maxinenextdoor

Latest Posts by maxinenextdoor

Life sucks.

And i wanna sleep.

I was already in the process of writing a love story but I stopped. I do not have the drive. Maybe I'll just wait for ideas.

Any good series recommendations besides Reacher?

The Marcos family’s return to power is one of the most tragic ironies in Philippine history. After decades of suffering under Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s dictatorship—marked by rampant corruption, human rights abuses, and the plundering of the nation’s wealth—his son, Ferdinand "Bongbong" Marcos Jr., now leads the country. This is not just a case of political resurgence; it is a glaring symptom of how easily truth can be rewritten and how collective memory can be manipulated.

For years, the Marcoses have engaged in an aggressive campaign of historical revisionism, distorting the brutal realities of Martial Law into a golden era of economic prosperity. They have leveraged social media, disinformation networks, and the public’s disillusionment with post-EDSA governments to paint themselves as victims rather than villains. But the facts remain: the Marcos dictatorship saw over 70,000 arrests, 34,000 cases of torture, and thousands of extrajudicial killings. The economy, far from being at its strongest, was driven into massive debt due to unchecked spending and corruption, leaving future generations to shoulder the consequences.

Bongbong Marcos himself has never acknowledged the horrors of his father’s rule. Instead of seeking accountability, he has evaded questions, refused to apologize, and even suggested that the past should be left behind. This refusal to confront history is not just dangerous—it enables further abuse of power. His presidency symbolizes the normalization of impunity, where stolen wealth, privilege, and political dynasties thrive at the expense of ordinary Filipinos.

The Marcos family's wealth, estimated in billions of dollars, remains largely unreturned, despite multiple court rulings declaring that much of it was ill-gotten. Meanwhile, many Martial Law victims have yet to receive full justice. The very people who fought and suffered to restore democracy now witness its slow erosion under the leadership of a man who owes his political survival to deception.

The fact that the Marcoses are back in power exposes the deep flaws in our political system—where patronage, misinformation, and historical amnesia dictate electoral outcomes. But it is also a wake-up call. If history has taught us anything, it is that tyranny does not die easily. It disguises itself, adapts, and waits for the moment when people forget.

But we must not forget. We must continue to remember the lives lost, the voices silenced, and the wealth stolen. Because the moment we stop remembering is the moment we allow history to repeat itself. And if that happens, the tragedy of the Marcos regime will not just be a chapter in our past—it will be our future.

My face is having a mini-earthquake! It's twitching so violently, it feels like my body is shaking.

Hip-hop has always thrived on beef, and 2024’s rap battle between Kendrick Lamar and Drake, fueled by Not Like Us, has been one of the most exciting in years. But as great as Kendrick’s diss is, it still doesn’t come close to dethroning Tupac Shakur’s Hit ‘Em Up as the greatest diss track of all time. What sets Hit ‘Em Up apart is its sheer venom—Tupac didn’t just take lyrical jabs; he launched a full-scale verbal assault. From the opening line—"First off, f** your b**** and the clique you claim"*—he made it clear this wasn’t just about music; it was deeply personal. Unlike Kendrick, who approaches his diss with surgical precision and slick double meanings, Tupac’s rage was unfiltered and raw, making every word hit harder. Beyond just lyrical skill, Hit ‘Em Up carried real-life stakes. The East Coast vs. West Coast feud was at its peak, and the track was a direct response to Tupac’s shooting at Quad Studios, an event he believed Biggie and Diddy were involved in. This wasn’t just about rap supremacy—it was about betrayal, survival, and revenge. While Not Like Us is a cultural moment, Hit ‘Em Up was a cultural earthquake. It didn’t just trend; it intensified an already deadly rivalry and remains one of the most infamous tracks in music history. The energy, the disrespect, and the direct name-dropping make it unmatched. Tupac didn’t sneak diss or hide behind subliminals—he outright humiliated his enemies, turning rap beef into all-out war. While Not Like Us is a masterclass in calculated disrespect, Hit ‘Em Up remains the blueprint for all diss tracks that followed. It wasn’t just a song; it was a weapon, and no diss track before or after has carried the same level of aggression, impact, and cultural weight. Until another rapper delivers something with more emotion, rawness, and stakes, Hit ‘Em Up will remain undefeated.

