So, about that 'hustle' I was talking about... Yeah, let's just say my focus has taken a slight detour. Or maybe, a full-on, high-speed exit off the highway of productivity. Instead of brainstorming brilliant

Yeah this could be the advanced stages of budget meal mastery. To be quite honest I’ve always been a supporter of the creative cuisine thing, but now it is more of what’s left in the pantry that won’t

So, here's the thing about reunions: they're a bittersweet reminder of how much has changed. Last night, CeCe, Raine, and Chuckie – my old night shift buddies from the BPO days – met up. Six years. Six

So, after my friends’ glorious reunion (that I missed, thanks to my 'broke era'), we did what any good former night shifters do: we took the party online. CeCe, Chuckie, and I spent hours on Messenger,

Even when I don’t share it, I write. Random thoughts. Nonsense. Fragments. Some days it feels like scribbling into the void. But something about writing reminds me that I’m here. That I still care about

It's funny how it happens, isn't it? Comparison has this sneaky way of creeping into our lives. It often shows up so quietly, almost unnoticed at first. Maybe it's when someone shares exciting news about

I used to want the loud kind of success—the kind you could brag about. But that craving has softened. Now I want the kind of life that feels good at 8 a.m. on a Tuesday, while I’m making toast. Quiet doesn’t

Some days I can focus for hours. Other days, I bounce between thoughts like a browser with 30 tabs open and nothing loading. I used to feel bad about this. Now, I just laugh. The human brain was never

I used to wait for the “right” version of myself to show up—the more motivated, more organized, more impressive me. But lately I’ve realized that version never arrives. It’s just me, right now, deciding

Some days I barely move the needle. The dishes stay in the sink. I open tabs and close them. I stretch half-heartedly and call it a workout. And guess what? The world doesn’t end. I used to fear days like

The timeline I imagined is long gone. The goals I set back then were drawn by someone who didn’t know the terrain. And still—I’m here. Still moving. Just slower. And maybe slower is smarter. We talk so

I used to wait for the big signal. A sign. A clear yes or no. Life doesn’t really work that way, at least not anymore. Now I make peace with not knowing. I do the laundry. I water the plants. I keep the

There’s a weird pressure to always be on the move. New goal. New project. New version of yourself to show off. But lately, I’ve stopped pretending I know what’s next. I don’t. And that’s okay. There’s

At some point I decided I had to be “put together.” Like every emotion had to be labeled and logged. Like every creative idea needed a side hustle. But recently I’ve been leaning into the uncool stuff.

There are songs I can’t play anymore because they remind me of who I was before everything shifted. Not because I don’t love them—but because I wasn’t ready to feel that much. But lately, I’ve been letting

I used to think moving forward meant throwing everything behind. New phase, new tastes, new personality. But lately? I’ve been craving the old stuff. The weird snacks. The dorky shows. The hobbies that

I’m not chasing a new version of myself. I’m not building a brand. I’m not buying a planner and pretending I’ll use it. I’m just checking in. Who am I now that the noise is lower? What makes me feel real

There’s a strange silence after you unplug from noise. No algorithms. No constant input. At first it’s too quiet—like being left alone in a dusty room. But then, something echoes. An old dream. A forgotten

I used to ask, “What should I do with my life?” But that question is too big, and honestly, too mean. These days I ask softer ones: What feels light today? What would I regret not doing? What’s the tiniest

Some days, I open tabs I don’t finish. I write down ideas I won’t use. I stare at old photos, half-smiling, half-cringing. But I’ve stopped calling it wasted time. Maybe this is what healing looks like: