✧ for: when it hasn’t quite settled in yet

you did it! you achieved that goal you’ve been working so hard for! you got the promotion. you got the job. you bought your first home. you graduated.

you did it!

do you feel the weight lift off your shoulders? does it satisfy you to check off that box? does the validation feel like it solved that nagging insecurity for you?

does it feel, absolutely and holistically, good to you?

now entertain me this for a second.

what if 0.001% of you doesn’t feel like you’re on top of the world? what if there’s still a weight that you can’t seem to drop? a confusion within that makes you question why you wanted to achieve the thing in the first place?

don’t fret. don’t automatically assume regret.

insert curiosity within those feelings.

as a high-achieving person, i’ve noticed a clear difference between the mindset i have when i’m working hard towards something vs. when i’ve actually achieved it. during the former, i grit my teeth through the challenges. a hungry resolve. an endless supply of positivity. my mentality consists of truly believing in the journey. in believing in myself. as long as there’s a destination in mind, everything else around me blurs in my peripheral.

however, when i complete the achievement, when i cross off the item from the list— a dreary realization makes itself known. an almost-grief-like quality festers in my reaction.

and i realize, that success cannot exist without grief.

i’ve given this feeling some space and time to settle. and i think i’ve figured out why the grief feels like a layer i can’t scratch off. why it makes itself present before i could fully fathom the wins.

in the most fundamental way, i grieve the versions of myself that had to embody what was necessary to get me to where i needed to be. the version that felt like she had no other choice but to achieve it. the version that created opportunities because her life depended on it. the version that wasn’t satisfied with her current reality.

i look back at her with such pride, and also, sympathy. awe and bittersweetness. reflecting, i have, in some ways, retired that exact kind of motivation, and it’s now transformed into something new, one which could never replicate its initial state. which is, to be frank: rock bottom.

i still have goals and achievements and dreams that will forever simmer within my soul. but of course, they live in a reality built upon the foundations i’ve already made. foundations that took me ages to figure out, pick apart, and glue back together. where it took such tenacity and ferocity and delusion. where i started from 0.

i look back on the “whys” and the grief solidifies itself. not only did it take perseverance, but it took losses. sacrifices. forgiveness. maybe for the self. maybe for others. it took a road that was never predictable. it took getting back up even if every bone in my body wanted to settle in the soil. when my mind felt like fire and my face was drenched in water.

the grief reminds me that no path to success is ever straightforward or without its hurdles. that you have to let something go in order to let something in. and of course, that will inevitably and irrevocably sadden you. ultimately, success is not only something to be proud of, but a reminder of the past, its role, and how it has shaped you.

and so, if you’re experiencing this in-between—the confusion while grieving the past and looking forward to the fruits of your labour—know that you aren’t alone, and that there isn’t anything inherently wrong about how you process something that cannot be clearly categorized. it’s part of human nature to be uncomfortable with change.

even if it’s a good thing.

to celebrating our successes and embracing the grief that comes with it!

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I’m moving to Paris in a month.

It feels like a song I heard once, or a coming-of-age film about a woman who left her small city to pursue her dreams.

Yet—I’m a bit of a wreck right now, truthfully.

Procrastinating my packing, doomscrolling endlessly, searching for something that would help, yet I know would never actually fix anything.

I could barely write as it is. My mind’s a swirl of decisions and nostalgia and bittersweetness that I genuinely don’t have any capacity for.

The moment I received my visa in the mail a few weeks ago, it didn’t feel like a sigh of relief. It felt like I had no more excuses to pin my fears to. Everything’s now lined up for me, almost perfectly to the tee. But my hands are twitching, reaching outwards for the next step, the next hurdle to hide behind— as the enormity of this move, this new phase of my life, looms above me.

The kind responses have been: “It’s normal,” “Don’t worry,” " You’ve made it this far.”

How can you call it normal? How can you tell me not to worry?

I’m choosing to go against everything I’ve ever been told and taught to do.

Some might say “brave,” but I do not feel that way in the slightest.

I’m facing everything trembling. Doubting. Terrified. I feel myself floating away these days, refusing to face a dread that I’m coating with romance and yearning.

Loneliness makes itself known even more as I quietly pack up my things. Old cards that don’t mean anything to me anymore. Expired makeup. Ceramics I made during that one summer abroad in Seoul. Pieces of my life I thought I buried. Each of them claims my attention. Tangled strands of memories I don’t have the energy to unravel.

This whole process has felt so healing and traumatizing all at once. Confusing at best. Don’t get me wrong. I’m absolutely thrilled. Every bone in my body agrees that this move is meant for me.

Which is why it’s so much harder to admit that I’m having quite a difficult time. Not just logistically, which is, in and of itself, an extremely challenging experience. But, emotionally. Mentally. I’m questioning everything, and yet I’m absolutely sure.

How is that possible?

Living within this phase is hard to describe, and writing can only expose the first layer. This type of sadness, melancholy perhaps— I haven’t encountered it in this form. Yes, I’m sad to leave this life I’ve become accustomed to for almost two decades. The loved ones. The roads. The weather. But it’s more than that. I’m sad for myself, for the version of me that will forever live here. Paralyzed in the moments where she thought she belonged. Stuck in endless patterns. I’m leaving her behind. I’ll have to let her go.

And I’m also scared for my future. I have no fucking idea where this is all gonna go. The fear of the complete unknown. Fear of my own audacity. Fear of my own potential and the possibilities of where this could all take me.

Leaving a Version of Myself Behind

Where did the one who worked so hard to be in this position go? Would she be yelling at me to get up and be grateful? Make up a speech about how she could only dream of experiencing this moment, praying and bawling her eyes out for months? Or… would she sit me down and listen to me babble about everything that’s led me here? Staring empathetically, perhaps with admiration?

The reality that I hate to admit is that it’s all harder than I thought it would be. To actually commit to all this with my chest, proud and loud, clinging on to never-ending positivity. At times, I want to be a little girl again and not have to worry about anything. Times when I wish I could travel to a year from now and see how it’s all going. This in-between, these last few laps, feels like a limbo I cannot seem to embrace, though I accept.

Maybe when I’m through, and there’s no choice but to, maybe then I’ll see things in a different light.

Halfway through 2026, I know now that what is meant to be will always find its way. It all turns into realizations that will leave me more grateful than ever. “Aha!” moments that won’t come into fruition until it all clicks.

That’s how it always goes, doesn’t it?

But for now, I have no choice but to acknowledge the difficulty of it all. Waiting for the storm to pass.

This piece might be my last before my big move, so I just want to pause and express how grateful I am for all the readers and connections I’ve made on this platform. I’m endlessly thankful for you, for being a witness to my life. Especially for moments like these. Truly. Thank you.

To our dreams, may we find the courage to face them, and for hope, to see them through!

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i always feel like everything means something.

the blade of grass i picked up was perfectly shaped for me to create a whistle. the soft bed of green was sufficient enough for me to sit down and drown myself in words. the view was grand enough to make me feel smaller than whatever big sadness exists within.

the times i embraced the dreariness were meant for me to turn it into loving myself again. the leaves that fell were meant to remind me that falling doesn’t mean i won’t reach for the skies again.

i always thought that everything meant something.

that everything will always follow. and you can alchemize every gut-wrenching event into peonies and parties. glitter and sunsets. love and laughter.

purple comes after the blues, and the rain signals that everything can be washed away.

everything does mean something!

what do you mean i can feel the lows and imagine the highs? how can my heart feel despair and also anticipate wonders beyond my imagination?

to exist within the in between is to find solace in the beauty of battles. the unfair nights. the lonesome flights.

and if believing that everything means something is the only way to cope with the brutality of it all, then let me.

let me believe that this isn’t all a pointless swirl. that my existence isn’t just for the universe to validate itself. that i’m not just a blip in time that’s meant to be forgotten.

let me believe.

that everything has to mean something.

it has to.

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Through My Eyes

Paris represents the kind of woman with a sense of style that could be replicated, but never embodied. A lifestyle that demands ease and encourages you to participate in fullness, not out of kindness, but out of fate.

Paris is both romantic and avoidant. Despite possessing flaws, Paris represents a fantasy about a life worth living. Despite it all, continuing. A city that aspires and simultaneously rejects. Both beauty and imperfection. Enjoys, but never performs.

Today, I’m 27. Preparing for my move to Paris. Pursuing a master’s degree in a field that lights my heart on fire. Pursuing a relationship that brings me utter joy. Pursuing a life I’ve always dreamt of.

And after years of not doing so, I’m finally pursuing myself.

Paris and its Orbit

Paris has always been orbiting my life.

1. My best friend was born in Paris.

Our moms are best friends as well.

15 years of unwavering friendship. Phases that were seen. Jokes that would never end.

She never spoke French in front of me, and it became a running gag as we grew up together. I remember catching glimpses of her speaking French to her mom, and it would make me giggle.

2. My first “relationship” was with a boy named Paris.

(although one could hardly consider it one, as I was only 15)

It barely lasted six months.

Looking back now, this time in my life represented my youth. A freedom that soared before the pressures of puberty and disappointment brought me back to the ground. A moment in time I can look back on and feel a sense of bittersweetness. For it now only lives in my memory, untouched and pristine. Framed in my mind as a time in my life that’s forever dipped in late summer and innocent infatuation.

3. Growing up in my teens, I had this book called How to be Parisian Wherever You Are: Love, Style, and Bad Habits.

It’s a witty and sarcastic book, not meant to be taken as a serious guide. But I remember being charmed by its defiant tone. The words seemed to scoff with such tenderness. I found it quite silly, but nevertheless, enchanting.

4. When I was seventeen, I discovered the band, The 1975.

I was immediately enamoured with their songs. I mean, I was seventeen. It was an inevitability.

The perfect duo: The 1975 and an angsty teenage girl.

Their music represented what my teenage years consisted of: the dramatic relationships, the illicit substances, and the rebelliousness. Tumblr, chokers, and ripped jeans. The whole nine yards. The 1975 magnified every feeling, and everything seemed to just matter more.

This one song in particular (you guessed it), Paris, quickly became a personal favourite. It resonated with me right away. Maybe it was the juxtaposition between the depressing lyrics and the dreamy instrumentals. Maybe it was because Paris had already imprinted itself in my life. Maybe it was because of Matty Healy holding a rose during the live performances.

But it’s still, to this day, my favourite song from them.

I Self-Induced a Metamorphosis

Well, sort of. With every other life-changing redirection comes grief and pain as a precursor.

Last summer, I got my heart broken. Expectations shattered into a million pieces. Life felt like it only existed in cracks. I was in a relationship so intertwined with my future. Then all of a sudden, and all at once, it disappeared from my periphery.

So no, it wasn’t necessarily self-induced, but I suppose what I did with the time that I had was very much self-directed. I literally had no choice but to decide. Choose something different. Choose change.

At the time I felt like I had nothing. My summer internship came to an end. Rejection after rejection in every role I applied for. I thought I had it all planned out. Relationship. Graduation. Job. Finally moving out of my parents’ house.

Right?

Wrong!

I’m not going to lie. It all hurt like a bitch. The world flipped itself upside down and sideways, and it was decided that I was meant to deal with it. All of it. Pick up the pieces that destroyed me. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know what made me get up every morning.

After endless walks outside the city, neurotic journaling, and beating the dead horse, I was convinced by my friend to go on a solo trip last September. Enthusiastically agreeing, before I could talk myself out of it.

Truthfully, this was terrifying to me. Absolutely dreadful. I’ve never eaten at a restaurant by myself before, let alone travelled alone. How would I be able to do something that required such agency? Such confidence?

But— something convinced me. I just turned 27, and I thought, maybe I could commemorate this new phase of my life in a new city. Life had felt like it was rearranging itself, so why not keep the party going and surprise myself? By doing something I never thought I was ever capable of.

Despite the fears and projections from others, I bought the ticket and packed next to nothing in my carry-on bag.

And so, I found myself in Paris last fall.

Paris in the Fall

Fall. A preparation for hibernation. The air’s sharper. Orange leaves. Pumpkin-flavoured items. An acknowledgement that the cold is coming, and we must do what we can to prepare for its inevitability.

I only spent a few days in Paris. But those few days meant so much. So much. The sense of freedom and spontaneity that I once lost in my youth returned. I walked endlessly, to grieve, but also to quietly celebrate an experience I once doubted I was incapable of experiencing. I ate alone. I explored the streets alone. Wandered through museum halls alone. I sobbed in front of the Eiffel Tower, alone.

I did things alone, for the very first time in my life. Pure independence and freedom from expectations, social roles from back home, and dreams that I once thought were my own. It all withered away like the leaves that coated every street corner of the city.

One particular moment I want to share was during my last day. I had just exited Musée de l’Orangerie, somewhere in the Tuileries Garden, and I was sitting on one of the benches. It was late afternoon, almost early evening, and the sun was casting a golden light that seemed more magical than usual. The temperature was colder than what my thin trench coat was made for. A Marlborough Gold in one hand and my phone in the other, trembling as it attempted to write words in my Notes app that could only attempt to express what I had truly felt in that moment.

…

november 2, 2025

the sun breaks my vision

surrounded by beauty i once dreamed of

a life i once dreamed of

yellow across the horizon

a tower i once dreamed of

many a whispers and silent kisses

dreadful things left unspoken

cliches and dramatic exits

eyes i once dreamed of

art i once dreamed of

i have nothing left to face but my own

surrounded by so-called limitations

that left me wondering

is dreaming enough?

i might as well live it

I’m now reflecting on this piece of writing, those few days in Paris, with a feeling I cannot explain, yet it is somehow so clear to my own mind.

Before my solo trip had ended, I decided that I wanted to live there. I wanted to stay. To find some sort of path, whatever it may be, that would lead me back to that very same spot. Back to Paris.

All the heartbreaks. All the rejections. All the losses. All the grief. It had all led me to that very moment. Like it was all meant to be.

A kind of knowing and alignment that has never left my conscience since. An understanding. A click.

Paris in the Spring

Just last month, I got to see Paris in the spring. The trees green and full. The flowers in bloom. Reds and yellows. Rain here and sun there. The air enveloped me with a sense of welcome. A familiarity that filled me with such gratitude. A sigh of relief.

I had spent two weeks with my partner exploring more of the city, more of the cuisine, and more of France. This time, I didn't cry beneath the Eiffel Tower. I looked up at her and smiled.

This trip felt much different from when I had first gone. Although I’m not just considering my external circumstances.

During this second trip, a very clear direction had been laid out. A different perspective was already set in stone. A shifted mindset. My internal compass stronger than ever.

Insane how six months prior, I had felt like a lost lamb. Unable to keep down my tears or keep my composure because it had all felt so wrong. Like I was masquerading my own existence. Warning signs blaring at me to turn a sharp corner instead of heading straight ahead. Sleepless nights while waiting for an answer.

And during those six months, anxiety did not leave my bedside. Constantly questioning my ability, my intelligence, and my place. I only applied to one school. One program. One city. I took a daring chance. But what were the chances?

Am I good enough to be accepted into this school? Am I worthy? Am I enough?

Am I meant for the life that I want? A kind of life I’ve only dreamed of?

…

When I found out about my acceptance to my master’s program, I fell to the floor, sobbing. Sobbing for at least five minutes. I found out on a random weekday. It was barely noon, and I was about to start writing on Substack, funnily enough.

There were only 20 spots for this program.

20.

And I was immensely lucky enough to be one of them.

One could say it was fate, but I don’t wanna diminish all the effort it took to get me to that very moment, and to today. This greatly difficult, yet deeply rewarding time in my life has taught me more about myself than the last 26 years of my existence. The growth hurt. Letting go of the written script hurt. Knowing I was about to undergo an experience that would be extremely lonely and isolating, fucking hurts. Leaving my family and friends behind. Leaving behind a version of myself I will always hold a tender spot for. And all of it wrapped under the blanket of the city of light and love.

I’ve put off writing this piece for so long because I’ve never fully sat down and reflected on what the past six months have been like without metaphors. Without writing my experiences disguised as lessons and coated in sugar. Now that it’s come alive in words, in plain writing, I can’t help but face it all with such heavy certainty. Such a damning confrontation that leaves me cowering due to the immensity of it all.

My whole experience only existed within my soul. Burning and echoing, as I focused on logistical planning for my move to try and ground it all before the gravity could escape me.

But now it’s laid bare. As much as I could muster. And as much as I could share.

They say the world is your oyster. And I also say the world is everything your heart could dream of. Everything can change with one fear-ridden decision. The worst pain you’ve ever felt, ones that leave you clawing for your heart out, praying for an end, could lead to a life you would’ve never thought possible.

So, dear, dear Paris. Thank you.

For all that you’ve taught me. All you’ve left me with. The dreams you’ve lit up. For allowing me to return to myself. For showing up in every part of my life, whenever I needed you the most.

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these voices may come and go, but your will cannot. what does it mean to truly focus on what matters to you? is it the smell of a bakery every morning? the footsteps of a crowd against a cobblestone floor? or is it a crowd cheering for your name? or possibly even the absence of a crowd?

the journey requires you to take steps sideways. backwards and forwards. do you truly want this? do you truly mean it? when you took ownership of the challenge, did you know it was going to be this difficult?

the voices speak in tongues and may convince you of dreams that aren’t yours. disguised in realism and coated with projection. do not fear them. do not be moved by them.

build your bricks and stack them with dignity. look up ahead and see what you’re seeking. why are you taking the road less travelled? why are you pursuing a path without promise?

what is the calling?

why are you doing it?

why?

and no matter your truth, stick by it. see it through. and believe in yourself with such conviction (and some may say delusion) that you have no choice!

to remain upright amongst a crowd of others that are waiting for a dream that was never theirs.

look upwards and dream on your own!

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✧ for: those bad days and those hard days

i recently had a day where i was tethered to my bed. the room delayed with such heaviness. i couldn’t recognize my own existence. words disappeared from my mouth. hunger didn’t seem to greet me. riddled with caffeine, yet my energy was on its last legs. my feet were numb from the lack of motion. hours of meaningless laughter, eyes dry and red.

my thumb was sore from hours of endless swiping.

before i knew it, doomscrolling had taken over half my day.

i realized this with such shame and regret. upset with myself, i accepted defeat and continued my self-destructive behaviour. for hours on end. daylight barely visible. i prioritized comfort and convenience over facing the brutal truth: i had abandoned myself again, with no one else to blame.

and that’s the thing.

the bed. the room. the stillness. it brings about a sense of familiarity unbeatable by the strangeness and pain of the world. to hide oneself is to protect oneself. away from the unpredictability of someone’s words or actions. safe and sound.

…right?

but in truth, this was a form of self-harm. self-abandonment. i certainly knew better. but some sort of secondary conscience didn’t want to listen and instead, pursued supposed “rest,” fully knowing that i was betraying myself for some cheap dopamine.

i vowed to myself i would do better the next day.

the next morning, i felt energized. ready to take on life. the room felt a little lighter. i moved with conviction. i dreamt a little brighter. i gave the sky extra minutes to be admired. i ate well and considered my health.

most importantly, i felt good. my mind didn’t feel shackled to an endless library of digital content. i craved books to read. films to ponder. the air smelled like pink. a rosy vision, perhaps. i craved a life to experience outside of that black rectangular mirror.

and then i felt a wave of understanding: what must come down, must come back up.

i would not have pursued such a wonderful day if not for the day i experienced prior. i felt the negativity envelop me, and then realized i had to do something about it.

and it is within that acknowledgement, that acceptance of the pit, that i could see the path out of it.

this is not only relevant within the context of a bad day. some refer to it as cause and effect. reciprocity. karma.

life comes in waves. life has a funny way of correcting itself. of balancing out. and once i understood this, i knew that the great guilt of having a bad day, was never really about a lack of self-control or the need to be a better self. it was about accepting that a bad day doesn’t equate to being less of a person. it doesn’t equate to being a bad person.

it’s just the nature of life itself.

challenges are necessary for you to appreciate your wins

it’s important to internalize the fact that challenges in life are truly necessary. trenches need to exist to be escaped. bumps exist to be felt. not to romanticize struggle in any way, but to view it with such stoicism and deep acceptance.

the last time you got hired for that job after multiple rounds of interviews. when you finished running that marathon after months of training. the sense of gratification that washed over you.

(you did it!)

and you deserved to be proud of yourself in that moment.

but notice that it’s not produced from an easy path forward. take away all the hard work and you’re left with wins you will never fully appreciate. they may feel shallow and you may not fully stand by them.

so, challenges are necessary. bad days are necessary. hard times are necessary.

hitting rock bottom needs to happen (sometimes)

nobody likes a rock bottom. i get it.

but man, is it the one of the greatest devices to propel you towards change. towards new circumstances. turning over all your leaves.

the drive is insatiable once you gain a new perspective.

i’m not saying fuck your life up over and over again. but rock bottom happens because life wills it to. life deems it necessary.

and during these moments, an understanding can spring up, knowing that there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel. a way out of that bottom.

and the comfort in knowing that it is not permanent.

accepting inconvenience must become automatic

inconvenience is a hard one to accept as a perfectionist. what do you mean my day cannot go according to plan? what do you mean something happens that’s out of my control?

but inconvenience, like an unplanned traffic jam that made you late for work. a puddle ruining your white button-down. they’re not the end of the world. and certainly aren’t worth the trouble of your time and emotions to dwell on. why not spend your time admiring the clear sky while stuck behind an endless row of vehicles? or laugh off the stain on your shirt and share it with your friends as a funny story?

it’s all about reframing. it’s all about your perspective. and wouldn’t life be lighter if you viewed inconveniences as a part of your day, and not the main event?

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and so the next time you have a bad day, think of how the next day will come to fruition and you will exist again. this time with a renewed acceptance of life’s balancing act. the sun may or may not shine. the flowers may bloom brighter. the world may be a little lighter. and there’s great potential, for you to have a good day. or maybe even a wonderful day.

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✧ for: those struggling with perfectionism and imposter syndrome

note: contains minor spoilers from project hail mary (2026) and andy weir’s 2021 novel (of which the film was adapted from)

i watched project hail mary recently. i took a few weeks to complete the book, partly because i genuinely do not possess the math-physics gene to wholeheartedly understand the content, so, i was just along for the ride. but, what a treat of a novel, especially for someone who’s been a long-time fan of space and science fiction media. the film was the cherry on top, with it being one of the best adaptations i’ve ever seen. it didn’t stray from the book. it kept its heart and soul. all i could’ve ever asked for.

one thing that stuck out to me was grace’s (the main character) struggle with self-worth, confidence, and every perfectionist’s biggest opp: imposter syndrome.

(hmm, i wonder why that’s so relatable…)

that’s the thing. as someone who’s never been able to view themselves as enough, and i’m not even exaggerating that to evoke a sense of pity, but i genuinely struggle with existing. appreciating myself. my gifts. the life that i have. almost three decades of needing to do more, because existing, in my head, is barely hitting the minimum.

i admired grace’s honesty about his humanity— his fear of dying, fear of being ostracized by his own community, fear of being wrong, fear of not being brave enough, fear of the unknown, and fear of not living up to expectations, whether set by others or by himself.

(he’s literally my spirit animal)

both reading the book and watching his character come to life on the big screen made me feel, to put it simply, seen.

that a character who feels the same way i do about many things, can achieve such great things and accomplish a feat that he doesn’t inflate nor exaggerate, but instead, actually fear and oppose, not because he doesn’t acknowledge its greatness and importance, but because he fails to realize he’s capable of it.

parellel to grace’s character, i’ve also been struggling with these very same fears and very same insecurities for the better part of my adulthood. all distilled into the core ideas of self-criticism and a lack of self-acceptance.

self-criticism drives me more than i’d like to admit

“should’s” take up more of my life than i’d like to admit. and it’s quite depressing to realize. i can’t remember the last time i’ve had a day where i did something because i “wanted” to, and not because i “had” to.

how many experiences have i missed out on because i was too busy doing a task based on a timeline i self-imposed? how many times have i missed out on joy because i didn’t think i deserved it? how many times have i lost the chance on an opportunity because i didn’t think i was capable of achieving it?

it’s important to remind yourself that self-criticism is only a product of the experiences you’ve accumulated over the years. it is not a permanent quality. just because you suffer due to it, doesn’t mean you need to define it as a part of your identity.

it’s even more important to pay attention to it, soften, and acknowledge that it exists.

the inner critic is not a reliable narrator

that inner voice that constantly prioritizes “shoulds” is a way of us misreading kindness.

let me explain.

our natural drive to improve, to be a better person— these are all positive qualities we should accept and admire. however, because of our hypercritical tendencies, we tend to reframe that very same drive as “not doing or being enough.” aka failure. a misinterpretation of how we view ourselves.

it’s important to remind ourselves that our inner critic is an unreliable narrator. our kindness and our striving to be good is what’s real. what we should hone and focus on.

and once we de-prioritize that voice, we must also forgive it.

forgiveness

forgiveness is arguably the key to all this. and i don’t mean forgiveness towards others, which is of course, equally important to practice. but within the context of this article, i’m referring to forgiving yourself.

(which may be fundamentally more difficult than the former)

and by the way, there is no ledger to forgiveness. any time that voice says “you should have done better,” that’s an invitation to go inwards and forgive. not to excuse mediocrity, but as an act of trust that forgiveness is greater than any failure.

that inner voice that speaks in “shoulds” does not deserve condemnation, or even further criticism, but patience and kindness.

sit with it, don’t fix it

i think the hardest thing for perfectionists is meeting themselves where they’re at. not after finishing all the tasks of the day. not after receiving a perfect score on that test.

no. that is performance.

it’s meeting yourself when you don’t have it all together.

it’s when you’re carrying your day with heaviness. you don’t earn that calmness and peace because you checked off a list. you deserve it because you desire calmness and peace.

sitting with it. not needing to fix it. not trying to make a plan for it.

just meeting yourself where you’re at.

if you could only see yourself through others’ eyes. will you think you deserve all that you’ve achieved then? that you deserve all the love that you’ve received? that you’re not only worthy, but worth infinitely more than your fears and insecurities?

and just like grace’s journey, you never know what you might be capable of, and in turn, be able to achieve for yourself in life.

heck, maybe you’ll save humanity one day!

if you approach that self-criticism as a disembodied voice that does not need to be internalized, but rather, viewed, acknowledged, and forgiven, how will you act the next time that voice of “should” begins to echo within your mind?

don’t let anyone, especially yourself, tell you what you cannot do. instead, practice strengthening the voice that tells you what you can do. what you’re capable of.

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This week, I’m exploring ideas for grounding oneself through life’s transitions. I’m currently undergoing this myself, so if you’re on the same boat, hopefully you can find some comfort in knowing that I’m thinking of you while writing this piece.

The Transition

Recently, I received wonderful news that I was accepted into my top master’s degree program. In my dream city. Mind you, it wasn’t an easy journey from the day I decided to apply to now. Months of preparation, rumination, and checklists. Rewriting letters, dusting off my portfolio, and thinking to myself daily: ‘Am I really cut out for this?’

The day I received the news of my acceptance, I was obviously overjoyed. It came unexpectedly, on a random weekday. I vividly remember collapsing onto the floor. All of the nights when I was terrified, praying, feeling lost, feeling utterly alone— vanished. I did it. I actually did it. Fuck yeah! Tears couldn’t help but come, and I had to reread the acceptance email about fifty times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

It’s actually my reality. The one I worked so hard for. Hoped for.

Wait, oh, shit. This is my reality.

After celebrating with my family that evening, I was met with questions I hadn’t even properly considered yet. Visas, phone plans, apartment hunting. Leaving my family. My cats. Leaving behind what I’ve called home for the past twenty years. How dizzying. Terrifying, actually. Endless to-do lists wormed their way in, and soon I was left with fear and paralyzing anxiety.

Am I really cut out for this?

As days passed, I began to process the gravity of everything. My thoughts settled, and I realized something.

I’ve been here before.

During the application process. All my heartbreaks. Every time I changed careers.

The fear of change. The fear of what’s to come.

But on the other side of all those experiences was nothing short of life continuing to be for the better. On the other side of fear was overcoming it, and nothing felt more rewarding than that. I faced fear in the eye—despite it—every single time.

So why do we continue to let it take over despite knowing that things will inevitably be alright?

Now I want to present a reframe.

Fear isn’t this monster in the closet that’s waiting for us to dread it. Fear is just data. Information that signals how much something matters. How much it truly means. Fear is another step towards something greater and worth persevering for.

Fear is where we’re forged, where we come out stronger.

Necessary friction is needed for fire to come alive.

Fear shows us that we understand the weight of it all, and in the case of life transitions, what we’re about to step towards.

Riding the Wave of Transition

I understood that I couldn’t continue to stay within a cycle of fear. I achieve something, and focus my attention on the next scary thing. Again and again. If I kept thinking this way, how would I truly be able to appreciate my wins?

Focus

Focus comes from submerging yourself within the chaos of it all, rather than avoiding it. I know it seems counterintuitive. But it’s better to face it head-on and learn how to thrive in the mess. Baby steps. Like learning how to swim because you have no choice but to.

You’re in the water. And you’re choosing not to drown.

Connection

Just because you’re heading somewhere or doing something different doesn’t mean you have to do it alone. It can certainly feel lonely. It can feel like no one understands. But I think it’s crucial to stay connected with others during what, at times, can feel like such an isolating experience. And I don’t mean connection for connection’s sake. When all your energy is poured out into something not a lot of people can understand, it can be quite draining to try and show up as someone you think people expect you to be.

Show up. But show up authentically. Show up realistically. Be honest about the changes you’re going through. Be honest about what scares you.

Protect your boundaries, but showing a bit of vulnerability to others may surprise you. Best-case scenario, they’ll be the supportive anchor you’re grateful to have.

Foundation

Build your foundations. Not hurriedly. Not desperately. But build them strong. Build them consistently.

What is that one thing that you know you can always rely on?

Even when things change? Even when you change?

For myself, faith has been the biggest anchor throughout my journey. It’s the one thing that brings me peace, even when things are accelerating and shifting.

Your foundation is like a lifesaver. When the hopelessness and endless exhaustion feels like too much, your foundation will always be there to keep you afloat.

It’s important to remember that life transitions are not random, but purposeful and meaningful.

When it comes to moving through the unknown, confront it with urgency despite the uncertainty. You don’t need to have it all sorted out and planned to a tee. Leave room for wonderful surprises to take shape.

Trust in your abilities and believe that you’re right where you’re meant to be.

In Practice

1. Silence first and foremost. Reflect. Pray. Meditate. Whatever floats your boat. But practice creating space for silence to exist. We don’t get much of that, especially during moments where our to-do lists never end.

2. One thing at a time. Care for yourself today. Not the person you'll be when you get there. You need you right now. Take care of yourself first and whatever needs your attention in the current moment.

3. Rely on the community. Rely on friendships, family, and loved ones. If you’re moving, look into ways you can establish new connections in advance. If you’re religious, look into churches or places of worship where you can find refuge. If you love reading, look into local libraries and see if they host book clubs or literary events. If you’re a new grad, find forums and events where you can relate with others who are on the same boat.

And so, I leave you with a few parting words: Even though being in a transitional period can be daunting, embrace it with all that you’ve got. You’ll never be here again. One day, you may look back and hope you could’ve appreciated such a tender time in your life. Thank yourself for what you’re going through.

It takes strength to experience life without a lighthouse.

If truly you believed, deep in your bones, that whatever you may be moving towards already exists, how would it change how you do today?

vk.

✧ for: silencing future noise

my partner said something that stuck with me recently. it was something along the lines of me being too hard on myself. it got me thinking about my own psyche, my own struggles with anxiety, and my long-term difficulty with staying present.

for as long as i can remember, i always craved calmness. i dreamt of a day when i would wake up feeling refreshed, well-rested, and regulated. i don’t know when the last time i felt that way was. but i do know that most of my days consist of meticulous planning, a productive mentality, and chasing that thing that can finally tell me i can rest.

i’m slowly realizing that thing will never exist.

it’s up to me to decide that i can.

i feel like i’m hardwired to look towards the future, to anticipate any derailings that might happen. to dream big and to do everything in my power to achieve it. to make sure i don’t feel abandoned ever again. to make sure i’ll be there on time. to make sure i always look presentable.

all these worries. all these lists. all these “goals.”

funny thing is, in my twenty-seven years of existence, i barely remember my memories. i barely remember the last week. i barely remember the pain i’ve felt during my first heartbreak. it’s almost like it didn’t happen.

(science break)

cognitive load. my brain is always stuck in a high state of anxiety, prioritizing survival, rather than storing current experiences. i’m not necessarily forgetting, but i’m not recording the present because i’m too busy anticipating threats. like writing a story i haven’t lived yet, leaving today’s pages blank.

