seemed to care. no one asked any questions. i kid you not, it was silent for 70% of the game.

meanwhile, i looked around and saw the older crowd laughing, telling stories, and having conversations. they didn’t even glance at their phones.

my friends?

they were refreshing twitter to see what the media was saying about belgium’s second goal. i’m not saying i’m perfect, because i get caught up in what’s happening elsewhere instead of being present too. but in that moment, i was genuinely frustrated.

this was the group that once knew everything going on in my life. now it’s been weeks since i’ve seen them, and when we’re finally all together... it’s mostly silent.

i wish the commitment to seeing each other was still there. i wish my friends would stay up late to watch a movie, even if they had to wake up early. i wish they wouldn’t mind driving an hour just to catch up after work. i wish someone else would initiate the hangout first and actually sit down and talk.

somewhere along the way, we stopped treating each other’s presence like it was enough.

at the pub they were sitting right next to me.

And somehow, I still missed them.

between this time we were no contact, then contact, graduated, moved separate ways, i had a new love interest, started writing, the love interest flopped, and i figured more of myself out.

but in the past two weeks i decided to ask you how you were. i knew this separation took a toll on both of us, and i genuinely just missed you, even as a friend.

this spiraled into us being constantly in contact with each other, sending photos of our desk spaces to recent meals. despite the consistent messaging, i didnt have feelings for you because over these past six months i taught myself how to remove those feelings i once had, even though it felt forced.

it was nice to hear how your brother’s new job was and see photos of your dog. it was easy to talk about nba draft picks and niche video games. there wasnt anyone else who i felt had our range of conversation.

you offered to pick me up from the airport, and when i opened the car door and smelled your guess cologne, it felt like i was home. i was safe.

the week after, i went and visited you and our friend group in our college town. we went to 4 bars and had lots to drink. of course, i found myself crashing at your place... again.

we are in your room, and flashbacks of us both trying to go to sleep when the same statement arises.

“we have to talk.”

i know you have been working on yourself. more in touch with your emotions, quit nicotine, lessened your drinking, working out more, new job. all of this didnt go unnoticed.

you explain to me that you know you hurt me. you know what you did is unfixable and my trust was broken. then followed up with how you felt safe with me, we get along so well, and have that chemistry.

i didnt deny anything you said, and honestly i think i may have said some things a little harsh. i explained to you how you rerouted my life for months

im put in this weird position because i tell you everything, but what if it’s all about you?

i told you honestly, i really like talking and being close with you, it feels right. but we should just stay friends. am i the villain?

for some reason you seemed oddly okay with vulnerably saying, “i want to try a relationship with you,” and me turning it down.

were you still drunk and didnt mean it? were you lying that it was okay? were you saying that to get a reaction out of me? did you actually have no intention of being with me?

i guess i could ask you now, but at this point, im tired.

we have gone back and forth, and despite our connection, i think the ship has sailed.

i believe in second chances. if someone really works hard on being better, they deserve another try.

the problem wasnt you though.

i realized i was checked out.

i spent months healing, and all i wanted was to be friends again. and it got too far, once again.

as you put your arms around me, i dont feel the butterflies, i dont feel my heart racing, i feel like i embodied a big sigh.

i slept for one hour that night. while you were passed out next to me, i didnt feel tired around you.

i wanted to continue talking to you despite the sun rising.

the noise of the small fan working overtime in this heat wave and your gentle breathing gave me enough static to ponder and realize...

this is the same shit again.

i love you, and i care for you, i really do. but i dont think i am capable of feeling what i felt before things went downhill. we are great together, you feel like home, you get me, but it cant continue.

lets just be friends.

people don’t know that when i’m walking around, sometimes i can only see half of my eyesight; the other half is gray and pink dots.

they are unaware that sometimes i have to wash my hair sitting down.

it’s not shown that i only had one meal today because i woke up with morning sickness once again.

you can’t tell that i sleep at least 10 hours a day because if i get less, i won’t be able to function at all.

these are all symptoms of POTS, which i got diagnosed with in january.

“a disorder of the autonomic nervous system that causes an abnormal spike in heart rate (tachycardia) and symptoms like dizziness or lightheadedness when you stand up from a sitting or lying position”

on top of this, i have chronic migraines, which is another disability that i’ve had to skip out on lots of things because of the blurry vision, pain, and nausea. thank you to my fantastic genetics!

i don’t want to be that person. i don’t want to be the one who somehow always has a medical excuse: “slow down, i have asthma,” or “i need your hat because if not, i’ll get a migraine and then i can’t drive home.” saying these phrases frustrates me so much. i have been through unimaginable trauma in my childhood (which is probably why i have POTS now), where i made it out, went to school, and didn’t fall into the bad habits that surrounded me.

facing that type of trauma but not being able to stand up fast anymore because i might faint? it feels humiliating sometimes.

there are so many moments when i’m out with my friends and i feel like i will faint because my blood pressure is low, and i need either salt or electrolytes. but i will keep my mouth shut because it’s embarrassing.

not even all of my friends know about my new condition.

i feel self-conscious bringing up my disease because it is “new,” so it doesn’t make sense for people who saw me last year. how could i go from deadlifting double my weight to not doing any standing leg workouts? so i just choose to rarely bring it up.

i am stuck at the point where it affects me every day. i have worse anxiety due to the fact that i might pass out if i don’t have what i need with me 24/7. and i had to cancel a half marathon last year, and frankly, i don’t know if i can do it this year either.

now, i know there are worse conditions to have. i am not saying i have it the worst. this is just something that is new to me, and i’m adapting to it in my life. it’s easy to forget because it is relatively new and veiled. and i’m stubborn as shit.

if you are going through something similar, you are not alone.

and as for the people who aren’t going through this, before you judge the young girl for sitting on the train when she should be standing, just remember this: people fight hidden battles all the time.

as a third-party listener throughout my life, i’ve seen almost everything you can encounter. i’ve watched friends get cheated on, be the cheater, enter throuples, survive long-distance relationships spanning thousands of miles, and navigate pregnancies with unknown baby daddies.

over the past week alone, four relationships involving close friends have ended. while the reasons varied, from distance to simply falling out of love, there is a common theme i’ve noticed in many failed relationships.

all of our interactions have become permanent.

what i mean by that is that most of our communication now happens through texting and social media. before, we remembered details from in-person interactions and replayed conversations in our heads. what we knew felt real and authentic because we had seen and heard it for ourselves.

now, with technology and social media, every interaction becomes a permanent piece of information sitting on our phones, inviting us to stare at it, analyze it, and investigate it.

i can’t count the number of times i’ve reread a text over and over, trying to read between the lines. sometimes it goes even further: why did they capitalize this word and not that one? suddenly, you’re deciding which emoji feels flirtatious enough to send and how much punctuation is appropriate.

we have time to craft every message. we ask our friends, or even chatgpt, to help us come up with the perfect response for every situation.

and social media is exponentially worse.

i’ve seen friends break up over who their boyfriend followed. i’ve heard endless arguments about why someone liked a certain photo. and don’t even get me started on the idea that “if he likes my story, he’s flirting with me.”

we’ve become lazy when it comes to expressing interest directly, yet assiduous when it comes to interpreting someone’s online presence.

we used to walk up to a stranger on the sidewalk and start a conversation. now we hide behind screens and hit the follow button.

so how does this make relationships fail so easily?

we have access to so much information that if we don’t like who someone follows, or we find a scandalous photo they posted in 2024, it can suddenly become a dealbreaker.

people feel more disposable than ever.

we now have the ability to tailor our interests and preferences to find someone who fits us, or at least someone we think fits us. and if a relationship ends, all it takes is downloading tinder. within seconds, you have access to every man within a twenty-mile radius and an endless stream of people to swipe through.

i’m not saying i don’t do these things. i definitely overthink texts, try to look good for a snapchat, check whether he liked my instagram post, and find dating apps entertaining.

i’m just observing that this behavior has become completely normalized.

and honestly, i hate it.

because none of that was true…

i loved you because you made me feel safe. you were such a great listener, even if you were half-listening or just did it because you felt like you had to. you played it off like you cared.

i found the good in all of your flaws.

you forgot almost everything i told you. but i found a way to love that because i could tell the same jokes, and you would laugh every time.

we traveled to new cities and countries, lived together, almost fought some guys for me, and protected me while i walked home at night.

you cooked for me, drove me to get groceries when i didn’t have a car, and paid for my drinks when we went out.

it’s crazy because we never even dated. just really good friends.

until i felt too safe and too close with you.

from facetimes asking if this dress was too slutty for the bar,

to calling you when my roommate ate my prosciutto and i was pissed,

to even telling you about my family trauma, and exchanging niche songs on the train, sharing dirty airpods. but we didn’t care.

it made me realize… i fall in love too fast.

i find myself with this indescribable feeling of both love and gut-wrenching pain. it’s the good and the bad, oil and water, fire and ice. two opposites that linger throughout your body, from your stomach to your mind. it’s the idea of knowing that you love someone, but you cannot tell them.

some may argue that you can and you should. but you probably know the end result due to the circumstances of the situation.

but now you have to tell them because the “what if” replays in your mind over and over, running through every scenario of how they might respond.

all of the men i find myself confessing to have one thing in common: we were friends for at least a year.

there is nothing that i love more than a slow burn. the feeling of meeting someone, then slowly getting closer. they learn more about you, your struggles, your background, what you actually want to do in life.

then suddenly, one day, you see them and think, oh shit. i really have feelings for this person.

you know it when you start loving their flaws, overthinking every text, and putting on more makeup when you see them. listening to cheesy love songs on the freeway, daydreaming.

on the opposite end, getting a pit in your stomach when you realize they haven’t answered your text. or when you all go to the bar together and they start talking to a girl.

you can’t be mad at them because they don’t know.

i find myself falling for men a lot, and it takes me months to recover, just to fall into the same cycle again.

was the love ever even real?

i was planning on quitting this job for reasons i will get into, but somehow got “fired” for gossip that i didn’t even say...

now, i could go into a whole rant about how bad the management was, but i feel that i have already talked about it so much with my friends, and im honestly burnt out from this situation. instead, i am trying to make a lesson out of it rather than feeling guilty because, ultimately, they were upset with me for having normal expectations of a work environment.

this was the same job i had two years ago. when i started working there, i was a completely different person. i was trying to get over my ex, but it was hard when he would occasionally text me at work, which made it seem like he was thinking about me.

i also had little wisdom about life. i was just a sophomore in college trying to get by, and i was figuring myself and my goals out.

i also had this blonde-orange hair... it was not a good look.

in addition to that, i let the bad management run me. i allowed them to treat me poorly, talk down to me, ask me weird questions, and not even acknowledge my presence. but i knew i made good money, and it was just for one summer. or so i thought...

the place renovated and reopened. mind you, my two close friends work there, and they were warning me about what to expect.

when i first left, i didn’t think i would be back at my old job. but when i walked in at 6:30 a.m., it felt like i had stepped back two years.

i was once again 20 years old, with my orange hair, yearning for my ex to come.

but i knew this time was different. im 22 years old with red hair, yearning for the future and the next steps in life.

i realized that i changed physically and emotionally, while my workplace only changed physically and was still emotionally immature.

it was almost humorous to see all of the management act the exact same way. it felt like i was in a weird time capsule where everything around me changed visually, but emotionally it felt like i had gone back in time.

time capsules are real, you just need to find them in the people or places that haven’t changed.

