Tracklist:

1. Vampire in the Corner - Magdalena Bay

2. Learning to Relax - Dan Deacon

3. Skin Tight Jeans - Remy Bond

4. Angel - NewDad

5. Benny’s Sleepover - Jay Feelbender

6. Psychic Love Damage - Black Moth Super Rainbow

7. Aperture - Harry Styles

LINK TO THE PLAYLIST IF YOU WANT TO LISTEN ALONG

Happy March, happy Pisces season. Happy birthday to me almost a week ago.

So the Good News: I was the recipient of a grant from the Ontario Arts Council and the Government of Ontario! I’ve been wanting to get back into painting for a while and I’m so grateful to be seen and supported by them. It was my first time applying for an arts grant and although spiritually trying (EXHAUSTING), it was worth it in the end. The title of the series will be Magical Bastardism. <3

Drawing and painting are where my creative journey started in my teenage years. Honourable mention goes to photography and dumb videos with friends. Since then, I’ve discovered writing, fashion, and then performance. I learned rather early on that you really can’t assume much about yourself, you must be open to discovering yourself until you die.

But somewhere along the way, I thought I had to narrow my path and put my eggs in less than a few baskets. Which only made me sad and out of touch with vital parts of myself as I’ve mentioned thoroughly in my past posts.

Anyway. We’re spreading our eggs everywhere again.

In my earlier bodies of work, I was really into manipulating paint - goops of colour - to create big feelings. No real direction or purpose, just as an early 20-something year old should be. Translating from real life and reference photos. Just having fun.

With time, my practice has grown from expressing my conscious emotions to my subconscious. Shaped by my own growth, it now includes collecting materials intuitively and ritualistically! Sort of like going foraging or treasure hunting. Every layer of the painting becomes its own story that I often interpret after the fact. So the final painting almost becomes a tarot reading that teaches me more about myself.

My most recent painting series was completed in 2023. Called Poems and Spells. It’s a series of 6 paintings, centred around humouring myself and humanity through my reflections on being a marginalized individual and also too precious for the world (Pisces).

This series is a prime example of how my practices have gone from painting what I was told to paint (conscious experiences) to the now more dreamy, yet lucid works (subconscious information) that are better representations of my whole self. Done during an inner upheaval of sorts, each painting also represents an intangible but essential aspect of my soul that I wanted to preserve during that time. The parts of me that are immortal. If you boiled me down to smithereens, what would be left?

They all have an undercurrent of eccentricity and a saccharine, rebellious charm. I chose random objects in my room to paint, used layering, intuitive texts, texture, and of course, a bit of magic. They also require the audience to get up close and personal to read some of the text, which I think adds to the experience. Like whispering a secret.

Like portals that spawn as I speak to myself in symbols, they’ve also been protecting me from the walls of my bedroom. Perhaps they’ve been telling me portals of the future - the present that I am in now.

Diva

I had a dream once. Upon interpreting it, it made me realize that my diva tendencies were a form of self-preservation in social situations where people are eager to turn me into something that solely serves them. This is also my favourite piece in the whole series - full of recurring imagery of fairies, reflections, glitter and everything that makes me feel glad to be a Girl despite the horrors.

Rockstar

I think being an angsty teenager is a permanent destination for my mind. This piece taps into a very specific headspace that involves me sitting on the subway for an hour, listening to psychedelic rock, high as fuck, without actually having to do those things. Because I’m 27 and sober (ish) now.

Stellar

This specific piece is dedicated to the white cat I keep seeing in my dreams. I think it’s the new sense of peace I’ve been cultivating the past few years. Still a baby kitten, desperate for protection, quaint like they’re from outer space. Stellar is about going back in time and accidentally going back too far to before you were born. Update: The cat is now slightly older and still a recurring character in my dreams.

stargirl

Each key represents my career aspirations: visual art, performance, and writing. Fashion just happens because I slay naturally. Despite my soul being translated into different mediums, it’s all coming from the same place. I’m always hot pink when I am creating. Regarding the wig: What is an ego if not a wig?

pearl

An elegant persona that I embody after I clean my room. Perfection without the stress. Pearl is a fantasy that is actually attainable because she accepts the mundane as no different than whatever you wish it was.

fairy

I think this is how my friends see me. What more must I say?

Beyond opening myself up to your interpretations as I was open to my own interpretations, there are recurring themes of Jungian psychology, dreams, transformation, unapologetic confession, and a sense of self-love that makes you feel like you’re reading someone’s diary. Secrets, remember?

Secrets like how my ultimate goal in everything I create is to tell a story where everyone can get something out of it. And maybe look at their madness differently. So you can project onto me, just make sure I don’t find out.

My goal with this new series is to further explore the way I transmute grief into empowerment via self-compassion. Redemption arc, incoming!

I want to explore my identity as a 27 year old who has overcome some recent challenges. It’s been a lifelong journey, but the last few years were demonstrative of my resilience, increased knowledge/awareness and overcoming subconscious fears. It’s been about seeing the magical in the mundane and going beyond the duality.

From mystic to showgirl, life after surrender, beyond the grudge, a discomfort that invigorates, and an intensity that doesn’t betray itself. You get it.

So in a way, Magical Bastardism represents the enthusiastic outsider who refuses to assume that they will be outcasted. It is a declaration of lovability without conforming and losing one’s self. To characterize experiences in a way that neither glorifies or pathologizes them. Acceptance over everything.

Co-creating with my subconscious mind, I have some materials I’ve already collected including symbols, songs and words I can’t wait to figure out why they’re stuck in my brain. Language is mid, but what we do with it is swag.

Every painting will be a new room in my new home and I’m here to decorate. I think it’s time for some new spells.

It’s been a hot minute since I wrote in the diary section of my Substack. Happy New Year. I will never get tired of saying that January is a trial month and the real new year starts in February. And for many cultures, including Korea’s, it actually does (on the 17th)!

I’ve gotten so lost in my fantasies and the new world I’m building that it’s been hard to see value in the act of sharing my thoughts. Some real farm-to-table thoughts. All the ways I’m suffering from being on this planet and healing through it - just like everyone else. What’s your strain of misery/antidote? Mine’s pink and turns purple when you smoke it.

If I were to sum it up, I’d say I’m experiencing some fuckass growing pains. That are actually divine and not fuckass at all. The kind where you suffer mentally as you feel yourself emotionally and spiritually stretch and expand. Mainly because it’s not for anyone else’s benefit but my own. It makes me want to hide and drown myself in my due dates. It makes my chronic illness flare up. I need to sleep forever because I’m so exhausted.

Along with an OCD diagnosis I received last year and feeling disappointed in our healthcare system since I was born, my aversion to being vulnerable has become an acquired taste. Where I wish to feel shitty that much more. In other words, I’m a masochist. And because I don’t want to update you on my life, I must now update you on my life.

Oh it’s good to be back. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, myself and I. And you’re here for the ride. Love you. Thank you.