(end of science break)

in order to survive, to cope, i had no choice but to look forward. to look ahead. for something that’ll give me hope. something that’ll keep me going.

so, i think i learned to only anticipate the future. because the present was too much to bear. anticipating something else was better than dealing with my reality. this coping mechanism transformed me into who i am today, constantly predicting, wondering, and guessing what might happen.

i never learned to be present. looking back at my life, i feel like i never got to really enjoy myself. because all i was ever concerned about was how to survive the next painful event, and to do that, i couldn’t slow down. no. i couldn’t afford to.

i couldn’t let my guard down.

but today, i want to make a promise to myself to not let a day go by for granted. to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. to reclaim my cognitive health. i simply cannot be on my deathbed at ninety, wondering where my life went. what was it that i chased? or running from? why couldn’t i become still?

i want to remember how it feels to enjoy the morning sun. all the times i felt proud of myself. all the times i felt wronged. all the times i’ve experienced joy. and even the most painful times of them all.

to remember is to have experiences, and to have experiences is to be human. how can i rob myself of that? how can i deprive myself of the present moment? the enjoyment? and the gratitude that inevitably springs from it?

i’ve settled on three simple intentions to hold close as i continue to heal and, hopefully, begin to truly live by them:

enjoyment

enjoying myself is important. quite key in understanding what it means to be present. savouring small treats. feeling the warmth when i cup my fingers around my favourite mug. looking outside and seeing what lines and shapes the world consists of. what colours shine through the trees. what defines my worldview. what sounds illict love.

gratitude

gratitude is another deeply crucial component. to be able to inhale the moment around me and accept it all for what it is. even if things aren’t perfect. even if things aren’t how i’d ideally like them to be. they exist, and i’m glad that they do.

being present

lastly, it all boils down to being present. i believe that being present is the ultimate act of self-boundary. that no matter what my brain says, i say “no, i’m going to choose to stay here.” i get to decide what my mind spends its time on. i’m enjoying. i’m grateful.

to conclude, these are not just ideals and concepts, but are absolute necessities.

enjoyment.

gratitude.

staying present.

if anxiety impairs memory, then it is a radical act of cognitive rebellion to train our brain to actually record the good things and to not just rush through the garden.

to actually stop and smell the flowers.

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Mantella, R. C., Butters, M. A., Dew, M. A., Mulsant, B. H., Begley, A. E., Tracey, B., Shear, M. K., Reynolds, C. F., & Lenze, E. J. (2007). Cognitive Impairment in Late-Life Generalized Anxiety Disorder. The American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, 15(8), 673-679. https://doi.org/10.1097/JGP.0b013e31803111f2

✧ for: peace and release

i was doing an at-home, youtube yoga routine by yoga with adriene. love her. adore her. definitely recommend her. anyways, before starting, she called viewers to focus on a word to use as an intention for the practice. something we felt called to. and as i was reflecting, the word “yes” immediately came to mind.

saying yes.

saying yes to God.

saying yes to goodness.

saying yes to what life has in store for me.

yes!

the word “yes” brings me great comfort during this particular time, both personally and externally, especially looking at the state of the world today. in times of uncertainty, doom, and fear, one has to hang on to the hope of the future. “yes” almost feels like the bridge to that. a path forward one can reclaim. a decision that will lead to a fruitful life. a future filled with joy and peace and wonderful things.

yes.

a few hours later, i left my home to run some errands.

and guess what?

i saw the word again.

big and bold, underlined on an advertisement as i was driving by.

yes.

what are the odds right? it’s like, when you say yes, when you believe in it, it comes alive through acknowledgement. like some living force that’s powered by belief.

maybe it’s just a coincidence, but i’m the type of person to believe that the synchronicity means something.

yes.

it’s a simple word. three letters. common. used in almost every conversation.

yet there’s so much weight attached to it. its outcomes can lead to the unimaginable. the insane. the kind of dream soaked in sweet syrup and yellow flowers. yes can lead to happiness. yes can lead to anything our heart desires.

no is a drab!

so many instances in my life, i’ve said the opposite.

“no.”

and not in a boundary-setting-healthy-self-love type of way. but in a fearful way. a jittery way. rushed and nervous and undeniably unsure. missed-opportunities type of way.

but looking back on all those times, i’ve realized how many doors i’ve closed. either with force or softly with a creak.

how many paths forward were cut short? how many opportunities have dissipated simply because of an imagined future that was hypothetically undesirable? or terrifying? or life-changing?

(for the worse? or for the better…?)

how many versions of me exist out there that are doing things i never could’ve imagined were possible?

yes is hope

but i don’t wanna dwell on the past, nor focus on regrets. in fact, that is the opposite of my point.

yes.

yes is cool. yes is the exclamation point. yes believes, radically and honestly. yes is a hopeful energy. that no matter what’s occurred or what you need to leave behind, “yes” will always be there to give you the push that you need to move forward.

yes provides freedom for change. yes acknowledges. yes validates. yes is powerful.

ps. this is your sign to say yes :)

vk.

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03/09/26, 10 pm

i listened to my intuition so here i am. my pockets are full yet i’m hungry.

i’m trying to be more honest. and so i will. to spill my heart unto this pages requires a certain vulnerability i’m deathly allergic to.

but here i am.

self-regulation has been on my mind recently. i’ve been dreaming about calmness since i could remember. why is it so difficult to achieve? (achieve! as if it’s something to strive for!)

but how i long for a state of ease. effortless and wholeheartedly light.

i will dream about it tonight.

03/10/26, late afternoon

it’s annoyingly hot for this time of the year. maybe it’s this fluffy sweater. but i can’t complain. the sunlight is pouring from my window, making itself known. i’m lucky. instrumental music dominates the background. i also just finished a good chunk of writing for this week’s piece. so i feel quite accomplished, and good, naturally. remnants of the coffee i had this morning are still churning in my veins. time to take a break. time to breathe.

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have you seen the news? have you seen what happened? have you turned on the tv? have you glued your eyes at the screen and felt every feeling known to man all in the span of 6 seconds? have you wept? have you stared at it long enough? have you? have you?

you don’t matter if you don’t!

you don’t matter if you don’t consume!

you’re not one of us if you don’t consume!

this corner feels odd. shades of green and pink spring from the ground. a lovely heat exists. i hum a tune and they want to scream over it. i want to sing my songs. write my own words. they look at me as if i’m strange. don’t you want to sing our songs instead? this corner is filled with all my dolls and dreams and laughter from when my belly hurt. why do we crave more than this? why do we need more than this?

but now my heart hurts. i cannot bear it sometimes. listening for my heartbeat. a mere machine destined to operate according to its instructions. looking at my own dim, grey corner. hoping for silence. stillness. clicking and tapping life away. consuming on and on.

for now, let me lay down and feel the forest floor. admire the pink peonies and smile at the ponies. sing a song. write a poem. consume the sun and its warmth.

for a moment, i just want to live.

vk.

✧ for: calmness + grounding

beauty is a state of being

being a pageant child, i learned early on that my existence depended on others’ approval. i often wondered if i was more beautiful than the 10 other little girls beside me, all while singing, posing, and dancing my heart out. as i got older, i vividly remember looking in the mirror during my teenage years, staring at my own imperfection and unevenness with such disdain, eagerly accepting beauty as something i’ll eventually attain. i firmly believed that i would get my nose done, perm my hair, and get botox as soon as my bank account allowed me to. the utter desperation to reach society’s beauty standards was debilitating, to say the least. those ideals were rotting me from the inside. the belief that editing the outside would fix something which was inherently internal.

but i’m not alone in this. when we consider the idea of beauty, we first think of its physical manifestation. maybe a model, red lipstick, or thick, voluminous hair. i remember seeing glamorous billboards and advertisements narrating what beauty is and should be. that if i buy that mascara, i’ll finally feel complete. or if i contour my nose and have korean glass skin, i’ll finally feel beautiful.

it’s all a lie.

beauty was, and still is, marketed as an aspirational goal, rather than something we already innately possess.

in defiance of this, i present a redefinition of beauty. instead of a checkmark or an objective, i want to reframe it as an internal foundation instead. that beauty is steadiness. unmoving despite external circumstances, trends, or societal expectations.

beauty comes from within. beauty is a state of being, instead of something to be achieved. we experience it within our mind and body.

but how do we truly access and practice inner beauty?

beauty starts from a regulated nervous system.

the phrase “regulated nervous system” has been trending a lot on social media. but what does it actually mean? in short, a regulated nervous system is when we’re in our “rest and digest” mode. our heart rate is slower, our digestion is working optimally, and we’re able to think clearly and make solid choices. personally, it’s when i truly feel the most beautiful. like i don’t always have to brace for impact. like i can just be, exist, and not feel any sort of pressure to become something else other than myself.

in contrast, if we’re in a state of “fight or flight” (anxiety), our state of being is essentially hijacked. we experience dysregulation instead. we’re sweating, our muscles tense up, and our thinking narrows. whenever i’m in this state, i become deeply hypercritical, especially towards myself. i believe lies that stem from comparison. negative ideas take centre stage. in this state, nuanced thinking and self-control are compromised. and not only do i feel like i look ugly, but i actually feel it internally. my brows are furrowed, my palms are sweaty, and i become that little girl again who desperately craved admiration and validation.

this is why the beauty industry thrives. when we’re dysregulated, we’re the most vulnerable to the idea that we’re not enough. they take advantage of our insecurities and convince us that beauty is photoshop and facetune and a fox eye lift.