Why Some Men See Accountability as an Attack Instead of Growth

Accountability. A simple concept, right? Own up to your actions, learn from mistakes, grow as a person. But for some men, being held accountable feels like an all-out assault on their very existence. The moment they hear, “Hey, that wasn’t cool,” they react like you just questioned their entire identity. So why does accountability send some guys into full-on defense mode instead of helping them grow? Hmm. Let’s break it down.

1. The Ego Can’t Handle It

For some men, being wrong isn’t just about the situation at hand—it’s a hit to their ego. Admitting a mistake feels like admitting they are the problem, rather than just something they did. Instead of just saying, “Yeah, I messed up,” they’d rather go into mental gymnastics mode, twisting the situation until somehow, miraculously, they’re the victim. Wow. Just wow. 😆

2. The "Alpha Male" Complex

Somewhere along the way, a lot of men were taught that taking responsibility is a sign of weakness. They believe real men should always be confident, always be in control, and never admit to screwing up. The irony? True confidence comes from owning up to mistakes and learning from them. But try telling that to someone who thinks growth is just for plants. 🌱

3. The Victim Mindset

Rather than taking accountability, some guys flip the script and play the victim. "Why are you always criticizing me?" "I can’t do anything right." "You never appreciate what I do." Suddenly, what should have been a simple conversation about their actions turns into you having to reassure them that they’re not a terrible person. It’s exhausting. 😤

4. Emotional Maturity Levels: TBD

Some men never learned how to handle criticism without shutting down or blowing up. If they weren’t raised in an environment where accountability was seen as a normal part of growth, then any form of critique feels like an attack. Instead of processing it, they either lash out or retreat into silence—neither of which help anyone.

5. The Art of Deflection

Rather than addressing the issue at hand, some men master the fine art of dodging responsibility. “Well, what about that one time you messed up?” or “I only did that because you made me.” Anything to shift the focus away from them and onto someone else. It’s not about solving the problem; it’s about escaping it.

6. Society’s Low Bar

Let’s be real—men have been praised for doing the absolute bare minimum for so long that even mild accountability can feel like an attack. “I said sorry, what more do you want?” Actual change, maybe? When society expects so little from them, being asked to do better feels like a personal insult.

Accountability isn’t the enemy. At the end of the day, accountability isn’t about tearing someone down—it’s about helping them grow. If someone truly cares about becoming a better person, they’ll listen, reflect, and make changes. If they see accountability as an attack? That says more about them than it does about you.

So if you’ve ever had to deal with a guy who acts like accountability is some cruel punishment, save your breath. People who want to grow, grow. The ones who don’t? That’s on them.

Sprinkle sprinkle.

Today, I blocked someone on Instagram.

I had already cut him off before because he said something I didn’t like. My old self would have tried to understand where he was coming from, rationalizing why people say the things they do. But not anymore.

He’s not the first guy who has told me he wanted to sleep with me. I get plenty of indecent proposals—random, unsolicited messages from men like him.

In the past, I let it slide. I never gave in, but I also never pushed back. I shrugged it off, ignored it, and stayed friends. I even gaslit myself into thinking I was overreacting when their words made me uncomfortable. I told myself it was fine because boys will be boys.

But this? This was too much.

Lately, one of them has been trying to reconnect and meet up. I’ve told him no, more than once. I’ve given excuses, politely declined, and outright refused. But to men like him, no is never enough.

I finally lashed out after he had the audacity to tell me that I “shouldn’t judge people for who they were or what they did.” Sure, I get that. But my reality is different. The things they did made me feel cheap, like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even a person.

So yes, I will judge people based on how they treated me. And I will return the favor by shutting them out completely.

I don’t care who they are now. I’m in therapy because of what they did to me. The way they viewed me back then shaped the way I saw myself.

Never again.

This summer, I’m heading to Iloilo... alone. My best friend was supposed to join me, but she has important things to take care of, and I don’t want to get in the way.

I’ve already envisioned all the things I want to do in Iloilo. Plus, I’ll be attending a wedding in Capiz, which makes me even more excited for the trip!

Words can’t fully capture how I’m feeling today.

Maybe “shitty” is the closest way to describe it.

Anyway, I have a therapy session tomorrow, and I’ve decided it’ll be my last one with this therapist. I need to transition to a psychiatrist to get a formal diagnosis—my provisional diagnosis still hasn’t been released, and honestly, I just miss my original therapist.

When I was working with her, I felt like I was making real progress. Every session was productive, and I could feel myself growing. With my current therapist, it’s different. I feel unheard, like she’s focusing on things I’ve already moved past or on situations that don’t align with where I’m at mentally right now. Maybe that’s just her approach, but it’s not working for me.

IDK. I’m just ready for clarity and to feel like I’m actually moving forward again.

Re-reading 1984 today. ❤️ What are your plans?

Happy New Year! Gosh, it's been a long time!

I was watching a Netflix feature on the Old Testament book of Exodus today when my son burst in, looked at the screen, and asked, "What are you watching?" I told him, thinking that would be the end of it. Nope. A while later, he casually dropped some knowledge about Exodus 10:13 like a tiny theologian. I had to look it up just to keep up. Kid’s putting me to shame over here!

Friendships are supposed to be straightforward, right? You trust each other, you have each other’s backs, and you keep the big stuff honest. But right now, I’m sitting with a secret that’s tying my stomach in knots, and I have no idea what to do.

My best friend’s boyfriend—someone I never thought I’d have a problem with—has sent me indecent messages after him opening up about his escapades. At first, I brushed it off. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe it was a weird, out-of-context joke. But it’s clear now that it wasn’t. His intentions are blatantly wrong, and I feel trapped.

Do I tell her? Do I risk being the one to ruin everything? I know how much she loves him. What if she doesn’t believe me? What if it blows up in my face and our friendship never recovers?

But then, how do I stay quiet? Every time I see them together, it feels like I’m lying to her by not saying anything. She deserves to know what kind of person he is. But telling her would mean breaking her heart and possibly being the reason her world falls apart.

I keep playing the scenarios in my head, and none of them end well. If I speak up, I might lose her. If I stay silent, I’m protecting a secret that’s eating me alive. How do you even choose between two terrible options like this?

I wish I had answers, but right now, all I have is this sinking feeling that no matter what I do, someone’s going to get hurt—and I might lose someone I care about either way.

I mourn my youth

I mourn my youth with a sorrow that feels almost unbearable. Not because it’s gone but because I realize I never truly lived it.

I ache for all the moments I let slip by, the countless chances I ignored, thinking there’d always be more time. I regret the nights I should have spent out, surrounded by laughter and people who would have helped me feel alive. Instead, I stayed in the shadows, clinging to comfort and safety, only to find out too late that those things would cost me the memories I could never make.

I think of all the times I chose sleep over adventure, the days I kept my life small and predictable instead of going somewhere new. I missed the thrill of being spontaneous, of packing a bag and leaving without knowing where I’d end up. I missed places that could have shown me how vast and beautiful the world really is, places I’ll only ever know through the stories of others who dared to go.

And the people—I mourn them most of all. I wonder about the friendships that never had a chance to grow, the faces I never got to know because I was too scared to take a step toward them. There were probably kindred souls, people who would have understood me better than I understood myself, waiting somewhere in the world. But I kept to my familiar circle, never daring to reach out, and now they’re strangers I’ll never meet.

I look back, and it’s almost unbearable to realize how much I lost. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self to be brave, to take the risks, to live as if these days would eventually run out. But all I have now is this ache, this haunting feeling of a life half-lived. And the hardest part is knowing that these missed moments will forever be just that—echoes of a life I could have had but never did.

Maybe I wasn’t praying hard enough. Maybe He has another plan— a beautiful one. But God, that was so painful. I don’t have anyone to talk to, and no one takes me seriously. Maybe it’s because I always laugh at tragedy, having grown so used to it.

The 30-Day Love Detox: How to Dump Someone and Boomerang Back into Their Heart Like Nothing Happened

Ah yes, the classic love story: boy meets girl, boy dumps girl, boy realizes 30 days later that life without girl is a bit boring, and voilà, he’s suddenly enlightened. If only all of life’s problems could be solved with this much grace and wisdom! So, for those aspiring romantics out there who want to master the fine art of dump-and-reconnect, I present to you: The 30-Day Love Detox Program!

Step 1: The Dramatic Exit – Make Them Wonder If You're Joining a Cult The first step in this master plan is to make your exit look like you're about to embark on some spiritual journey (cue random deep quotes about "finding yourself"). Pro tip: Try breaking up in the most cliché location possible—maybe a park bench with leaves falling dramatically around you, or at a cafe while you sip on an overpriced artisanal latte. Look them dead in the eyes and say something profound like, “I just need to find out who I really am… without you.” This will leave them thinking, "Wow, maybe they're going to start meditating on a mountaintop?" Spoiler alert: You’re not.

Step 2: Ghost Like a Pro – Silence Speaks Louder Than Words… or Texts Now that you’ve set the stage for your epic transformation (aka, a month of Netflix and scrolling through Tinder), it’s time to ghost like it’s your part-time job. Not a single message. Total radio silence. Make sure your social media presence is carefully curated: post a few artsy photos of sunsets, yoga poses (that you definitely didn’t do), and maybe one of those cryptic "self-growth" memes, like, “Sometimes, you have to lose yourself to become the person you were meant to be.” Deep, right? Meanwhile, you’re really just mastering the art of lounging on your couch.

Step 3: The "Epiphany" – AKA, You Miss Their Netflix Password After a glorious 30 days (definitely not because you’ve run out of things to do or people to swipe left on), it’s time to have your “epiphany.” Suddenly, you’ve realized that they’re the one. Or at least the one who had a really great HBO subscription. So you send the message that every ex just loves to receive out of the blue: “Hey… been thinking a lot. I realize now that what we had was special. Can we talk?” Oh really? It took you a whole month to figure that out? What’s next, he misses your Spotify playlists and suddenly realizes he can’t live without you? Groundbreaking stuff. Because what says personal growth better than completely disregarding the fact that you dumped them for vague, mysterious reasons? Growth, baby. Growth.

Step 4: The Overly Casual Meet-Up – Because We’re Totally Mature Adults Now, suggest the casual meet-up. Something low-key, like grabbing coffee or, better yet, bumping into them “accidentally” at the exact cafe they frequent every Thursday at 4 PM. Apologize for your “growth period,” but don’t overdo it—you don’t want them to think you’re TOO sorry. Let them know you’re ready to “give it another shot,” as if you’re offering a rare, limited-time-only opportunity. Remember to throw in phrases like “fresh start” or “new chapter,” because nothing screams romance like pretending the last chapter wasn’t a dumpster fire.

Step 5: The Reboot – Because What Could Go Wrong? At this point, they might be confused, mildly entertained, or plotting your demise, but hey, you feel like you’ve turned over a new leaf! What could possibly go wrong by giving it another try, right? After all, you’ve had a whole 30 days of spiritual Netflix therapy—totally enough time to rewrite your relationship future. Spoiler alert: The sequel is usually worse than the original, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained!

In Conclusion: Why go through all the hassle of working on yourself, learning from your mistakes, or communicating better, when you can just dump someone, wait a month, and swoop back in with a fresh coat of charm? Because in the game of love, nothing says “I’m serious this time” like making a dramatic comeback after a whole four weeks of soul-searching (or, you know, browsing memes) or as if you’ve just come back from some emotional sabbatical.