My spirituality stands at the forefront of my life at the moment. And forever. I am an animist. Pagan? Sure. It’s a part of my culture or whatever is left of it. It’s been ingrained into my bloodline, then erased, and I’ve been trying to bring it back in a way that doesn’t dismiss my cognitive dissonance. Right now, it’s about no longer looking back or checking to make sure I stayed in control. And no longer making sure everyone is still here right beside me. I’ll-just-see-you-on-the-other-side type shit. It’s connecting with my ancestors without feeling like a puppet. Balance over hierarchy. Spirit over control. I am nobody’s angel but my own.

Taking my sweet time writing this post. It’s been a few weeks since I started it. And I’m doing better. I’m seeing that it was hard at first because the changes were (are) hard to accept. But I understand now that they are good for me. It’s been weeks of insight. Insight into how OCD works, the past, relationships, my needs, I could go on. It’s a blessing to have insight into negative experiences. It’s a blessing to see blessings in times of hardship. I’m feeling it all. The undead and the new. The process is divine.

Something else I’ve noticed in the process of the above is how everything I’ve identified as self-sabotage was actually my way of preserving what I loved the most. Survival mode. Which happens for a reason. But that’s not a reason to stay there. If I’m aware of it, I must be ready to move on from it. Slowly, but faster than I thought.

So I’m trying to look at everything I am and have been, through a whole new lens. And instead of planning everything out, letting my new perspectives take me where I need to go. Pivoting as needed. Lay out in the snow. Not making a big fuss about how change brings change. Shit! I’d rather make a big fuss about literally anything else.

Confusion is a phase, not a flaw. I’m making friends with the unknown. We might become lovers if they play their cards right.

As a result, I’ve also been pondering on how this idea that there is nothing “wrong” with me directly challenges the idea that there is something to go back to.

I used to have this intense need to go back and redo it all because I felt like I lacked something that my past selves had. It’s a ego thing, sure. A regret, shame and guilt thing for the way I sabotaged my life and soul by isolating myself. Ending cycles, sure! But also leaving me with so much grief to process. Grief that crushed and spiralled me into a whole different set of lessons. But as of right now, I see that the wisdom I earned is exactly what I wanted and needed. I have enough courage to admit that there is nothing for me to go back to. In the same vein, it lives within me eternally and never left.

It all helped me become someone who values better things. Who knows what they value and what it means to live for myself. A lot of friends and acquaintances over the last 8 years have expressed to me their admiration for the way I love myself or the way I am unapologetically myself. Even if it means disappointing those around me or even them. This grief I feel is a direct result of what so many people appreciate about me but are often unable to do for themselves. It’s an intimidating energy! A lonely road. But for the first time, I longer feel broken by it. The ouroboros has stopped choking on itself.

There’s a quote my dearest friend Amélia shared years ago that I gladly let haunt me. And now you. It’s by Rainer Maria Rilke: “Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.” Transmuting my negative circumstances into empowerment by moving forward is how I continuously become someone who is even more wise, sexy, swagged out, based and goated than before. I won’t turn the curse into a blessing, I’ll simply see it as both. And call it I’ll-just-see-you-on-the-other-side type shit.

Now, to address the title once again, who is the Assassin? What does she want? Why has she returned? Who is she wearing? How is her waist so small?

She represents everything I’ve feared within myself. My razor sharpness, my scarily accurate gut feelings, my spirituality, my needs, my boundaries, my inner growth, my outer growth, my immense potential for success (and therefore failure), and my political rage.

As a marginalized person, my spark, whimsy, spirituality, creativity and political rage are all one and the same. I cannot have one without the others. Especially when it comes to spirituality. You cannot call yourself aware or in tune if you can’t see through the world’s colonialist, capitalist, white supremacist bullshit. And as someone who is chronically ill, none of this rest and recovery means anything if I can’t channel it into political rage.

Similarly, you cannot call yourself a political person without doing the inner work. I will die on this hill. And on my tombstone will be this quote by Audre Lorde: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation and that is an act of political warfare.”

And in a society that has glamourized self-care into everything but looking in the mirror and your shadows, that sounds avoidant. But my point is that (especially if you’re a marginalized individual) facing the realities of the world will require you to adequately hold space for grief and anger without breaking. And you will break. That takes time, space, and caring for yourself beyond a face mask. There’s nothing more spiritual than this. No church, monastery, altar could replace this.

I’ve always been a political person from a very young age. It’s hard not to be when you experience the system firsthand as a quadruple minority. And in my early 20s, I educated myself and began the process of decolonizing my mind. I began to understand my place as an East Asian immigrant living on stolen land. And the further I dug, the crazier I felt. Every time I expressed what I perceived, I felt ashamed of my outrage. Like a total buzzkill for being “too woke.” So I shrunk myself and the bite in me began to disappear.

Not to say that I didn’t keep myself in the loop, but I felt out of place in the communities I once felt belonging in. Progressive communities, but with all of us being young and struggling to stay connected, I isolated myself, grew paranoid, and as I also had a health crisis around this time, the Assassin retired.

So what the Assassin represents are these aspects of me that make up Who I Am. How I don’t want to become someone who is good at what they do because they are good at pretending. And naturally, the Assassin represents the consequences of not listening to myself. There is much to lose if I cannot hold my ground. The fear of losing it all because of what I believe and see!

Because all of that means change is imminent but also inevitable - coming face to face with the unknown. Will my friends like who I become? Will they resent me for growing? Will they grow with me? In a way that doesn’t fear me? Will I like the new people I meet? Will I like these new opportunities? Will I be loved? How about safe?

And it makes sense why I was so anxious at the beginning of the end. It was an acclimatization of sorts. Seeing silhouettes of myself from the future and learning to not assume that they were monsters. When I stopped equating signs as warnings and let myself become, it marked the end of a cycle.

I was anxious because there is a lot of pressure to know and understand perspectives that hate themselves. That oppress and undermine. But I’m busy understanding myself and the rest of the world. I’m craving something truthful. Empowering but not painless. And I’d like to see myself reflected back to me. My confidence in a better future, the full spectrum of how I love, the value of rage, homeostasis, clarity, shamelessly all of the above. This desire marks the beginning of a new cycle.

The Assassin has returned with a vengeance that does not burn me. Seeing the outrage with the current political climate and what’s happening in America does not make want to ignore a thing. In fact, I find it oddly comforting. Like more of us are on similar pages now. Good.

I do not feel crazy. And even if I was, I’d rather be crazy than go back to a place that no longer exists. I’d rather be crazy than complacent. Crazy than pretend. Change is a symbol for both loss and gain. I’ll-just-see-you-on-the-other-side type shit.

And to celebrate, here’s something I wrote in 2022. Called Death Is Not The End. The Assassin’s Monologue. May it activate you. Scare you. Whatever you. Written just before I went mad, but this time, I’m no longer ashamed of it.

Death Is Not The End

Now I don’t mean to scare you - too much. And you probably already know this. The world is on fire. People are dying. There’s too many condos and not enough compassion. You feel hopeless and you want to hold on to whatever you’ve got because it feels like that’s all you can do. And I think you’re right to feel that way. Things will get worse before they have a chance to get better. Will you give it that chance? Or are you too busy this weekend? You just need some time to yourself? Same. But I must remind you that none of us know what happens when we die. And for all we know you could die and wake up as another human being in the same mess we’ve created. You could wake up as the homeless person you walked by fearfully the other day. You could wake up as the classmate you saw but who’s name you can’t remember. You could wake up as me - lucky you. Death is not the end and it disgusts me to know I could wake up as some kid in 2059 who’s home got washed away because some white motherfucker with no conscience wanted floors made of ivory years prior. Or something like that. And again, I don’t mean to scare you (too much) but eventually time will run out and even the most privileged will feel the wrath of our shared willful ignorance. There’s no escaping this unless we all do our share and get our shit together. Reparations, land back, eat the rich, decolonize, protect the children, to keep it simple. And if you don’t believe in reincarnation then I must remind you that nothing is keeping you from losing everything. I’m not saying you have to give up everything you’ve got, I’m just asking you to consider the things you’ve been privileged enough to ignore. And depending on the colour of your skin and where you come from, it will be different. If you actually take some time to, the hows and the whats aren’t that confusing. I’d rather you figure it out yourself because your inability to do so is part of the problem, but you could start by questioning why you’re so complicit in slowing all of us down. I don’t have to know you personally to know that your subconscious mind can feel your reality deteriorating. Is it all crashing down? Are your thoughts racing when no one’s around? Is it becoming harder to tell when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth? Was it all supposed to be better than this? If there’s a god out there, they must see all! And no, they’re not keeping score themselves. Look around you, the planet you live on has tally marks all over it. I will not apologize for my lack of tenderness, because to be quite frank, there’s not enough fucking time for that. Maybe if you cared a little bit earlier I would’ve had enough time to bake you a cake that said all of this. But it’s time to get off your ass. And if you don’t believe in a god and have no feelings at all, don’t worry, I’ll come for you myself.

1. When you don’t belong anywhere, it’s a lot more fun to dish the dirt. To talk shit and think your own word is god. When there is nowhere else to run and all you have is yourself, there is no need to hold back.

2. Tunnel vision is just night vision. I’m becoming aware of how my tendency to become hyper fixated comes at a price when I have people who know me. People who I depend on. When I belong.

3. There is now a backburner that I must keep an eye on. Before, a stove was just a hot plate that only boiled over if I’m in a bad mood. I can no longer forget this and that.

4. I am a mystery to everyone new I meet and I must help them solve me. I shouldn’t keep thinking they should just read my blog if they want to get to know me. To be fair, learning to read this angelic gibberish has to be good for your brain. To be unfair, the world is so boring when I water myself down. Anyway, it’s a shame I don’t have the energy to help everyone. Such a shame.

5. An assassin in my case is like a hermit who knows how to kill. A monk with no remorse. A cherry on top. Neither of these are real jobs or skills that make sense beyond my world. They barely makes sense here on your device. And oh how I miss making nonsense.

6. Beyond my little world, time seems to flow differently. It is more malleable. I’ve become very good at controlling it. That’s a transferable skill. But since retirement, I’ve also come to learn that I suck at just letting shit be. I miss ruling and rocking my world. I never aged there. I can’t even say that without people making it about them.

7. I don’t have answers, just perspectives. I miss when that felt like enough.

8. I wonder if people know that everything beautiful they perceive within me came from the darkest parts of me. I wonder if they know that it exists within them, too. I miss not thinking about this because it’s quite distracting. Quite annoying.

9. I think I’ll always smell of mist and gunpowder but I don’t think I’ll ever fully disappear again. This heart pumps blood and it is beyond my control.

10. I don’t mean to suck my own dick but I’d never beat around my bush so I’ll just say it: I’m the funniest person I know. And I miss having me all to myself. But I guess I can learn to Cher.

I was also re-reading my old blog posts. Just the ones where I shared little stories, not the ones where I rambled on about my life. I’m too scared to read those and see all the lessons I’ve forgotten about.

To be fair, that’s why I always feel like life’s giving me a second chance even though I’m probably on my 1143rd. I guess my mind only knows how to count to 2 before it gets carried away and has to start all over again.

Speaking of lessons, I’m not sure if the point is to remember them as much as it is to feel them. To trust them instead of memorizing them. I’m beginning to think that learning is a skill that should be dedicated to understanding more, not know how to control everything in your life better for the next time. Obsessively trying to better my life only turned my blood white. Like styrofoam.

Maybe life has been giving me 1143 chances to snap out of it and realize I hadn’t even blown my first one. Just a few fuses that were designed to blow. As if it prefers it when I’m a mess.

Which isn’t a new request. Celebrating my chaos has been a source of confidence for a while now. But somewhere in the middle, I lost touch with the part of myself that loved the ugly in the world.

I’d grown to face myself, I’d even grown to see the world for what it was instead of what I think it should be. But I couldn’t see how I fit into all of it anymore.

Then I started thinking about all the ways people have tried to help me. Some helpful, while others only serving as reminders that I get to choose who I receive help from. It made me think about how they got it all wrong.

They’re telling our stories all wrong. Using our pain to sell their solutions that they came up with in the basement of their minds. Like we’re the reason why the world is on fire and not the other way around.

Throwing pop psychology and self-improvement courses at our gravestones, saying we’re broken because we don’t like the world they built. All to just push us into their periphery when we don’t grow old like them. I only hate getting older when I imagine myself growing old like them.

And the point of my renewed allegiance to Imperfection isn’t a jab at the life I’ve created. I’ve got too much of a glow to not act proud of the way I’ve gotten better at taking care of myself. The demons had to be domesticated. The exorcism was successful. The boundaries set themselves. But there is life after change.

One where I’ve bloomed, one where my blood is red. Skin dusted with ash and glitter from the styrofoam I burned out of my system. Blue, because you don’t come out of constant cycles of destruction and rebirth without a few loose screws. They remind me which side I’m on. The only reminders that matter at this point.

Anyways, I was going to share the second letter I wrote to a vague idea of who I once was and sometimes still am but just as I softly predicted, I changed my mind. (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Instead, I’m sharing something called The Call. Written just over a year ago. The sticky bricks of my castle; bricks I’d come to resent at one point because I’d grown nauseous from the spiral.

But I think these walls are high enough now. Possibly the highest in the Northern Hemisphere. Fun to jump off from and bust my knees from the impact. I think I’ll get a dragon next.

The Call

They’ll kill your inner child and then they’ll hire you and then see you struggle and then remind you of your potential to be Great. And because you were conditioned to value that, you will equate that validation to happiness.

You’ll hold on to your loved ones for dear life until they can’t breathe because there’s something inside of you that tells you that love is the only thing that matters and you’re right, that’s true. Thank whoever you believe in for that.