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returning to that steadiness, that ability to choose your response rather than just react, is immensely empowering. it’s not just about feeling beautiful, but actually embodying it. you don’t need that new lippie. you just need to feel like you’re on steady ground.

maintaining this state of internal stability doesn't mean life becomes easy or predictable. life will always be unpredictable, and most times uncomfortable and unruly. aging is inevitable. wrinkles will appear no matter how many globs of retinol you slather on your face. a bad skin day will always creep up on us when we least expect it. our hair will always do that weird ponytail thing.

so we have to accept the true nature of life. acceptance is about working with something instead of against it. resistance equates to dysregulation, and acceptance naturally equates to regulation. dysregulation is like staring out at open water wondering about all the different ways i can drown. but regulation is like admiring the sun as its light sparkles against the water, feeling immensely grateful to be able to witness it.

in short, i am most myself, most at ease, and most beautiful, when i am not at war with anything. when my shoulders are down, i’m listening to an eclectic collection of jazz records, and my heart is smiling.

having a regulated nervous system allows me to stop obsessing and instead start living.

the human experience is quite beautiful, don’t you think?

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McCorry LK. Physiology of the autonomic nervous system. Am J Pharm Educ. 2007 Aug 15;71(4):78. doi: 10.5688/aj710478. PMID: 17786266; PMCID: PMC1959222.

This week, I’m exploring the concept of the ideal self— where it begins, the inevitable sacrifices required to reach it, and the habits you and I can start building today to bridge the gap.

The Ideal Self

My ideal self. When I think about her, I think of myself, happy, smiling, with a nervous system so regulated that no external force could shake the foundation she’s built within herself. She’s respected in her field. She pursues creativity with vigour and deep intention. Supported and loved from every side, she’s content with what she’s experienced and where she stands. She’s up ahead. Waving at me to hurry up.

What about you? What do you see when you think about yours?

The ideal self is arguably one of our biggest motivators for learning and change. Without it, where would the incentive come from? How would these grand visions and glossy dreams start? Where we’ve achieved what we’ve set out to, loved all that we could, and life feels so wonderfully full.

But remember that our ideal selves are aspirational. They’re meant to keep us striving and pursuing. Inherently iterative. A constantly moving goal post. It can never be truly checked off, but it can take on the role of a compass of sorts. A north star, if you will.

It’s not meant to be a destination, but a direction.

Its origins may have derived from a certain experience or a life-altering event. Something that wasn’t planned for. Maybe a breakup, a job loss, or just getting older and growing up, and changing, as we do. This propels us towards something else. A new course. A redirection. An ideal.

Hope

When those life changes occur, we tend to ask for an explanation. A probable cause. A meaning behind why life had to hand these specific cards. And so naturally, we turn to whatever brings us the greatest comfort, whether it be religion, focusing on our health, or, at times, detrimental coping mechanisms.

But at the end of the day, what we truly seek within those practices is hope. Hope that circumstances will change for the better. Hope will keep us afloat amidst the ever-changing sequences of life. Hope is the smile that arrives when you least expect it. Hope is the dropping of your shoulders. Hope is the ease. Hope will always exist, as long as we want it to.

Hope is the waving flag against the backdrop of hardship, struggle, and grief.

But hope cannot exist without its other half.

Fear

We cannot move forward without encountering hope’s worst enemy: fear. The biggest barrier to the change we seek. Fear will always be around the corner, and it is patient in its approach. Looking for weaknesses and blind spots, aiming to convince us that hope is not worth believing in.

So I believe it’s our responsibility to face our fears throughout the pursuit of our ideal selves. There will always be doubt that taints every step. This is possibly the hardest part of this journey. A voice will always creep up to tell us lies; however, remember that it all lives within the stories we tell ourselves. All within our minds. It doesn’t actually exist in reality. And neither do our ideal selves, at least, not yet, and not fully.

So what will you prioritize in making a reality? The fear of change, or the hope that your goals and aspirations will come true?

Let’s switch gears and talk about practice. Revelations are overrated anyway. Small, deliberate acts actually deliver change.

The How

1. Letting Go to Grow

To become who you want to be, you must first release who you used to be.

Take the time to understand that change is against our very nature. It’s coded within us to stay in a safe bubble. To be comfortable. However, the pursuit of the ideal self requires acceptance of the discomfort.

Reconstruction requires destruction, a considerably violent act.

This is a perspective not many share, but it is necessary. Letting go of a version of yourself you’ve been defending and coddling isn’t an easy task. It can take some isolation or withdrawal from what you’re used to, whether it’s outdated habits, people, or excuses you constantly lean on. Be kind to yourself during this.

2. Listen In

The second step is to listen within and to be honest with yourself. The gut is our first guide. That’s how you’ll achieve the clarity you seek. Trust that voice to move you.

Steer clear of distractions and ask yourself: what matters most to me? Your intuition is like an alarm, and it won't stop until you give it the attention it needs. It is right. Listen to it.

3. Commit

And lastly, you must be able to commit to the change, with discernment, of course. Change cannot happen without action.

You have to accept that your ideal self is already proud of you and patiently waiting for you to wave in return and acknowledge them. To take steps towards them. To commit.

A Challenge

Now I have a challenge to present (which I’m currently working on, too). Try it for a full week and see what changes. See what parts of you are excited by the transformation that’s occurring. See what that inner voice is clarifying.

1. Journal prompt: What entered your heart at the start of the day, and what left your heart as the day ended?

2. If you practice a religion, spirituality, or meditate, continue to pursue those things as a constant anchor when you need to feel grounded. It can even be a hobby or surrounding yourself with family regularly. Change is daunting. Change is scary. Tie yourself to a constant you can always return to.

3. Hold yourself accountable! Whether it be a friend or a loved one who’s aware of your transition, find a way to be accountable for the changes you want to make.

   

The pursuit of the ideal self is an unconventional one, I can admit. Strange to most. A waste of time for others. But nevermind their judgments. If this is a journey you feel called to take, then it is up to you. It is, after all, your only earthly life. It is your choice.

At the end of the day, this pursuit is a decision you are making. It’s demanding an agreement, signed and stamped. A union of sorts between the current version of yourself and the version that you are deeply craving, possibly secretly. And if you’re like me, where your sense of self has been lost and dragged and unshaped and influenced and corrected, it can be a terrifying endeavour.

For most of my life, I have been stuck in a space of indecision, not because I lacked the vision. No. But it was because I lacked the audacity to pursue something deeply uncomfortable. Unappetizing and boring. There was no promise of dopamine. No foolproof reward at the finish line, if a finish line even exists. The pursuit of one’s ideal self is long-term, hard work. A life-long promise. However, it is a promise your future self will thank you for. I am truly certain of it.

vk.

Boyatzis, R. E., & Dhar, U. (2022). Dynamics of the ideal self. Journal of Management Development, 41(1), 1–9. https://doi.org/10.1108/JMD-09-2021-0247

question: how does one become an observer of one’s own life while committing to the idea of detachment?

i’ve pondered this for a while now, dreading what i may uncover. but after some time, i think i’ve formed a response.

my answer?

i think it’s radical acceptance and receiving life with open hands.

let’s dive in.

the paradox of detachment

have you ever worked incredibly hard for an outcome? crossing your fingers, pushing through, and hoping for the best. you ticked off the boxes and met the requirements. but there’s a lingering undercurrent that keeps nagging at you.

that you won’t be able to truly know the outcome.

and that’s a shitty thing to face, especially after putting in so much hard work towards something.

as an overachiever, i always found it difficult to balance the commitment it takes when it comes to achieving goals, and the fluidity required from detachment towards outcomes.

but the balance is crucial. necessary.

to be able to move through life as an active observer, rather than a prisoner of expectations.

that’s the only way through.

breaking the cycle

if you’re like me, you know that there’s so much guilt attached when it comes to productivity. there’s always a conversation around efficiency and if you’re meeting a certain standard.

there’s a critical inner voice. always droning on and on about how you haven’t “earned” rest or that you’ve “wasted” your time. negativity galore.

