But if you are a lover of fiction,

I recommend this book.

Partly because for someone like me that has an habit of reading books halfway, I finished this book. And it was even during my exam period.

Let's get into it.

Yellowface — R. F. Kuang | ⭐ 4/5

“We read, we don't judge.”

I think that's the best way I can describe my experience reading Yellowface.

I loved the rawness of every emotion in this book. Nothing felt overly exaggerated or unnecessarily dramatic. The jealousy, insecurity, ambition, resentment, fear, guilt, and desperation all felt painfully human.

And perhaps that's why I was actually scared for June.

I knew what she did was wrong. She took Athena's manuscript, claimed it as her own, and continued to build a career on something that wasn't entirely hers. But somehow, I couldn't bring myself to simply hate her.

I saw her as a human being who made a terrible decision and kept making more decisions to protect the first one.

I even found myself choosing June over Athena, which sounds crazy considering everything June did. 😂 But I think that's partly because we only ever know Athena through June's perspective.

And honestly, I didn't really like Athena.

To me, she came across as almost too perfect—sanctimonious, polished, successful in a way that sometimes made her feel less human. I also couldn't completely dismiss June's resentment because we learn that Athena had said some pretty bitchy things about her. So I started wondering whether June's jealousy was entirely irrational or whether there was some truth underneath it.

That doesn't excuse what June did, though.

I actually wished she had handled everything differently. She could have acknowledged Athena's authorship and still contributed to the work.

Something as simple as:

“This is Athena's idea. I'm polishing it, developing it, and helping bring it to the world.”

But then... we wouldn't have had a whole novel. 😂

What I found most interesting was that Yellowface eventually became much bigger than plagiarism.

It's about race, privilege, identity, publishing, ownership, and who gets to tell certain stories. It made me think differently about cultural appropriation and about the way stories can become commodities.

Even the publishing industry didn't feel uniquely evil to me. It felt like life. Everyone is trying to survive, everyone is trying to win, and sometimes people will do questionable things to get there.

The internet was no different.

Watching people feast on June's mistakes made me uncomfortable, but I also understood it. People are people. There will always be people who use someone else's downfall to feel better about themselves. Empathy is not as common as we'd like to believe.

And that's probably what stayed with me the most:

Everyone in this book was human.

June was human. Athena was human. The publishers were human. The people online were human.

Nobody was simply good or evil.

And that made the book feel real.

My biggest takeaway from June is actually one I want to carry into my own life: I don't want jealousy to overcome me.

There will always be people who are better than me at something. There will always be people who have more opportunities, better connections, or an easier path.

Life isn't always fair.

But I can choose to keep being myself. I can keep showing up. I can work the extra mile without allowing someone else's success to make me bitter.

Maybe they have it easier.

Maybe I have to work harder to get there.

I think that makes me tougher.

My only major complaints were that I felt the plot became a little prolonged after the big confrontation, and I really wanted more closure from the ending. I kept thinking, “Okay... but what eventually happened?” 😂

Although, I can also see how the uncertainty might have been intentional—the kind of ending that leaves you wondering rather than neatly tying everything together.

Overall, 4/5.

I loved how real this book felt. It made me uncomfortable, made me sympathise with someone I probably shouldn't have, made me question my own judgments, and most importantly, made me think about the kind of person I want to be when jealousy, comparison, and unfairness inevitably show up.

Yellowface reminded me that people can be deeply flawed without being monsters—and that understanding someone's humanity doesn't mean excusing what they did.

And maybe that's why I loved it.

“Generation Z” (often shortened to Gen Z) got its name mostly because it came after Generation Y, which is another name for the Millennials.

The naming sequence went roughly like this:

Baby Boomers (born after World War II)

Generation X (roughly 1965–1980)

Generation Y / Millennials (roughly 1981–1996)

Generation Z (roughly 1997–2012, though exact dates vary)

Unlike names such as “Baby Boomers” or “Millennials,” “Generation Z” wasn't originally chosen because it described a specific characteristic, it was largely just the next letter in the sequence. Over time, people associated Gen Z with being the first generation to grow up fully immersed in the internet, smartphones, social media, and streaming technology.