But you’ll always feel like it’s not good enough because you also know deep down that none of these solutions you’re being fed keeps your happiness in mind. And you’re right, this isn’t good enough because you deserve more than just a stable life chasing a dream that was never yours to begin with.

Your strengths and weaknesses are directly connected to each other but before you start categorizing your entire life, you need to throw up everything they fed you. I can’t tell you how, you’re going to have to figure that out for yourself. It’s different for everyone. But just know that there’s a difference between seeing the potential to be Great and seeing the potential to be Happy.

And you might get really mad because you’ll feel like you were living your life blindfolded and this is the hardest part because you’ll feel scared. You’ll feel scared like the little kid you used to be before they killed you, and you’ll fear they’ll kill you again.

You will come across other people who aren’t mourning the death of their inner child and it will feel like everyone is trying to kill you. Like no one sees what you see. Like what you are is terrifying.

This is where you’ll enter your villain era but really it’s just you valuing yourself more than the fake versions of yourself you created. You’ll start channeling your anger in the right direction. You’ll learn about compassion and detachment. Again, figure it out.

What you’re feeling is a desire for change while you’re changing. You’re figuring it out. I started shadow boxing and talking to myself. You’re allowed to laugh. You’ll find things that help you express yourself. You’ll want to use what they built against them. This is where I encourage you to get creative.

You’ll let go of the self-doubt and the need to criticize yourself in ways that only benefit people who believe in shit you don’t give a shit about. Audre Lorde was right, caring for myself is an act of political warfare.

You’ll think less about what is right and wrong and more about what is love and fear.

You’ll feel less afraid to face your fears because they only exist to remind you of how deeply capable you are of loving.

You’ll judge yourself less and allow yourself to live life for everything it has to offer without abandoning yourself. Yet you’re selective—saying no to make room for more meaningful yeses.

You’ll start to flip the script. You’re writing your own now. The changes that need to happen become clearer every day and it’s only a matter of time you meet the right people who want the same changes as you do.

It’s only a matter of time you figure it out. So figure it out.

Even my hair resembles the way it looked during that trip. Or what was left of it. A dark copper red that faded into a pale brown. Watered down chocolate milk. Except back then, I gave myself blonde bangs with turquoise everything else when I came home. Teal raccoon tails. I’d go on to pixie myself black and that would mark the beginning of my year of being patient. A patient.

I refer to this trip often because it was the most I felt like myself. But in hindsight, I was melting underneath all the grief I felt. The kind of ancestral rage that takes more than astrology or psychology to explain, but they’ve been pretty helpful so far.

As for my hair; this time, I’ve decided to go short like a kiss. A Hershey’s Kiss. I intend on giving myself a blonde streak next week and painting the rest black again. Just the way I wanted to while I was slobbering across France during Mercury Retrograde. Which we are also in right now. I don’t know why I changed my mind. Actually, I do. I wanted to make sense. C’est la vie, or whatever. Spoiler alert: I’m abandoning all sense from here on out. I’d like to not find a signature look - I have at least 4 hairstyles queued up from now until the end of the year.

The timeline feels like it’s correcting itself and I’m ready to trust myself fully. Follow my dreams, intuition, literally whatever. If it has my energetic imprint on it, I’m game. Let everything play out the way they’re meant to. That means learning to sit on my hands and not play denial. And for the love of god, have some fun and stop trying so hard to be marketable. My fears are the wormholes that will take me to where I need to be. And even if they don’t, I’m just glad I sound like myself again.

This month, I’ve re-discovered an old blog archive where there lived 6 letters I wrote from hypothetical versions of myself. I wanted to share one called A letter to a vague idea of who I once was and sometimes still am. I wrote it when I was 21. It calms my soul and a million timelines to know that she still lives inside of me. She is nothing to fear or shame. If anything, she is a glowing inspiration currently. This is my way of picking her up from the middle of the road so we can go hang out forever. I also seem to have written a sequel to it, which I’ll share next month. Unless I change my mind.

Anyway, without further ado: the letter. ☺

I’m glad time travel hasn’t been invented yet because then how would I grieve? Not that you’re dead. But how can you ever move forward if you are constantly looking for a way to go back? I also don’t think I could look you in the eye. I would get stuck all over again. Truth is, I feel like you are a threat to who I am now. I’m afraid looking at you will somehow transport me back to the times when I could feel my insides rot. I’m sorry I put that on you like it was your fault. I’m sorry that’s all I can remember. To look at you sort of feels like a wave of guilt I am still trying to let go.

That’s why I send a letter. Letters are timeless. I don’t know how that makes sense but it does.

You’re not broken. That’s not why you keep feeling like you’re spiralling. You’re not spiralling. You just loathe what you see in the mirror because it’s everything the world conditioned you not to be. You can’t seem to forgive yourself for betraying yourself, yet you don’t make an effort to love yourself. It’s enough to drive anyone insane. Give yourself a fucking break. Listen to yourself and trust her. Believe her.

I want to tell you that I know it’s because you feel like you aren’t doing this life justice. You feel like you’ve failed yourself. You care deeply, it’s okay to do that. Just don’t confuse other people’s perceptions of you as your own. If you stop being so afraid of conflict, you might actually get some place where you feel like you belong. Don’t be afraid to be seen as angry. We are all angry.

You’ve always dreamt big and wanted life to be more than just what it seemed to be. We feel a lot but it’s not always comfortable to talk about it. That’s okay too. If you just take your time, it doesn’t feel so suffocating. Stop looking at the clock. Write down all of your stupid ideas because one day you might look at them as just ideas. Ideas are precious.

I can’t tell you it gets easier. Because waiting for things to get easier is boring. I hate being bored. I’ll tell you that it isn’t as bad as you think. I know you overthink a lot and I know you think that’s not a bad thing. But be conscious of how you talk to yourself. You are only as kind as you are to yourself.

Don’t be afraid to lose the parts of yourself and your life that you thought would be forever. There are more pieces to you than you think. If you can’t let go, you’re making a choice to stay the same. Isolation is where you thrive and change the most. But don’t neglect your body and experiences. You were born human this time for a reason. You are deeply loved by the best people no matter what. Cry yourself to sleep now and then. Feeling is better than nothing.

I just realized that I rarely feel intimidated by people and that probably means people are intimidated by me.

It’s not just that. It’s something I’ve been percolating - this idea of me being intimidating. Which is hard because I don’t like to think too deeply about how I’m perceived. It still happens. My brain is the free spirit many assume I am. But I find that obsessing over it only makes me invest too much into people’s inner worlds. Which is exhausting and a waste of my time. I don’t wish to understand you beyond your own comprehension. Which naturally happens when I can be left alone without your permission.

It’s hard to tell the difference at times between respect and intimidation. Admiration? Do you hate me or do you hate that you respect me? Or do you love to hate me? It only makes me wonder if you love me. Why else would you make a habit of saying what you think I want to hear? I try to catch myself instead and worry if I love you or not before I ruin my weekend. Usually no.

I used to think people were intimidated by me because of the things I said and did. I’ve grown to be calmer over the last couple years and it’s only taught me that people are actually intimidated by who I am. Which is someone who cares little for external validation but isn’t above basking in it. Someone who has cultivated certainty from their experiences as well as a sense of self-compassion. Someone who will always do what’s best for me and doesn’t mind pissing you off in the process. In fact, it’s been a source of inspiration since 2021.

I was talking to Sandy about what people might say about us behind our backs. And I was so perplexed trying to figure it out. It freaks me out to talk about it but that’s what I like about it. I guess people could call me crazy. But they wouldn’t be able to elaborate. Or they could. Maybe they’d call me a ghost. I’d agree. I only haunt people I like. Everything haunts me. They could say a lot of things but it would say a lot more about them than anything. I suppose. They could be mean about the things I believe in, act like I’m static. Treat my feelings the way they treat theirs. Make fun of the way I express myself like I haven’t been doing this shit since I was a kid. Long before you knew me.

They could make sense of my entire existence even though I have a long way to go before my death bed. Make me look like a troubled little girl they can feel superior to. Someone whose heart and mind can’t seem to coexist. Am I confusing? Hard to read? Stuck up? Paranoid? All I know is that whatever they come up with could never compare to what the voices in my head come up with daily. Voices I’ve fought so they don’t touch you the way they do me. Can you look in the mirror without flinching? I can.

Trying really hard not to run away these days. I will feel this way again. Accepting that helps me feel brave. Took one too hard of a toke of my weed vape. I didn’t mean to get to the bottom of all this right in this moment. But it is what it is. That’s another thing I’ve noticed in myself lately: I’m rarely on a whim when it comes to figuring shit out. So this feels foreign but not new.

Really good writing - like really good writing - happens in my eyes very rarely. I prefer to read non-fiction for this reason. It doesn’t have to be good. Just honest. Most writers aren’t honest enough with themselves. And that’s me being nice. So you can feel it in their work. They’re saying so much yet not enough. I think they’re too focused on making sense, so much so they’re scared of being wrong.

When I witness something good, it’s usually in music. I think poets try too hard to rhyme. When I rhyme in my poems, it’s because I’m trying to be cute. I’m trying to be you.

Last year: when I decided to take the year off and figure out what PMDD actually was, stuff my face with supplements, isolate, sober up, and ignore my problems until I didn’t feel like dying. Struggles not worth having, yet necessary.

At the moment, I’m feeling sad. Sad because nicotine has infiltrated my nervous system and my hormones have noticed. Sad because I really like cigarettes. No, I’m not quitting for good. Don’t start.

I’m also feeling delightfully perplexed. Brave enough to face the demon that’s resurfacing. The one that loves to comment on everything. My body, my face. My life. It’s easy to make sense when all you have is a brain. But I’m also a heart and soul. And a secret fourth, fifth and sixth thing.

The one who taunts and questions. Not just doubts, but blames. Internalizes and shames. Who impatiently waits for the world to crumble, but not before it kneels in front of me. The one that put a target on my back. Shoot me, coward, so I can see exactly where you’re hiding.

The one that bleeds constantly; an arrow to the chest that I can’t feel sorry for anymore. Don’t tell me my feelings are valid when I need to hear that I’m wrong. You’d make an awful therapist, and an even worse friend. And I’m not scared of you.

I’d like a ginger shot and a touch of iron, please. Just like old times. Just for a little while. With a bottle of cayenne pepper to go. My purse, stuffed with my homemade herbal tea bags. And snacks. I’m excited for who I’ll be in a month. Definitely not wiser, but most infinitely more lucid. Stronger? This is a time for vitality.

Stronger because I’ll have slain one of the most coveted demons. It will make an excellent pet. Join my legion of reformed savages. I’ll no longer have to sedate it. Maybe I’ll get to smoke weed for fun again. And you’ll wish you had dusted yourself off sooner and joined me.

• The way I walked away from an 11 year friendship. The way I feel okay about it because I really tried this time. The way I stopped trying in relationships because I used to always try. Until my knees bled. The way I realized it’s always better to try. So I tried. The way you always have to start somewhere. But it can end, too.

• That time I went out with Liam and Dev and drank like a fish. I tried a Dark and Stormy for the first time. Thank you Liam for buying us drinks. I was wearing a lavender sequin dress I thrifted that same day with Dev. I tried to seduce a ghost kitchen into letting me use their bathroom and failed. So I peed at the some random park on Queen. I miss drunk peeing in public. I’m afraid my pees are too expensive now. Insured, even. The next day I woke up before everyone to throw up. We were so hungover on our walk to brunch. It took forever to get our food. I was ready to fight someone. I can’t believe I still remember all of this. Not because I have a shit memory, but because I’m realizing it means something to me. I didn’t know I’d miss such a domesticity. To be hungover and grumpy with your friends. I never thought I’d miss being in a bad mood with Liam and Dev. I didn’t know those moments would become stories I’d write about. I don’t want to be that hungover ever again, but maybe I would if it meant I could spend another night with Liam and Dev.

• The way I crave community as much as I crave my own company. Often at the same time. I isolate as much as I insinuate other people do. Except for some of you… who are beyond avoidant. Anyway. Simply because I trick myself into believing I’m running out of time.

• Fast forwarding 50 years when I’m beginning to wrinkle. How will I remember you then? I can’t imagine a timeline where you won’t matter to me. It’s like a soft light that envelops me. Reality is better than our daydreams, but I’m not sure the intricacies of the decisions I’ve made for my present will matter then. So all there’s really left for me to be is grateful to have met you. And when I see you again, tell you it was never nothing. Nothing is for nothing. Ever. All there’s left to do is be happy for each other.

• A purging of sorts. Releasing beliefs that no longer serve me. Cultivating a new relationship with keeping busy. Everything is transient. I could feel and think one way, and then another in a heartbeat. That’s the price of leading with your heart. There’s no room in my heart for internet psychologists (or anyone) who hate that I like to pivot. The majority of this planet hates change but I crave it. Don’t get it twisted, I get uncomfortable, too. But not changing is Agony. Poison. I guess I’ll always prefer to be electrocuted over drowning in quicksand. Preferably neither, but I’ll always trust my body more than my mind.

• Laying down under the purple light. 10.3Hz. Like what Alex Consani said. I want to build a time machine. Now the orange light. Reading a magazine. That I’m in! Sipping on a diet coke, and a cannoli. By the way, I’m also featured on Nowhere Girl Collective this month! Speaking of month, why did January feel like an eternity?

• Onwards and upwards!

That’s why being cool, calm, collected is overrated - in my opinion. At least for now. Until further notice. And I think I’ve been biting off just enough of life to not choke. But I think I’d like to choke. I’d like to be bad at gauging how much I can handle. Not for the sake of my youth, but for my soul. Fuck a family doctor, I want to see a naturopath that I can’t afford. Fuck an industry standard, I’m blonde again. Fuck a pronoun, I want them all. Tactfully, I want them all.

2025 NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS

AFFIRMATION: AT THE END OF THE DAY, I AM NOT A CARRIE, I AM A SAMANTHA.

1. Stop having stress dreams about school

This is another way of saying: “overcome my impostor syndrome and stop putting people who plan their entire lives on a pedestal and embrace how I have a fucking life.”

2. Learn how to fight

I said once, I think when I was 23, how I want to go full sober at 26 and take up street fighting. Was it a joke? Hmm. Anyway, I haven’t forgotten. But I might keep it in the ring. And you can hit me anywhere, just not the face.

3. Get health insurance

The only valid reason for marriage. Other than the ring. Until further notice. Please.

4. See strength in my perceived weaknesses

Compassion, candor, intuition and adaptability. That’s what I do. You can’t convince me otherwise. Otherwise you’d have to deal with Me.

5. Return of the Eternal Muse

I’m only here to be more like myself. Can you say the same?

6. More solo dinners

This entire city is my date.

7. Heels!

Wedged booties, heeled sneakers and kitten heels. Because I’m done running. Which means if you cross me, you will be dealt with.

8. Humour over everything

Have you ever noticed how people who are obsessed with being present don’t have an actual personality? I’d rather focus on honing the qualities I already like within myself rather than striving for some ideal that someone else put into my head.

9. Expect the unexpected

Make room to go “ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh <3”

10. A sense of balance that sends chills down your spine

I’ll meet you halfway but it’s cool that I brought my gun, right?

11. Buy a toy gun

Start an arsenal, if you will. And I am a pacifist, but it’s time we explored my obsession with guns. Like what is that about? Well for one, I like how they get the job done quickly. But what else? I guess we’ll find out.

12. Seeing through my own bullshit

The difference between Scorpios and Sagittariuses - in my opinion - is that Sagittariuses don’t find pleasure believing in their own bullshit. They’d rather have faith in the mundane. As a Pisces, I enjoy my own bullshit, but am allergic to it. I’d like to have faith in my mundane. I’d like to believe in my intuitive optimism without analyzing a thing. I’d like to trust the world as much as I trust myself. Like a Capricorn! This is how I’ll practice seeing through everyone else’s bullshit.

13. Make whole friends

I hate how balance insinuates dilution. I think it’s a wholeness. A concentration of a person that is hard to describe with words. But it can be felt. So I guess I’ll just have to feel. If I can easily describe someone with a word - positive or negative - I don’t want them. If they can’t value my soulful and emotional nature, I don’t want them.

14. Smoke weed and invest in the stock market

So Blunt You Could Smoke My Truth,

Money So Stank They Call Me Vermouth.

15. More creativity

Fantasy that doesn’t intoxicate. Or maybe just doesn’t have an end of the day crash. But still shatters reality in its face.

16. Be in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

“Hi everyone!!!!!!!”

17. Buy a pair of Miu Mius

It’s time.

18. Learn how to drive

Who wants to spend quality time with me and teach me how to drive!? Please sign the media release form below.

2024 NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONS

AFFIRMATION: I SHOULD NOT BE AT THE CLUB EVER AGAIN.

God I miss this era when I thought partying was the devil. And by miss I mean rebuke. I’m still scared of people who can’t appreciate the value of staying home or themselves. But fear is an aphrodisiac I’ve learned to enjoy again. Anyway, I can’t wait to be back at the club next year. At the club is where I am she/her. It is like hiking to me. And there’s a pepper spray in my fanny pack.

1. Make sober friends

I did end up making friends who were sober. All sober for different reasons! But ultimately I realized I was just doing this thing where I look for qualities in people instead of just seeing them as a whole. And we’ve been through this: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. Also I started drinking again. I’m actually hoping to start smoking weed again in 2025. I’m happily neither, but turns out I’d rather be an addict than a narc. Listen, I’m just glad I can get away with smoking 2 cigarettes a month. I should add “make whole friends” to my 2025 resolutions list.

2. Make amends

I didn’t really try to do this until Scorpio season. And it’s when I learned that amends happen when you stop lying to yourself about how much you care. But being humbled spiritually and mentally for a whole year definitely helps.

3. Learn how to make amends

So the thing is: I always knew how but forgot because I forgot why I was doing anything. Like ever. If you care, I do everything that I do for humanity and myself because I know that feeling nothing is a million times worse than feeling negative things. You can learn to make amends when you stop forgetting that you’re alive. Also, my younger self would hate me for saying this: but your nervous system will thank you if you just move the fuck on.

4. Learn new skills

We still have a month to go, but I’m: in acting classes, dabbling in herbalism, identifying my negativity biases, French seaming, writing manuscripts, and getting along with my parents.

5. Less secrets

✅

6. **** * ***** *** ** **

Maybe next year.

7. Get an iPad again, maybe a printer?

Neither happened. Instead, I learned how to use Procreate on my phone and made my website with it. Also, it’s endearing how I tend to build intimate relationships with machines, but I won’t be pursuing a printer next year.

8. Sleep more

You know what’s a natural sleep inducer? Having a job.

9. Weaponize and monetize PMDD (assassin gene)

Double it and give it to the next person (me next year).

10. More money

It’s only December. Anything can happen.

11. Openly show disappointment in others while showing myself grace

I can’t change anyone, I can only tell them how they make me feel.

12. Get a pet, maybe a cat, maybe a dog

Her name is Bitch. Phyllis (short for Syphilis) when they are feeling gender nonconforming.

13. Get married haha why not

I forgot that to get married, you actually have to want to get married.

14. Tip generously

I’ll be honest, I could’ve tipped more. But it’s only December. Anything can happen.

15. Make my own clothes

✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ ✅ With A Cherry On Top! 🍒 Thank You! I Love You!

I got the inspiration to write this blog post while admiring myself naked in the mirror, watching water droplets drip down my neck and into my collarbone. I imagined myself writing about the way I dabbed it with this one white t-shirt I have. It’s that perfect cotton where it doesn't pill no matter how many times you wash it. It’s also embedded with tiny pieces of hair from my last haircut. A trim. Tiny. They poke out occasionally and prick me. And I really mean that it happens occasionally. As in, not often. Should I have kept this to myself?

Speaking of haircuts, I got another one. A big chop. I’m going to go finish getting ready now, but when I come back, I’ll have a lot more to say about why I needed one. Okay I’m back. Basically, when it’s convenient for me, I like to believe in things. And one of those things is how I think hair holds memories and energies. Sometimes, it’s good to keep stock. Hoard, even. So I’ll forget energy exists. But sometimes - like right now - it’s better to have a liquidation sale! And sell, I did.

I even got rid of my wallet because it felt foreign to me. I keep everything in the paper pocket of my diary now. Which feels more on brand than anything. Especially the way I have to bring my diary everywhere I go like I used to. But I have my sights set on a vintage Miu Miu croc wallet. Baby brown or green, I’m not sure yet. Baby brown like it’s not just a faded, aged, dirt brown. Lord forgive me, for I have been a vintage label hag.

Anyway. I think I’ve outgrown my own grief. I told my support group that I’m grieving the griever. Who I had to be in order to be who I am right now. Sober, reclusive, proper. A girl. The person I used to be would’ve interpreted this current feeling as bittersweet because life seems to be a cycle of grief after grief. And I still feel this way sometimes. Especially when I’ve heard a few too many bad news in a row. But right now, all I can think about is how 2 griefs (grieves?) cancel each other out. It’s just PEDMAS. PEMDAS if you’re a FREAK. Does anyone else find themselves using math in every day situations in mystical, abstract ways?

I keep trying to talk about what’s new and what else I’ve been up to. But every time I try, I start slipping into one of my bad moods. I think I get overwhelmed when I try to be articulate instead of sparkling. I could be both but that would require me to be articulate. I’ve always hated making sense and it’s time I honour myself. Again. As much as I need to! So I guess you just had to be there.

Whose idea was it to give me both Pisces and Gemini placements? Because I really do feel like a fish out of water sometimes. Because I know I wouldn’t feel this way if I was in the bath. Like I was about 20 minutes ago. I’d probably invent a new word like sparkticulating if I was in the bath right now.

So I’ll just list things I felt throughout the month in chronological order: refreshed, aligned, puffy, frustrated, impressed, hopeful, guilty, nostalgic (oops), frustrated again, disappointed, relieved, sore, comforted, normal, cheeky, odd, frustrated once more, a profound yet soothing catharsis, and compassion. With an undercurrent of constant anxiety that never goes away even when I think it does.

Right now I’m feeling bittersweet. Like I’m aware that I’m only making it harder for myself when I try be like everyone else. When I hide what I’m really up to because I don’t want you to try and set me straight. So I’ll stop hiding. I’ll tell you and hope you don’t try to kill me. Next month. When I’m well on my way. Scorpionic. Like red ginseng. It’s good for me. I promise.

Not that there’s nothing to write about. It’s just that I like to understand things before I start yapping. But these days, every time I think I understand something, I’m proven otherwise. Not necessarily wrong, but rather, I end up looking around and seeing the hill I’m about to die on. And I’m hit with the realization that I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to die at all.

I’m reminiscing about my 23 year old self who so eagerly yapped without thinking. Passionately believing whatever came to mind. It felt safer to not have a single plan for the rest of my life. I haven’t lost my moxie, god forbid. But it’s evolved into something else that’s probably going to take the rest of this year to give birth to. Is this what a developed frontal lobe is?

Or maybe this is just the summer of my life and I’m getting ahead of myself. See, even this kind of placidity makes me feel like there’s more to life than dying on a bunch of hills. Who knew I’d enjoy being present more than my dreams?

I used to think the person I was in my dreams was far more complex, perhaps even more real than my waking self. I used to have a friend who believed that our dreamscape was the real world and this was something secondary. I used to agree. Not because I truly believed it. I honestly can’t say I’ve truly believed anything prior to this year, although my past self would disagree. But because it felt good to ponder. Like how cool would that be?

Now I know it can’t be true because I feel so real here and now. I’m too real to believe in things that take me away from reality. To deny this would be a disgrace to everything I am. Everything that took for me to become who I am. Don’t try to uproot me, you’ll only hurt yourself.

Which reminds me of my last mushroom trip that absolutely scared me off from doing drugs ever again. And before I share this story, I understand how absurd it is. But my hope is that you’ll understand that the absurdity isn’t from the drugs, it’s just who I’ve always been. With that out of the way:

In my mind’s eye, I was on a boat going down a lazy river. There were these lush, dark green trees that framed the picture. They almost looked cartoonish - like the mushroom people that were also there. Everything breathed - the sky, the atmosphere, everything. They wanted me to laugh at them. With them? Clap, cheer, whatever.

But as the trip became more vivid, I started to regret taking shrooms in the first place because I realized that I preferred being sober. It all sort of felt like overkill. Like I was being forced to watch a performance that I could not give less shits about. That’s when the mushrooms became upset with me. They thought I was ungrateful and complicated. And for whatever reason, this girl I used to be friends with from high school and her mom were there. Both screaming, “what do you want? Why won’t you love us? Why can’t we make you happy? Why aren’t we enough for you?” Their eyes turned black and suddenly turned into 4 slits.

I’d love to say that it meant nothing because none of it made sense - but it did. And there’s a part of me - a past version of me - who was an avid escapist that hates me for saying this: but I no longer resonate with people who use people and substances as distractions to avoid their problems. To be frank, they scare me because I remember how defensive I used to get when I’d be confronted by my fears. And there’s nothing more lonely than being with someone who avoids themselves.

That’s why I don’t think I had the capacity to believe in anything until I started moving through my fears. My beliefs curve around everything and everyone I love. For example, along with a frontal lobe, 25 has also brought me the realization that one life time is not enough to love anyone. I need at least 10. Preferably a million.

That’s how I know reincarnation is real. Not because some psychic told me that I was a whale in a past life, but because of how much I love my parents. I think your beliefs should help you feel more like yourself. Feel real. Flesh and all. They should help you remember your strengths and want to engage with life. Demystify it.

In other news, I’ve been reading in the bath. I’d write there too if I wasn’t so scared of dropping my laptop in the water. I always get the best ideas in the bath. I also always forget them as soon as I get out. Can’t win them all.

I’ve also been working through an OCD workbook, oiling my scalp, detangling cognitive distortions, training for a (half?) marathon, herbalisming, broadening my window of tolerance, having hope for the undead, and I made that caramelized onion pasta last night. It was delicious. The leftovers are in the fridge and I’m considering eating them after I finish writing this. And yeah sure, some creative projects in the works, too.

I don’t really know what else to say. It is now 2:24 AM. July was nice. Slower than all the other months. August is looking busier. I might need an epidural. I think that might be all. Too much pasta on my mind.

Not because she’s awful. She’s actually pretty great. I’ve settled on how she just wasn’t for me anymore. Like training wheels on a bicycle that really needed to be taken off. Especially if you want to start using the gears. I think I made her cry, but she was happy for me.

Last month I denounced the existence of a God, and this month I’m being shown many signs that there might be someone who is indeed in charge. Whoever they are, will be okay with me not thanking them.

The only time I feel comfortable believing in anything, is when I think about my sweet baby boy Chocolate. My first dog who died last winter. He was 17. A Leo sun, Pisces moon. A real tootsie pop of a pooch. If heaven’s real, it would solely exist to house him. Maybe he’s God.

I think I’ll start a religion dedicated to him. You’d have to lip sync for your LIFE to get into heaven. Which is something that’s already on earth: a slumber party with me. The song you’d have to lip sync to is Heaven On Earth by Britney Spears.

April was crawling out of the depths of my personal hell and actually being in the sun, after dreaming about it for months. Perhaps even years. The sun is a metaphor for things I can’t be fucked to articulate. Except I will articulate this: healing from a lifetime of depression and anxiety is possible with the right diagnosis and treatment plan.

I’ve lost my mind a few times in my life. Really lost it last winter. These days I feel lucky for it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have the perspective I do now. It’s compassionate, but aware of its power. Like how I know forgiveness is a lot easier on the nervous system than anger. But I wouldn’t have cared to know that had I not been angry for so long.

During the last week of April, I had the most surreal dream I’d ever dreamed. I time travelled into a fictional video I made with an old friend of mine from 8th grade. A friend I lost contact with after I moved away. In the dream I told her that my consciousness was from the future. The best part was that she understood.

I woke up and found her on LinkedIn. It wasn’t very hard, she doesn’t have the most common name. I don’t usually track down people from my youth but this felt right. So I reached out. She responded in the warmest and most excited way. How she also thinks of me often and how I impacted her. I got a piece of myself back that day.

In other news: I’m drawing again, had a new poem published, and got a water filtering shower head. I don’t care if water filtering shower heads are a myth. Tell that to my scalp and lush second day hair. Also found out decaf doesn’t mean there’s no caffeine.

Also decided I wanted a part-time job someplace to get out of the house and these sweatpants. Went for an interview only to read the Glassdoor reviews afterwards and decided otherwise. I literally wrote to the hiring manager asking to “formally rescind my application upon reading Glassdoor reviews online.” Took a bath to forget all about it. Serves me right for veering off course in the name of boredom. Serves them right for sucking.

Thank you Mercury for questioning yourself for 3 weeks so I don’t have to.

It’s my last month of Deep Resting - my year of noticing what won’t last forever and learning how to enjoy them.

I’m realizing that being present isn’t supposed to be easy. It’s rather the acceptance of what’s real. Emotional regulation, yet still placing feeling above thinking. Seeing passion and duality as the same thing. And wanting to do better by the people you love.

For me that’s my family. These days I’m trying to enjoy my limited time with my parents while I can - even if it’s hard. Even if it means I’m having to confront what forgiveness and grace mean to me while I’m still grieving.

It was a realization that I was forced to swallow because I’m chronically ill. My ability to know when to do what exists because I’ve had no room to argue with myself on what my body needs and what can wait.

It’s why my definition of happiness isn’t something fleeting. For me, happiness is whoever I am when I’m not trying to kill myself. I know I’m truly happy these days even if things aren’t 100% (or even 50%) because I know what it’s like to be unhappy.

It’s how I learned that if it seems like everything in your life is crumbling or delaying, the universe is asking you to slow down and relax. I won’t say that it’s all in your head, but a good chunk of your response, is.

But back to the purpose of this blog post: where have I really been? It’s something I’ve been asking myself all month.

The truth is that my mental health improved drastically when I removed certain people from my life. Maybe it’s not what they did or didn’t do. It’s just who they are. And who they are isn’t meant to be around me. I’ve been trying to send love telepathically.

When you make decisions, there are always consequences. So when I made the conscious decision to value solitude, sobriety, my heart, and my career, it was only natural for what was previously there to fall apart.

That included my social life, past belief systems and poor coping mechanisms. Maybe my sanity to some degree because that’s just what happens when you change from the inside out. I’ve been lonely yet peaceful. Confusing at first, but for the first time in my life I feel like I know what I’m doing. And boundaries don’t feel like war.

I think boundaries are the art of staying focused on what matters and acting accordingly. People might take my yeses to what’s for me, as a no to them. But I can’t control that because it’s just a matter of perspective. As long as you treat yourself well, some people will naturally deviate from you. It gives the saying, “just be yourself and it will all work out” a whole new meaning.

When you think about it, most people’s suffering comes from them believing they can explain everything. Including themselves. And then becoming something they aren’t in the process, instead of going towards experiences and people that aren’t committed to making them explain everything. But you have to make a few wrong turns to get the scenic view so maybe it’s alright. Keyword: maybe.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. You can’t embody your whole unless you take a step back and chill the fuck out (stop ruminating on the parts). It’s hard to do that if your environment only values you for your parts.

Nowadays, I’m trying to allow myself to feel excited for this life I’ve grown into. Something I was not born with, but created. Something man-made yet so organic - that’s my life.

I’m trying not to look at the first little bit of my life as something to despise. I’ve done that long enough. I’ve seen what it can do. I don’t listen to psychologists online. I’m careful to not romanticize my pain unless it’s to release it. I don’t pathologize my beliefs. I have a good therapist who helps me practice self-compassion without needing to thank Jesus. It all helps me preserve my intuition so I can actually listen to it.

That means taking my time so I can let all of my selves have a say. I won’t regret it anymore - I’m a heart, a soul, a body, and a mind. And maybe a secret 5th thing that I will never understand. Which excites me.

It’s not always easy but ever since I’ve dropped caffeine, got a humidifier and started drinking this special PMDD tea, it’s been easier.

Which makes me think of how when people talk about enlightenment, they’re just describing mental wellness. Anything more and they’re probably trying to sell you something that doesn’t actually exist.

And if I can unlock most of the universe’s secrets by exploring myself, I’m not sure I believe in a higher power. When I refer to the universe, I’m just referring to everything that’s unknown. It’s how I’m able to look towards the unknown (and everything I can’t control) fondly. So my trust in the universe is really just my faith in my ability to figure things out.

Everything is back to where it should’ve been. Whatever that means. Things really do fall into place when it’s time. If you’re busy thinking of reasons for how that isn’t true, that means it’s not time yet. 

There’s so much beauty in 25. It’s the age where people don’t hesitate to tell me that I look really good for my age. I understand the ridiculous nature of such a compliment, but it does makes me giddy. And what about it?

If I was sensible, I’d get used to it because I’m just getting started.

Hate is a strong word but I am a strong person. To read me you must first strengthen your core. This is where I train, where I am busy without keeping busy. Keep up.

I’ve spent the last 3 years fighting my own gravity. Out of a fear of myself? That would only be partially true. Truth is I’ve just been needing a break, and the only way I could get one is by anchoring myself against my own ambitions.

Which is not a crime - in fact, it was an act of passionate and everlasting love.

Weirdest part was how every time I tried to un-break myself, I couldn’t. Until now. Some might say I simply didn’t want to. Really, it was a bit of both and I sleep well knowing I understand that.

February was a deer and a bee.

If this were a blog post 3 years ago, I’d do everything but spare you the details. But today, I leave everything between the lines. My experiences are better felt than analyzed, anyway.

Or maybe I just can’t be bothered to think of something to say and it’s already March. I’m writing about February in March when I’d rather be writing about March.

That being said, I’m coming out as a business Pisces. And I’m going to be the sexiest one that ever lived.

Here’s to a life worth bragging about to all the other smartasses in suits.