Diary entry: October 15, 2024

I woke up from a wild dream. You know how dreams work—one moment you're in a familiar place, the next everything shifts. You look behind you, and the scenery changes. You turn to the front, and you're somewhere else entirely. People you know appear alongside strangers who only exist in your dreams. Some places feel real, while others exist only in that dreamscape. It’s surreal.

What really gets to me are the recurring dreams. Sometimes, after months or years of not thinking about a certain place or person, they reappear, unchanged, like no time has passed. But the scariest part? I occasionally dream of things that haven't happened yet—and then they come true the next day. I see signs, premonitions, and when they unfold in real life, it sends chills down my spine.

My mother has this gift of premonition too. For her, it’s a guide—a way to navigate life. I seem to have inherited it, but instead of comfort, it terrifies me. People call it a gift, but I'm not so sure. There are moments when I want to lean on science, to find logical explanations for what I experience. Science can demystify things like this, offering clarity. But then, there are times when I feel pulled toward something deeper—something divine. It’s a strange place to be, caught between wanting to explain everything and accepting that maybe some things are beyond explanation.

So, about that dream—all of a sudden, a familiar face showed up randomly. It was him. He just appeared, casually talking to me, like nothing ever happened. Like he didn’t hurt me in the past. It completely caught me off guard. I’ve moved on, though. We never officially dated, just talked and got to know each other—until the next morning, he pulled the plug because he was pissed. And there he was in my dream, acting as if everything was fine, asking how I was, like we were friends.

You know me—I’m confrontational. In the dream, I was just about to tell him to fuck off, but right then, my alarm went off, jolting me awake.

Groggy, I reached for my phone, turned off the alarm, and checked my notifications. And there it was—his name, lighting up my screen. A message from him on Telegram.

I couldn’t believe it.

Though it's not the first time it happened to me but sometimes I couldn't help but wonder—

What kind of fuckery is this?

Reading 1984 by George Orwell felt like a gut punch, and imagining it happening in the real world—or even in my own country—made it even more heart-wrenching. The way the Party strips away not only freedom but also the ability to think and feel independently is terrifying. As I turned each page, I couldn't help but cry, feeling as though my heart was being torn apart, especially when I thought about how easily such a regime could rise in any society if we're not vigilant.

In Orwell’s world, the total control over truth, history, and even relationships is brutal. If something like this were to unfold in my own country, it would mean the end of everything we hold dear—freedom of speech, connection with loved ones, and our sense of self. The idea of being watched constantly, never being able to trust even your closest friends or family members, is suffocating. Winston’s struggle against this control was a flicker of hope that I desperately clung to as I read, but when that hope was crushed, I felt an immense sense of loss, as if it could be our future, too.

If the government in my country ever wielded such total power, where dissenting opinions were erased and loyalty to the state became more important than truth or love, it would be devastating. The betrayal Winston experiences—both from Julia and from the world itself—felt personal, like it could happen to any of us under similar circumstances. The worst part was Winston's final breaking point, when he surrendered to Big Brother. I couldn’t help but think of how our humanity could be torn apart in the same way if our thoughts and emotions were manipulated to this extreme.

1984 made me cry not just for the characters but for the possibility that such a future could exist anywhere, even here. The thought that people could be forced to betray their own hearts and minds is terrifying, and it left me questioning how strong we would be in the face of such oppression. Would we resist, or would we, like Winston, eventually break?

Some moments cut so deep they become woven into who we are. Choosing to close the door on someone who brought so much pain isn’t just a decision; it’s survival. In the quiet spaces of my heart, I still hear the echoes of betrayal, disappointment, and heartbreak. Whenever I think of letting him back in, a wave of loathing rises up, reminding me that stepping back into that pain would mean losing myself all over again.

Let’s be clear: there are people who take and take, leaving nothing but a hollow shell in their wake. He was one of those people. The way he twisted my trust into a weapon against me was nothing short of monstrous. I loathe him, not just for what he did, but for the way he made me feel—small, insignificant, and unworthy of love. He took my vulnerability and used it as a means to manipulate and control, and the sheer audacity of that betrayal is enough to make my blood boil.