Interestingly, some people expected a different name to replace “Gen Z,” but the label stuck and became the official popular term. After Gen Z comes Generation Alpha, since the alphabet had run out of letters.

So... who are the generations?

The Silent Generation (about 80–98 years old)

Grew up during the Great Depression and World War II. They were known for resilience, discipline, and keeping their opinions to themselves, hence the name "Silent."

Baby Boomers (about 62–80 years old)

Born during the huge surge in births after World War II. They witnessed television become mainstream, the Space Race, and enormous social change.

Generation X (about 46–61 years old)

(My Dad and mom Gen.)

Often described as independent and resourceful. Many grew up as "latchkey kids," spending time at home without parents after school. They experienced the shift from an analog world to a digital one.

Millennials (Generation Y) (about 30–45 years old)

They grew up alongside the internet. They remember life before smartphones but adapted quickly as technology transformed everyday life.

Generation Z (about 14–29 years old)

That's us. We are the first generation to grow up with smartphones, social media, streaming, and instant access to information. We don't remember a world without the internet.

Generation Alpha (about 0–13 years old)

(Our last born Gen,this girl has a phone used AI to do her assignments when I didn't have that opportunity at her age.)

The first generation born entirely in the 21st century. Many are growing up with AI, smart devices, voice assistants, and technology woven into almost every part of daily life.

One thing I find fascinating is that every generation thinks differently,not because one is better than another, but because they were shaped by different worlds.

The world changes, and each generation changes with it.

One of thousands of my random thoughts,

See you in the next series.

And I don't want to publish this because I don't want people to start seeing my grief as inconvenient.

“Why's she always sad?”I don't want thoughts like that when anyone sees my article.

I promise I have happy moments too.

Today's been, sighsss.

I broke up with my boyfriend today,

He's cheating on me with his so called ex.

I don't think I’m in the mood to tell the full story.

The relationship isn't up two weeks yet.

That's what you get when you rush into things , I guess.

And maybe the rush is part of life sometimes.

What's my life without some drama?

I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me.

I'm relieved the relationship is over,

Maybe reality hasn't got to me yet.

But I'm not feeling really well now,

I had something like an argument with a really manipulative person who claims he knows me,

Trust me you could lose your mind with someone like that,

But Que Sera Sera is comforting.

Maybe I’ll be better tomorrow.

Don't feel sorry for me, I'll hate it.

Just know that I have a little drama in my life too.

Goodnightt.

Thank you to all of the nice comments.🥹🤍

.. and others that I can't remember their username

.

Let me tell you what made me feel a bit sadder and the reason I can feel a drop of tear on my cheeks as I write this;

When I saw his comment, I think I have trained myself not to always react or reply to things quite sensitive immediately,

So I just sent it to my friend and told him how I wanted to react,

He replied.

“Just say thank you.”

At that moment,I felt like the reply was just perfect but I also think my othe friend sounded dismissive when I told him

Because he was just part of the friends that always made me feel confident in myself but then I expected he would say more,

And then I found myself thinking;

“Was I overreacting?”

“What if my friend also thinks what he said was true?”

“What if he saw my message and scoffed in his mind?”

It just hurts because someone close to me might be insensitive too.

At this point,

My face is soaked.

And I'm just allowing myself to feel and not dismiss my own hurt.

Even yesterday,it still sounded funny to me and I felt numb,

I had to ask Chatgpt what a normal human being is supposed to feel after that kind that of comment because I felt nothing.

And I was proud of myself because I still kept staring at the picture and I didn't feel the urge to delete it,

I even made it my WhatsApp and Insta DP.

And after this post,

I would change my Substack DP to the picture.

But..let this post remind you to be kind always.. and what you say or do to people stay with them longer than you think.

I also feel we have normalised not complimenting our friends.

We think the rude comments sounds better ;

“Big head.” “Goat.” “You are not even fine.”

We could always tease our friends but let the nice comments outweigh the tease so that no outsider can ever bring them down.

Let them be able to say at least;

“All my friends love me and they think I am absolutely beautiful.”

And there would always be rude and insensitive people,

There would always be people who aren't even aware of how mean or insensitive they are,

But there must be always you that doesn't allow it to change your Self image.🤍

I feel better after this,

Maybe it would hurt less and maybe I would forget about itt,

But I still think I’m absolutely gorgeous both physically and in photos.

I also have a secret dream of being a model one day

.

I decided I was gonna drop a review on this book so I can make myself finish the book.

(If this counts as a review.)

If you are seeing this,you might not have anything to comment at all but please drop a Congratulations for me because I just finished a book for the first time in a while.

While I was in a secondary school, I finished books with 500+ pages in less than two days ( I wouldn't sleep through the night until I finished the book,my mom was worried I wasn't spending as much time on my Chemistry textbooks like I did with novels,my Dad thought otherwise,he encouraged me to keep reading.)but I don't know what happened along the line..when I picked up a book to read my motivation to finish fades before I could even get to the middle of the book.

And when I finally had a reading renaissance, I started with articles.

I really tried downloading books and trying to read but I can't bring myself to enjoy the book, even the authors and books I used to enjoy then,It was like trying to identify with any outdated version of myself.

Just like with life and people, I couldn't find any connection with any book.

But then I met “A good girl's guide to Murder.”

When I picked up this book(Maybe not pick up because it's downloaded on my phone, I wish I had a physical one.🥹)as a reader one of the reasons I read or we read is to expand my vocabulary,to better at writing and speaking.

But then when I started I had to write this down;

“I missed reading book because it was fun,back in those days I actually did enjoy reading,not because I learnt new words or new things or it made me smarter,it was because Ioved it.”

I had to tell myself “Allow yourself enjoy this book more, just allow yourself unravel in it without thinking too much of what it adds to you.”

And I did relax a bit. Or Holly Jackson’s prowess had a way of making you do.

The main character(protagonist rii?) in this book is Pip….

And guysss…I loveeddd Pip at first sight.(First glance, first reading.. anyone.)

The intro of the main character was CLASSIC.. And I decided right from page 1 while I tried to memorise the spelling of “Hippopomonstrosesquipedaliophobia" and note that Plato was a student of Socrates..okayy..okayyy..this book is actually making sense.

Before I continue sharing few of my Pip’s moment.

After reading chapter one, I just knew I might finish the book and I took flight to Substack to start planning my review.

This book made me feel like I could actually make a career out of writing review on books.😂🥲

I think the front cover of the book says just what you need to know..A closed case and an A grade student who won't let it go.

And when I reached the end of the book…I think I might have good detective instincts because my gut was telling the who the real murderer wasn't.. but WHO IT WAS?

MAN..I didn't expect..crazy plot twist!

And halfway through the book, I I had to tell Chatgpt that I don't know what to write in my review.

But seems I’m getting an hold of it now and I think I’m doing my Job well.😙

I don't want to spoil it for you but to convince you that this book is worth your time and you would absolutely enjoy it.

I should watch the movie soon and go back to the comment session on IG and join the “I BEG YOU,read the book first!” gang😌

Aura +999

I you read to this point,

Here's a gift for your eyes,

A fine selfie of mee.

Till I finish my next book.

Byeee!😙

I carry this happiness carefully,

as though sudden movements might frighten it away.

Not because you have given me reason to doubt,

but because my heart remembers what it was like to expect absence.

For so long,love was a country

I read about in other people's stories.

A distant place

where hands found hands,

where souls recognized each other

without having to explain themselves.

I convinced myself

I was only passing through.

Yet here I am,

learning the geography of your laughter,

memorizing the cadence of your voice,

finding pieces of home in places that wear your name.

You are not perfection.

Neither am I.

And perhaps that is the wonder of it all.

I did not find a fantasy.

I found a person.

A real one.

With flaws and fears

and unfinished chapters.

And somehow,

that is even more beautiful

than the dream I imagined.

Because dreams do not choose you back.

Dreams do not stay up late to hear about your day.

Dreams do not notice the things you never say aloud.

But you do.

And every day,

reality performs the impossible:

it surpasses my imagination.

So if I seem astonished,

if my eyes linger a second too long,

if gratitude spills from me

at the smallest things,

forgive me.

I am still adjusting to the miracle of no longer having to imagine you.

like a letter addressed to nowhere,

tucked between old disappointments

and the quiet acceptance

that some dreams are meantto remain dreams.

I stopped searching.

Stopped translating every coincidence into a sign.

Stopped looking for my reflection in strangers' eyes.

I made a home inside my solitude

and called it enough.

Then you arrived.

Not with thunder,

not with declarations,

but with the unsettling gentleness of a wish becoming real.

Now I wake beside a miracle

I had already mourned.

I hold your hand

the way one touches sunlight through a window,certain it is there,

Yet unable to believe it.

Some days,

I still expect to open my eyes

and find that you belong

to the same place as my impossible hopes,

the same place as every beautiful thing

I taught myself to live without.

But you remain.

And love,

that old phantom I had buried beneath reason,

breathes again.

It is strange

to spend so long grieving a dream,

only to discover

that the dream was on its way to me the entire time.

There was a time when making friends felt like breathing.Natural, effortless, something you just did without thinking about it. At fourteen and fifteen, I would just talk to people. No rehearsing. No calculating the risk. No standing at the edge of a conversation wondering if I was too much or not enough. I was just open. Just present. Just free.

I don't know exactly when that changed. But it did.

I was hurt.🥺

The version of me that made friends easily at fourteen — she wasn't braver than I am now. She just hadn't learned to be afraid yet. She didn't know that people could leave. She didn't know that love could be used as a tool of manipulation. She didn't know that you could give everything — every extra mile, every late night, every version of yourself — and still not be chosen.😔💔

Somewhere between then and now, friendship stopped feeling easy and started feeling like a negotiation. Every potential connection comes with a mental checklist — will they reciprocate? Will they stay? Will I give more than I receive? Will I end up standing in the middle of something that looked like friendship but was actually just me, pouring into an empty cup again?

And so I do what a lot of us do now. I pull back. I overthink the text until I don't send it. I talk myself out of the conversation before it begins. I watch people from a distance, wanting to be close, but keeping just enough space to protect myself from whatever might happen if I actually let someone in.

The irony is devastating. The walls we build to protect ourselves from pain are the exact same walls that keep out the connection we're desperately craving.

I think heartbreak taught us to be careful with everyone.

Not just romantically. That's the part nobody talks about enough.

When someone leaves and your life feels meaningless in their absence — you don't just learn to be careful with lovers. You learn to be careful, full stop. When someone makes you feel like you are not enough, like your love and effort and showing up is somehow still insufficient — you don't just stop trusting that person. You quietly start questioning whether you are someone worth choosing at all.

And those lessons don't stay in their lane. They bleed into everything. Into friendships. Into casual conversations. Into a simple text you want to send to someone you like, someone who seems genuine, someone who could be good for you — and suddenly you're paralysed by a feeling that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with who hurt you before.

We are walking around with wounds we haven't fully named, and we're wondering why connection feels so hard.

There's a particular kind of loneliness in this.

It's not the loneliness of having nobody. It's the loneliness of wanting people while simultaneously talking yourself out of them. It's wanting to be someone's favourite person — not everyone's, not a crowd — just one person who sees you fully and chooses you anyway. Consistently. Without games. Without the push and pull of mixed signals that leave you dizzy and doubting yourself.

That's not an unreasonable thing to want. But somehow it starts to feel like it is.

Because the older we get, the more everyone seems guarded. The more friendship requires scheduling and intention and emotional bandwidth that we're all running low on. The more it feels like everyone already has their people, their established circles, their inside jokes and histories — and you're standing outside of all of it, knocking on a door you're not sure will open.

So you stop knocking. You go back to your phone. You scroll through other people's lives and feel the ache of watching connection from a distance rather than living it.

The Glarry who loved someone at 16,

She was open because she was unguarded. And I don't think the goal is to go back to not knowing those things. You can't unknow pain. You can't unfeel what heartbreak does to a person.

But maybe the goal is something different. Maybe it's learning to be open in spite of knowing. To reach out even when the what-ifs are loud. To send the text. To stay in the conversation. To let someone be ordinary and inconsistent and human — without immediately reading it as rejection.