(a side note: i believe that this voice possibly stems from past external criticism that’s found its way to become internalized. a parent perhaps. a teacher. an authority figure who determined your worth based on your output. criticizing. debilitating.)

like i previously mentioned, there’s a delicate balance here. a fine line. in recognizing that constant stillness leads to nothing being achieved, but constant pushing also leads to burnout. you and i both know that.

but, what’s that anchor that balances it all?

rest.

the weight that balances the scale.

rest is an advantage

alysa liu. world-class figure skater. olympian. a young woman.

i recently saw an interview of hers where she talked about prioritizing rest and spoke on the idea of detachment. she doesn’t skate to win medals. she skates to show what she’s got. and to have fun.

and that’s it right there. that’s the proof. that rest is not an obstacle to success, but rather, a requirement.

if an olympian believes in rest, why shouldn’t we?

radical acceptance

i want to share something that i believe is a non-negotiable, complementary aid. rest’s sidekick, if you will.

it’s having a “place,” a foolproof destination of safety and comfort.

what do i mean by that?

well a “place” can be anything — a loved one, faith, or therapy. something you can always come back to for help and support when you need it. when you’re struggling. when you’re down.

and with that, the most important piece of it all…

is the idea of surrender.

repeat after me: achievement and control do not go hand-in-hand.

(achievement and control do not go hand-in-hand.)

(achievement and control do not go hand-in-hand.)

it’s important to accept that whatever may come from your efforts may lead towards your ideal outcome. or maybe not. and that’s okay. planning for something can only go so far.

radical acceptance can be your constant instead.

boundaries

personally, i’ve recently deleted my instagram and facebook accounts. i’ve been riddled with anxiety lately, and this has helped me manage it and be able to set boundaries with certain triggers.

comparisons. not being “enough.” you know how it is.

but here’s my invitation to you. i hope this piece helps you think about what kind of distractions and barriers stand in the way between you and true rest. and i hope it inspires you to slow down, take your time, and know that rest is your best friend.

to open hands and open hearts!

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what does a life worth living look like to me?

a life worth living is one where, when i look back and reflect on my life, i was damn proud of it. i took risks. and got back up when every bone in my body hated me for doing so. i used my talents wisely, helped others willingly, and expressed love and care and kindness, ultimately.

a life worth living consists of dreams that were pursued, despite reality. normalcy is not necessarily the end goal, but the opposite. full of fruits and wine and good sleep. intention spills across every seam. smiles that span eons. laughter that echoes between memories.

a life worth living consists of mountains. hurdles that were dared to be faced. a life where pain is inevitable, but meant something and meant more. a life that wasn’t viewed with a shrug. or faced with an apathetic acceptance of it all, to the harshness, and to the suffering.

where is this all coming from?

well, can i be honest?

i’m so scared of being mediocre. of living a mediocre life. one that wasn’t true to me. one that was only handed to me. one which followed a script i never wrote. one that makes me feel small and helpless and tied to fate.

fate.

i do not believe in it.

i believe we have the agency to shape our destiny and what we want our lives to look like. and of course, it’s all relative to our hopes and dreams and wants.

i don’t know about you, but personally, i ache for a life filled with a tapestry of experiences.

i mean, isn’t that what life is about? daring to try something new? to pursue joy despite the misery?

i’ve reached a point in the past few months where i was forced to face this existential question. the rug pulled under me, the colours erased, and i was unable to see what lies ahead.

a transitional space. a blank slate.

fast forward to now, i’m standing on more solid ground. well, maybe sandy than solid. but i can make out the lines around me. some shades are making themselves known.

and of course, it’s terrifying to witness a half-realized reality. one where i do not belong in the past, nor completely immersed in the future. blurry still. externally lost perhaps. but maybe my compass is recalibrating.

i am internally rebuilding.

holding both truths

the truth is, to unapologetically pursue a life worth living, one’s thirst for life has to be unquenchable. content and grateful, whilst always looking out towards the horizon. the partnership of stillness and movement swirling around in one’s heart. it’s a difficult thing to balance.

constant pursuit vs. deep acceptance, isn’t it?

but my goodness, i truly and wholeheartedly believe in this idea. in our own capacity to live a life worth living.

i believe in it so deeply, maybe naively, but sincerely.

and so, i want to bring this question to you—

what does a life worth living look like for you? have you questioned it? kindly sat with it? pondered it with curiosity rather than avoidance?

it’s a challenging query to face, but necessary i believe, in order to take the right steps towards the kind of life we want to create.

a life worth living. what a privilege and a gift to pursue.

what does it look like to you?

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matthew 13:53-58

when you find yourself sitting between familiarity and change, your surroundings suddenly feel distorted and everyone’s gaze starts to flash upon you, fleeting yet sustained. when you decide you want something else that does not fit the norm, something for yourself, you start to feel a tinge of judgment, and your wins suddenly become their losses. when you start to colour outside of the lines, dream a different dream, or sing a song that’s never been heard of, they look at you with such disdain.

why is that?

i’ve been reflecting on this topic recently, and wondering why is it, that when you genuinely start to pursue yourself with intentional authenticity, do others view you in such a different light? perhaps, contempt?

maybe it’s because the audacity scares them? the braveness to pursue something that doesn’t follow the script? to go forth without fear as captain of the ship.

most of our lives we have been meticulously educated, dare i say— coerced, to step on the very same footprints that those who have come before us have created. they don’t know anything else, so why would they teach us otherwise? internalized traditions cannot be broken nor edited easily. it is inherited. and it is inherently embedded. and what is the end goal?

money? power? fame? stability? conquest? comfort? happiness? relief?

i suppose it all depends on the person, doesn’t it?

and with that in mind, i’m not writing this piece to bestow judgment or criticism towards those who value a straight road. for that is their own path.

but, it is not for me. i do not find happiness in it. i do not find satisfaction in it.

i also understand that it is harder to accept that pursuing something else, considerably more challenging, is even remotely attractive or worth the effort. how strange, to want something that does not guarantee predictability or reward? i get that, i do.

there’s something worth noting about the idea of immediate results. especially in the context of today’s day and age, and how rewards (dopamine*) are deeply craved. endlessly. how can you not with such a shiny and infinite supply? it is much harder to pursue something that takes long-term, consistent work as opposed to something that you know will make you happy, for the time being. social media has taught us that if it takes longer than five to six seconds, it is not worth our time. if it does not guarantee success, right now, today, tomorrow— then it is not worth the trouble. so anything remotely outside of that box predictably elicits judgment.

and i understand there’s a certain privilege, some might say naiveté, to be able to think this way. i am very grateful to have grown up with all my basic needs met, and i have not had to worry about whether food would be on the table, or if i would have a warm blanket, or a safe home to come back to. i know i am at a better position than most to be able to ponder these questions, to consider change and newness and strangeness while digging my heels in the ground.

all of these different facets bring about a conclusion that isn’t comforting. nor black or white. because at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to live the best life that we can with the circumstances that we’re given. and there is no right or wrong way to live.

there’s an understated beauty to it, don’t you think? that the only constant is that everything is fleeting. and that one always has a choice. and always will. you can choose a path and decide it no longer is for you. you can decide early. later. at this very second. or ten years from now. nothing is truly stable. nothing stays the same.

and if there are always going to be challenges, uphill battles, losses, and pain— why not choose the path that makes those things worth experiencing? even if it’s frowned upon, judged, or mocked?

with that in mind, i raise you a question: do you choose inheritance or defiance?

or does it have to be mutually exclusive?

unconventional paths can also evolve towards structure and stability, and comfortability can lead to an itch that cannot be scratched except for breaking the norm.

it’s okay to be weird. it’s okay to be outside the box. it’s okay to live simply. it’s okay to live with grandiosity. it’s okay to be strange.

it’s okay to live your life how you see fit.

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have you ever felt like life has continuously shown you doors to open? chances? opportunities to take? and you doubted them? you doubted their ability to bring forth something that’s of worth. so you let fear take over, muted your inner cravings that desperately wanted something more, or something new, or something great, and you let these chances pass you by? float away into nothingness as you let your inability to believe that you were worthy of them wash over you.

most of my life that’s been the case. i’ve always felt like i couldn’t take a chance because of fear of failure. i shouldn’t speak up because someone’s louder. i shouldn’t dream bigger because, how dare i? the audacity! to actually want something that i deserve, right?