and last night, when i got called into the office, confronted, scolded, and lectured because i was told i “don’t work hard enough” or that “i don’t care,” yes, i did cry a little.

maybe because i was menstruating, frustrated, or using this as a tactic to leave early. i think the most painful part was that the whole lecture was an attack on my character.

i didn’t actually care about the place. in fact, i hated it. but i never once let that affect my work ethic. i would show up every day with a smile and do my job. i didn’t care to gossip with other workers because i knew how shady the place was.

so for me, a 22-year-old woman, to be scolded for something i didn’t do while knowing i was the best worker they had, i broke.

i spiraled for a bit, i will not lie. i started to think: maybe i was asking for too much with my schedule. maybe i shouldn’t have texted my boss instead of emailing. maybe i should have done this task during the day even if i didn’t want to.

but then i stopped.

i know myself and my worth. i started working at 13 and have had over 10 jobs so far in my life. i have had more experience, trauma, and self-upbringing than any of that management has ever had in their lives.

they picked on what i wore on my off days, saying it was “scandalous.” they asked me about my student loans and why i didn’t have a full-time job yet. they weren’t accommodating when i had an interview scheduled.

this is because they hated to see someone grow and succeed. they knew i was going to quit, they knew i had a brighter future, and they knew i wasn’t 20 anymore and willing to take their shit.

so i got “let go.”

ultimately, this is just a way of making sense of it. but im just glad it’s over.

i hated green button-ups because of you. that was your favorite shirt that you wore all the time when we lived together.

every time i saw chicken marsala on the menu, i got nauseous. you used to make that for me for dinner.

i avoided going to class just because i thought i would run into you, even though you skipped almost every day.

for months, i dodged the bar we used to go to together, despite knowing you were drinking at home.

you rerouted my life completely because you decided to break my heart.

the winter months of school were cold and heartless, knowing i wasn’t going to be smoking hand-rolled cigarettes on your front porch anymore,

or spending late nights listening to a new house music mix you discovered.

the only way to get over you was to block you from my life as much as i could, even if it meant missing out on going to places because there was a small chance you were there.

after a couple months, things got easier. we sat next to each other during graduation, and it felt like old times with our old roommates. we joked about our friends’ shower shoes and nasty kitchen.

your whole family said congratulations to me, and even your mom bought me a gift. your hometown friend saw me and called me the nickname he gave me. it was nice, but i knew this wasn’t a relationship worth revisiting.

i got the courage to follow you back on instagram.

seeing your name didn’t hurt as much anymore, even though i saw it everywhere. of course, it’s one of the top 30 boys’ names.

i started talking to other men and realized you weren’t right for me.

but when i knew i had actually healed was when i saw something that reminded me of you. instead of getting that feeling of a pit dropping in my stomach, the nausea, the flushed face,

i grew a smile.

We have known each other for so long, and I’m sorry for drifting away.

After a while, being with you felt like more of a chore than something I enjoyed.

I got too busy with academics, work, and friends to spend time with you.

I was ashamed of how other people saw us, and I’m sorry. I let their judgment get to me.

I left you for a long time and only went back when I was at my lowest. It helped, but I knew I couldn’t fully commit to you.

Until a friend of mine saw how good we are together and how happy you make me. He encouraged me to try again.

I then gained full confidence and showed the world I wasn’t afraid to be with you.

That’s when it all changed.

I think about you all the time. When I wake up, when I’m at work, or with friends, there’s just so much I want to say.

So thank you for bringing my confidence back and helping me understand myself. I couldn’t have done it without you.

I love you, writing.

these emotionless reactions got me thinking: what was wrong with me?

i would go through these past two years with multiple occasions of moving countries, heartbreaks, frustrations, and even a whole graduation. yet not a single tear would be shed.

these past couple of weeks i’ve had to myself have revolved around lots of writing and self-reflection as i figure out my next steps in life. this included looking back at old photos, memories, songs, poems, etc. as i read these old poems and listened to emotional songs, i understood it all now.

i didn’t have time to process emotions anymore.

there were a couple of reasons for this. school got busier, i had to move on from heartbreak fast so i wouldn’t lose the progress i had made within myself, but mostly, it was distraction.

as of now, there is so much stimulation and so many things to process that we humans cannot sit with sadness anymore and let it seep into our hearts and rest.

i found myself in awful times at the beginning of this year, truly the saddest i have ever been. yet i couldn’t bring myself to let myself feel the emotions.

we have the technology now to live in an alternate world and feel any emotion we want at whatever speed.

it’s so easy to pick up our devices and forget about the real world. why dwell in sorrow when you can escape into fantasy?

you can choose what to watch, listen to, read, scroll through, call, or whatever else at any time. before, your emotions flowed naturally. the only way to change your emotions was through something you actually did for yourself, yet now it’s all artificially done at the palm of your hand.

i don’t blame myself. distraction from the pain is what helped me graduate as an honors student and achieve all of these accomplishments while looking presentable the majority of the time. yet when times got rough and i tried to reveal my sadness, it was as if i were broken.

in order to fix this, i decided to listen to songs that actually made me feel emotions years ago and continue writing. i also allowed my deranged feelings to sit there and soak in, knowing it’s okay to be upset. ultimately, that’s life.

you have to go through the motions.

The three of us made it to the party and greeted my friend who was already pretty hammered, and made our way to the main table. At parties, my role is always playing the games. From pong to stack cup, if there is a keg, I’ll drink from it too. That is my favorite part of the night.

While we were playing stack cup, I looked over and saw these three guys. I recognized one from both liking my Hinge account and a dropout on my project team. The other two I was unsure about, as I had never seen them at these parties before. But one did catch my eye.

I noticed him from across the table, and the energy emitting from his presence was undeniable. I remember thinking, I want to talk to this guy.

I dismissed the game, switched spots so I was on the right of him, and started chatting him up. The familiarity between us felt like we had met before and were best friends. The rest of the night, I hung out with the three of them, and my best friend and her boyfriend joined us. We all stayed until we got kicked out of the party.

They walked us home, exchanged contacts, and we went our separate ways.

The connection that I made was something special. Not only did I have a crush on the guy I went up to, but as a group, I felt safe. Usually, when you meet someone at a bar or party, you get their Instagram, never unfollow them, but never hit them up either.

But I knew this wasn’t the case.

The following morning my company left to go back home. After their exit, I decided to go to the apartment of said crush to watch a football game. It was kind of stupid because, yes, he was still a stranger, but his roommates were also there, and I had good vibes from them.

Little did I know that this small party interaction soon blossomed into a new, fulfilling friend group. We had more people join, and soon enough, their apartment that was once quiet and bare became the meetup spot.

These were my final weeks with them before I moved abroad for six months, and I basically told everyone, “See you next year.” As for said crush, we talked a lot, called a lot, climbed a building together, but remained friends due to a lot of variables.

Fast forward two months, and I am in Spain sitting at our disgusting kitchen table (that’s what ten roommates do to you), and I get a text from said crush saying he wrote a poem about me and submitted it for a contest.

Now, I am not saying I started writing solely because of a love interest. Yes, he helped spark it and inspired me to continue. But to be honest, I always loved writing.

Writing was my escape. When my family would argue, I would find myself sitting in our living room with a desktop so old the fan would drown out the noise of the yelling. And I would create stories, whether inspired by my dreams or just pure fiction.

When I moved away for school, I lost that part of myself. Now, though, I’m grateful to be surrounded by people who inspire me to write, not because I have to escape reality, but because I choose to.

When I woke up, I had an odd feeling. I decided to still go on my morning run even though my POTS said otherwise. I ran to this nearby pond by my house. While I run, I solely listen to orchestra music, and when I sit by the pond, I take my headphones off just to think.