Maybe friendship these days is harder not because people are worse, but because we are more aware. More scarred. More protective of hearts that have already been handled carelessly.

And maybe the bravest thing any of us can do right now is decide — quietly, imperfectly, one small moment at a time — that we are still worth knowing. That connection is still worth the risk. That somewhere out there is a person who will be as consistent as we are, as genuine as we are, as willing to show up as we are.

We just have to stay open long enough to find them.

Heyyy Man,

I want to tell you something I have never said out loud, because I am not sure you have ever been asked to think about it.

I grew up being told to cover my body. Not because I was doing anything wrong. But because of what my body might do to you — to men like you. What it might make you think. What it might make you feel. What it might, apparently, make you do.

I was a child. In my own house. And I was already being taught that your gaze was my responsibility.

You never had to learn that lesson, did you? You never stood in front of a mirror wondering if your arms were too much. You never calculated the length of what you were wearing against the route you were taking. You never felt ashamed of being warm.

I have spent years carrying that. Not loudly. Just quietly — in the clothes I chose, the spaces I shrank from, the pictures I didn't post, the comfort I didn't take.

And here is where it gets heavier.

Because it doesn't stop at clothing. The insecurity you plant in me— the one that starts with "cover up, you'll attract the wrong attention"— doesn't just make me choose longer skirts…..

To be continued.

Guysss..I have had it in my mind to write this essay for a long time..I was just able to write down my ideas today.. and it’s just really messy.. Writing is more of a reflective routine for me..I write because I want to have the answers and not because I do..

Hopefully I would post a part 2.

Not struggling because I don’t believe in God…

but struggling with fully surrendering to Him.

And I think one of the biggest reasons;

something a lot of us don’t say out loud—is this quiet fear that…

life with Jesus might be boring.

I remember someone once told me,

“I don’t want to give my life to Jesus because I won’t be able to enjoy my life anymore.”

And the scary part is…

a part of me understood that.

Because sometimes, even as a Christian, I catch myself thinking;

“What if I’ll enjoy life more if I just do things my own way?”

“What if God takes away the parts of me I love?”

“What if I won’t be able to express myself the way I want?”

My audacity to think that I know or I can better than GOD.🥲

Especially when it comes to things like music, fashion, creativity, entertainment…

It feels like if you don’t follow the world, the world won’t accept you.

Like you won’t grow.

You won’t be seen.

You won’t matter.

And so a lot of us start to adjust…

We blend in.

We compromise.

Not because we don’t love God,

but because we’re scared of being left out.

And if I’m being real…

sometimes the struggle isn’t even about sin.

It’s about control.

It’s about thinking, deep down,

“I can live my life better than God can.”

That I can handle my dreams better.

That I know what will make me happy more than He does.

And saying that out loud sounds crazy…

but living like that?

That’s something a lot of us do.

But I’m starting to realize something…

You can't live your life better than the OWNER.

HE doesn’t take away purpose—He gives it.

He doesn’t kill joy—He defines it.

He doesn’t limit you—He actually knows you better than you know yourself.

So maybe the problem isn’t that life with God is boring…

Maybe it’s that we don’t trust Him enough

to believe that His version of our life

is better than the one we’re trying to hold onto.

And I’m not speaking as someone who has figured it all out…

I’m speaking as someone who is still learning how to let go.

Still learning how to trust.

Still learning how to surrender.

But I know this much—

I don’t want a life that looks full on the outside and feels empty on the inside.

So even if it’s hard…

even if I don’t fully understand it yet…

I want to choose God.

And if you’re struggling with this too…

you’re not alone.💙

And I know there was that trend—people saying,

“I would go to war for someone like me.”

I get it. I love the confidence.

But me? I can’t say that yet.

And I don’t think that’s something to be ashamed of.

There’s this lyric from a song I love by Leanna Crawford.

“I’m a work in progress.”

And that’s exactly what I am.

A work in progress.

I have standards for myself—ways I want to grow, things I want to heal, habits I want to unlearn.

And I’m not there yet.

So no… I wouldn’t want to date someone like me right now.

Not because I hate myself—

but because I know I’m still becoming.

I’m still healing.

Still learning.

Still growing into the kind of person I want to be… and the kind of partner I know someone deserves.

And I don’t want to show up halfway in someone else’s life.

I don’t want to bleed on people who didn’t hurt me.

I want to come whole—or at least, healing honestly.

And that, to me that's is self-love.

Not pretending I’m perfect…

but loving myself enough to admit that I’m not.

Loving myself enough to grow.

To do better.

To become better.

Because one day… I do want to say:

“Yes—I would choose someone like me.”

Not just in personality,

but in mindset, in stability, in the life I’m building.

I want to be someone who can love deeply,

give fully, and create a good life—not just for myself, but for the family I hope to have someday.

And I want a partner who can do the same.

So if you’re not ready yet…

if you’re still growing, still figuring things out,

That’s okay.

A 10-year-old and a 20-year-old aren’t the same.

Not because one is bad—

but because they’re at different stages.

Growth takes time.

And where I am right now?

It’s just a stage.

Not my final form.

So no—

I wouldn’t date someone like me… yet.

But I’m becoming someone I would.

I don't think what I’m about to write is related with the title of this article.😭

But yeah this is me lately,

And this picture is currently my WhatsApp profile picture and my about.

Let's do it messy again.❤️🥂

I’m at this weird stage of my life where I don’t connect with most things,

I don’t find connection in any person, book, movie, or music.

Everyday I scroll through Substack, movie box,Instagram and my social media apps, looking for that caption or writing that expresses how I feel at the moment,

It’s like I’m trying to fit in a box that I no longer fit.

I also feel like I’m an alien to the people and things I used to love.

During this past months, I have done some “idiotic” things that I cringe at and realised it’s because I was searching for connection.

I realise I don’t even want even like most things and most people, I just love the version of them I created in my head.

And it led me to trouble.

So yeah this is just me doing most of life solo but not lonely,

Flying fly and unbothered,

Being the main character in my own world since I no longer fit in others,

I feel like a watcher than a performer.

Not in the drama, just enjoying the drama and sometimes cringing at it.

Sometimes I wish I was in it too, but I’m getting comfortable watching. Learning how to withstand the pressure of getting into the action.

Thinking of it now, the only thing I connect with is my writing. And I really wish I can do more of it.

There was a time I was feeling very frustrated, I scribbled just lines in my diary, like those Artists that uses colour to express their state of mind.

The Earth without Art is Eh,

My Writing is my Art.

I’m glad I did this,

Hopefully every article will be like footprint of every stage of my life.

I read something that said the only way to show up consistently is by allowing yourself to show up imperfectly,

Letting yourself show up as you are, however you are, and with whatever you can give..

The secret to consistency I’ve been looking for and now that I know it changes everything.

I already wrote a draft about how this month's newsletter would be like but somehow it got wiped,

Now I don't feel like writing it all over again,

Maybe someday I would write about what was originally planned,

But here is me showing up with what I have to give,

And I hope I show up more even on days it isn't easy or I lost motivation,

Again I’m relieved I did this..

And note that the title on this article doesn't match the message here,

Because I couldn't write what I originally planned to write about my February.

But yeahh the title says everything and nothing at the same time,

One day I would write the story,

Till then,

Here is me showing up again this month.❤️

Sigh.

I wanted to title this “my January dump in words”🥲

But who really cares about how my first month of the year went?😭

I don't know if this letter is for you to learn a lesson but I know there would be someone out there who can trauma bond with me 😖

I’m clearly not the only one relieved that January is finally folding into itself.

Suchhh a longgg month like my Geography class back in secondary school😭😂..I can't wait to experience what February looks and feels like.🥹

To be honest, I don’t quite know how to frame the month I just had. I look back at my journals from the first few days of the year and barely recognize that person. At the start, I felt something different—a rare, shimmering kind of happiness. I remember thinking, “Finally, my spark is coming back.”

And that feeling felt so strange. It was almost frightening because I hadn't felt its warmth in so long. I was scared it wouldn't last—scared that something would happen and I’d be pulled back into my shell.

And I was right. It didn't last.

The "new year energy" drained me almost as quickly as it arrived. I wanted to stop. I felt a heavy guilt for even wanting it. How do you stop in a world that never stops moving?

We live in a culture of constant motion. There is a relentless pressure to do more, grow faster, build connections, and "chase the dream" until your legs give out. Sometimes, seeing everyone else "doing the thing" is the only reason I push myself out there. Other times, the weight of their progress makes me feel so inadequate that I end up paralyzed, doing nothing at all.

I catch myself wishing the world would just... slow down. Can we all just take a collective breath? I ask myself if I’m just being lazy, but my body tells a different story. It’s not laziness; it’s exhaustion.

You know what's different?

I found a different way to feel fulfilled even when it looks like I’m doing nothing.

I’ve had to learn a difficult kind of grace this month. I am learning to support the people who are out there showing up every single day—the ones doing what I want to do, but I currently can't because I am mentally spent.

I’m learning that our seasons don't have to sync up. I am learning to be comfortable in the backstage, away from the noise.I still feel guilty.

I still feel lazy for working for two days and taking rest for two weeks.

But the feeling goes away when I realise I’m living life for myself,

This is my journey and nobody else,

It is the last week of January, and I'm learning to be comfortable with the feeling, learning to be okay with not being loud.

Learning to do things not because others do and it's cool but because I really want to do it,

I just want to live in every moment and learn to bloom in the quiet.

Pressure gat nothing on me.

Till next month,

Tomtom loves talking!

I didn’t expect to end 2025 this way.

At the beginning of the year, I had people I loved deeply. People I trusted. People who knew me well and genuinely cared about me. These were not fake friendships or casual connections,they were real, they were my family and losing them wasn’t something I ever planned for.

But somewhere along the year, I changed.

Not in a loud or obvious way.

I didn’t announce it.

I didn’t understand it myself at first.

I became quieter. I withdrew. I stopped reaching out the way I used to. I wasn’t showing up as the version of myself they had always known, and I didn’t know how to explain why. Instead of finding the words, I chose silence. And that silence hurt people.

That’s the truth.

Some of the friendships I lost were with people who truly cared about me. My withdrawal confused them. It made them feel shut out. And even though I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, intention didn’t erase the impact. I see that now.

At the same time, I also had to walk away from two people I loved deeply because I no longer felt valued or chosen. They chose other people and priorities over me, repeatedly. And staying began to cost me my self-respect. Walking away wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

So by the end of 2025, I found myself in a strange place.

There are people around me, but no one I feel deeply connected to. No one I would call “my person.” Just space. Quiet. Distance.

For a long time, I felt like a terrible friend. I replayed everything I could have said differently, everything I should have done better. And while I do take responsibility for the pain my silence caused, I’m also learning something important:

You can hurt good people without being a bad person.

You can lose real friendships without the love being fake.

Sometimes, people grow faster than they can communicate. Sometimes, relationships don’t survive transitions,not because anyone is evil, but because clarity comes too late.

This season of loneliness isn’t something I’m proud of, but I’m no longer running from it either. I see it as an in-between space. Not who I used to be. Not yet surrounded by who I’m becoming.

As 2026 begins, I’m choosing something different.

I’m choosing to learn how to love myself without guilt.

To develop my mind and my potential.

To grow without disappearing.

To communicate better when I don’t have all the answers.

I don’t know who will walk with me next. I don’t know when I’ll find my people. But I know this: I don’t want to abandon myself again just to keep connections that no longer fit.

Ending 2025 friendless hurt.

But maybe it also cleared space.

And for now, that has to be enough.

There's a way I’ve been feeling when I scroll through WhatsApp status updates I can't really place..

And I don't know how to explain it to you guys but I might as well try..

Got the worddd..!

Mediocre..

I hate mediocrity..it bores mee..

There are just few people on my space that stands out..that I always look forward to viewing their updates..I love that they challenge me to think..I love that they are growth obsessed and knowledgeable..I love that they are real..I love that they love GOD and people..

I want to be one too..

And when I meet one.. I'm not going to let them go..!