2026 has started off with such subtlety for me. there’s been movement. but more of an undercurrent. like cogs are working in the background, hidden, but quietly consistent. i’ve been working on things. working really hard, actually. almost to my detriment sometimes. and i’m keeping them really close to my heart. doing what i can towards them. but at the same time, constantly having to light the fire of an almost delusion-like belief that what i want will come into fruition.

because, we truly don’t know how something will turn out won’t we? we can’t predict the future. yet with our abundance of dreams and goals and hopes, we all continue to work towards them. no matter what the finish line looks like. careers, relationships, you name it. their finite and unstable nature will always be peering from the shadows, threatening and menacing.

so how do i deal with all of this? all of this uncertainty. because truly, if not for adopting this mindset, i would spiral into the abyss of nihilism.

well… i move. i do. i continue. i perservere. i believe. i have faith.

when constantly faced with the idea that nothing is guaranteed, it can drive a person into madness. but that constant ruminating, the aching stillness— it does not benefit anyone.

movement, i think, is the answer.

despite the crushing weight of uncertainty— despite it— we keep going. we defy it. despite its brutal honesty, we still believe. we believe in ourselves. we believe in our hopes. we believe in our dreams. we believe that things will work out. there is almost no choice in the matter.

and that’s the thing. it requires our own drive. our own incentive. it has to come from within. and those doors? chances? opportunities? they’re there for the taking, but it is up to us. up to our actions. up to our movement.

or else— they pass us by. they continue to pass through without a wave or an acknowledgement. because, well, we didn’t even do it ourselves. we didn’t even believe in them— in their existence.

as january comes to a close, let me part some words with you. 2026 doesn’t have to be eventful. nor does it have to be fruitful. let it be a year of movement. of consistency. of doing things despite it all. despite the horrors of the world and the helplessness and the suffering. practice empathy, resting, and stillness, sure. but move through it. with grace and kindness and defiance. go for your dreams, even if it seems impossible and debilitating. laugh as you fall. keep going. keep going. keep moving.

and if everything is uncertain, then you never know what the outcome will be.

and if that’s the case, then anything, truly, is possible.

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this week, i’ve been reflecting on life’s inevitable ups and downs. things don’t always go according to plan. but how do we react to it? well, i don’t think it’s about making things more adaptable. or making things more efficient. i think a key reframe is about reducing.

it’s not about adding but subtracting. less instead of more.

what’s my theory behind it, you may ask?

well, as a society, why do we always default to addition? why is it always about filling up our calendars? is it a cultural norm? that we praise checklists and hustling? what if we start thinking about subtracting instead? what can this lead to? what can this create?

i think it creates something we’re desperately lacking in today’s day and age: space. and therefore, clarity.

so how do we actually practice subtraction? here's what's been working for me—

i’ve created a step-by-step guide on how to apply this to my day-to-day life, and hopefully, it can create some insight for you too.

1. reflect

reflect on what’s important about your day. think about your needs. what keeps the engine running? what are the essentials? notice when something isn’t needed or notice when you’re “overdoing.”

food for thought: when do you yes instead of no? or how often do you neurotically check that thing that’s perfectly fine?

2. write

write down a running list of “what i’m removing.” what’s been detrimental? what holds you back? what’s the thing that your body keeps saying “no” to? what would you eliminate if no one was watching?

food for thought: doing things out of obligation, or going to that one draining thing you don’t wanna go to.

3. review

review your ongoing list. maybe weekly. maybe monthly.

food for thought: maybe weekly for my fellow type a’s, monthly if you want more space. write it down in your notes app or an unused notebook that’s been sitting on your desk.

4. celebrate

not just what you’re letting go of, but also your accomplishments.

food for thought: acknowledge what you’ve done! letting go is much harder than people admit. but feel how you’re lighter. feel the inhale you’ve been craving.

and remember, the end goal of this is clarity, not productivity. resilience and presence. amidst life’s ups and downs. amidst change.

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i’ve recently been grappling with a persistent issue. one i can’t quite face. or maybe, unable to.

i’ve always felt the need to strive. to persist. to, despite all odds, beat them.

my ambition has towered over me. as a child, i’ve always had big dreams. i’ve always looked up at the stars and wondered if they were made to inspire me to seek them. big dreams and a big head, i suppose.

as i got older, and as one does, the facade started to melt. dreams became smaller. goals became unreachable. everyone’s more talented. everyone’s smarter. everyone wants it more. and i had a realization—

—that i wasn’t special.

i mean, not really. i realized i couldn’t just float through life and have everything that i wanted handed to me.

no.

i had to work for it.

so i learned. to work harder. to want it more. to put in the effort. to strive relentlessly.

however, over the years, it has admittedly worn me down. and every battle has left me feeling like i lost something along the way. a piece of empathy. perhaps kindness. not for anyone in particular. but for myself.

a weary warrior fighting battles they never win.

i look back on every achievement. every score. every drumroll. and what did they amount to? do they even mean much to me? when all i’ve ever wanted has disappeared and reappeared, like a silly game i’ve never understood.

i’m 27. and i’m exhausted. don’t get me wrong. i’m hopeful. i’m a big optimist. but internally, i can feel the scars. sore from all the times i’ve stood my ground. stubborn. unwilling to give up. constantly feeling like i have to prove myself.

to be seen. to be special. to be worthy.

perfectionism: the cliche answer you give when the hiring manager asks what your biggest weakness is. it’s a bit of a cop-out answer, right? everyone wants to be good. be better. do good things. be better. be good for others. be better. be a good person. be better.

but when i tell you that perfectionism ails me, i mean it has controlled most of my life. whispering promises that on the other side of it, i can finally be enough.

this constant ache has led me to many moments of burnout. where i can no longer find the motivation to be. to move. to act.

and before i know it, the day has passed me by. the sprint leaves me collapsed, gasping for air on unstable ground. i’m bruised. i’m weak. and the guilt of “not doing enough” eats away at my own self-worth. the complete opposite end of being “perfect”. and i realize that my body has forced me. my mind has forced me.

to just.

stay.

still.

it has left me wondering how i’m operating within this world, within my psyche, and if all the readjustments and planning and goal-setting is even worth the “end goal.”

what if the verdict is about believing and not striving? that the current state, the ever-changing state, is always worthy. no matter its characteristics or its circumstances.

and it has led me to a recent revelation, one i’ve been slowly learning. implementing in my day-to-day.

a new battle strategy, let’s say.

it’s about holding both. holding all. ambition and rest. an intentional coexistence, without guilty compromise. a holistic understanding that one cannot achieve perfection. cannot achieve true linearity. it is literally impossible to attain.

life has a way of forcing the weights to shift. the odds to change. and so naturally, one has to pivot. ambition one day. rest the next. and then a good mix of both. it’s natural— and human nature— to be paradoxical. there is no inherent binary or line of separation. only all sides, all modes, all at once. it’s about wholeness. it’s about the and, and not the either.

i’ve been on a grind. preparing for a very consequential and complicated future in my life. clear forks in the road. so as a reuslt, i have become a hermit of sorts. focused. honed in. a necessary period of seclusion. a chosen one. an intentional one.

but that has made me realize how important rest and the simple act of being is. i forgot that my life isn’t just about outputs or checklists. and i’m not being lazy just because i wasn’t at 100% capacity.

ambition and rest require courage to claim. it’s about holding both, and tending to them with care. admiring them as gifts that can be wholly received.

and now i’m learning to outstretch my hands and receive what is for me. whether it’s an opportunity to move or to stay still. it doesn’t have to be glamorous, nor grand.

no— it’s about the daily nuances of holding all my feelings, my needs, and my pillars close to my heart. close to my soul. an ownership to every bit.

and also holding it with an undercurrent of humility. simultaneously knowing that receiving also births giving. and it is all a cycle that powers our life.

when one holds, one must also let go.

holding both is about the daily work. working hard for a purpose, resting for a reason. saying yes and saying no. it’s a foundational philosophy in how we carry ourselves through every corner of our day. it’s about showing up to what nourishes us, even when it’s boring, even when it’s crazy, even when nobody understands it. it’s about understanding capacity, boundaries, and listening to ourselves. it’s about internal wisdom. it’s about staying present. it’s about accepting that life will throw curveballs, life will present challenges, but we don’t have to be drowning in it.

it’s about holding it all as things change. it’s about holding it all as we change.

and that wholeness is a much better north star than perfection ever will be.

stay present, and stay true.

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