Something was wrong. I had so much doubt in that moment while I sat with myself, watching Canadian geese float around in this small, dirty pond. Despite the inspiration I felt from the sounds of nature and the clarity I was getting on this self-motivation journey, I knew I was going to receive some bad news.

After realizing my blood pressure had been drastically low all morning, I ran back home and forced myself to nap and eat some salty foods afterward so I could actually attempt to clean my room. I always felt better when things weren’t cluttered, and if I was moving for this job, I needed to downsize immediately.

At 4 p.m., I received the rejection with some cheap words saying, “We took a different direction.” I was more mad at myself than at the actual company. I was mad at myself for thinking about my future there, looking at apartments near the office, and even browsing their LinkedIn to see what progress the company had made. I fooled myself into guessing exactly how the future would be when, in the end, I have no idea.

I tend to talk myself up. I tell my friends and family my exact plan: the industry, the location, the salary, the trips. Normally, it works out, but only to an extent. I realized I am all talk, and no matter what, I am still some unemployed bum living at my parents’ house despite how hard I’ve worked.

This job industry makes you feel so small. They don’t actually care about your values or how hardworking you are. You just need to pass an ATS reader, and you better hope your dad can give you some connections. Jobs don’t care that I have this autoimmune disease and that I cannot function in the winter like I used to, or that I get multiple chronic migraines a week since none of these conditions are visible.

I sit back on my bed, sending a message to my friends that my hopes of working at this company are crushed. As they console me, I see a Substack notification that I received my first like ever on a previous article.

And that’s when I realized: someone is actually noticing the work I put in.

Getting broken up with for the first time is a memory I won’t forget. It was an insane day of pouring rain and presenting slides for some dumb engineering challenge, and we ended up losing. I was sad on the bus going home. But everything was ok. Because he and I were going to a formal the next day, and I was super excited. I was on my way home after the devastating loss, texting him about my heels and how I probably shouldn’t wear them because he is shorter than me. When all of a sudden he hits me with the words no one wants to hear-“Can we talk?”.

My heart drops. Now I am sitting on this bus next to one of his close friends, and I receive this awful text. It was the longest bus ride and walk of my life. I was drenched, cold, and my hair was messed up. But I needed to know what was gonna happen. Deep down, I knew what was coming.

I walk into his apartment. He tells me that I should “probably sit down for this.” He sat me down and told me he was only physically attracted to me at this point in our relationship. I think he assumed that this was somewhat of a positive letdown. But the majority of people know that this is probably one of the worst things to hear. It means that my personality wasn’t enough. All of my love and care weren’t enough. But what was enough ultimately was my red bra.

The previous night he saw me wearing this very cute red bra. It was bright red with two lines in the middle and a gem. Too expensive for any man, honestly. I just got it for myself a while ago.

After the break up I couldn’t look at that bra for months. Every time I would want to wear it I instead threw it in the back of my closet, hoping to forget it. Yet, I didn’t want to throw it away because, objectively, I liked it and it was expensive.

The bra collected dust over time.

While cleaning out my closet, I also found the top I wore when I first met his parents. I rarely wore this top, but it was so, so cute. Since I rarely wore it, it only carried a few memories of him and his family, so I had to donate that shirt, unfortunately.

Time to go to Spain.

I found the bra in the back of my closet while I was packing to go abroad. Things have changed between him and me a lot while the bra was collecting dust. I felt I had moved on and gotten the closure I needed. Thus, bringing the bra back to life.

After bringing this bra with me overseas, I quickly realized something. This really represented my heart. An expensive, beautiful, red cover which laid and protected my chest. This bra wasn’t just some lingerie that was collecting dust in the back of my closet. This was a physical version of my wounded heart that I chose to shut down due to the pain of remembering him.

But it is not fair to let others, or myself, not see this red bra. I felt confident in it, and it was beautiful. The same goes for my heart. My heart is the most beautiful part about me. And a hurt past shouldn’t make me hold back and fear for a broken heart in the future.