The memories haunt me like phantoms in the night. I remember the promises made, the tender words whispered in the dark, and the way they all crumbled like ash in the face of reality. He was a storm that wrecked my peace, and now, the thought of inviting that chaos back into my life makes my stomach churn. I would rather drown in despair than suffer through another chapter of torment that he would bring.

It’s infuriating how someone can waltz in and out of your life, leaving you to pick up the shattered pieces of your heart. I have spent countless nights wrestling with the demons of self-doubt and despair he unleashed upon me. I have fought against the notion that I am somehow responsible for the pain he inflicted. But now, with every ounce of strength within me, I declare that I will not let him back in. I refuse to be a victim of his charm once more, a puppet in his twisted game of manipulation.

The agony of betrayal runs deep, and the scars left behind are reminders of the strength I’ve found within myself. The choice to keep him out is not just about protection; it’s about self-respect. I would rather die than endure the suffering of reliving the torment he caused. The thought of opening that door, of offering him a second chance he does not deserve, fills me with a deep, aching dread.

So, I stand firm. I choose to honor my pain rather than let it fester into something more destructive. I refuse to let him back in, to allow his toxicity to seep into my life once more. Every moment spent apart is a testament to my resilience, a reminder that I have the power to reclaim my life from the wreckage he left behind.

To anyone who finds themselves at a similar crossroads: choose yourself. Choose peace over chaos. The road ahead may be paved with heartache, but it’s also a path toward healing and strength. Embrace the emotions that arise—let the anger and sadness wash over you, but don’t let them define you. You are not a product of someone else’s actions; you are a warrior who has fought and survived.

In the end, my decision is not just about him; it’s about my freedom. I will not suffer the consequences of his choices any longer. I will not allow the ghosts of my past to dictate my future. I close this chapter for good, sealing the door with a promise to myself: I am worthy of better.

It was 2021, and I had just come out of a relationship with someone who was extremely possessive. It was like I could finally breathe again. For the first time in years, I felt free—free to hold my phone without constantly glancing over my shoulder, free to choose what I wanted to wear, free to spend time with friends, and attend parties without the weight of someone else’s control. It was empowering.

But that freedom didn’t come without its struggles. In the first few months of being on my own, I was hit with a wave of anxiety and uncertainty. I had been so used to someone else dictating my life that I didn’t know how to fully navigate it on my own. It was a strange feeling—after fighting so hard to get out of a relationship that stifled me, I found myself a little lost.

No longer having someone control me was a relief, but it also meant I had to adjust to taking responsibility for everything myself. The simple things I’d once been comfortable letting him handle were now on me. It was daunting, but I reminded myself that I’d fought for this freedom. I wasn’t going to let the discomfort pull me back into old habits.

One of the hardest parts was getting back online and socializing again. I had fallen off the radar for almost two years—no social media posts, no updates, nothing. So when I finally reappeared on Facebook, my friends were shocked. The first messages I received were along the lines of, "Wow, where have you been?!" They were right—two years is a long time to go dark.

Reconnecting wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. I struggled to respond to messages and reach out to people. It was like I had forgotten how to socialize after being isolated for so long. I felt out of place, like I didn’t quite belong in the world I’d left behind. I wanted to rekindle friendships, but I was afraid. Afraid of rejection, afraid of the awkwardness, and afraid of not being the same person they used to know.

But little by little, I’m finding my way back. It hasn’t been smooth or easy, but I’m learning to embrace this new chapter of independence. Every day, I remind myself that this journey is mine to navigate, and no matter how slow the progress, I’m moving forward.

The restaurant was charming, the kind of place you’d only stumble upon if you knew exactly where to look. Warm lights cast a soft glow over the table, and the hum of quiet conversation filled the space. We had been talking about everything—our favorite places to visit, the movies that shaped us, even our love-hate relationship with dating apps. It was one of those nights where everything felt easy. Until the food arrived.

The waiter approached, carefully setting a large, beautifully arranged seafood platter between us. Shrimp, mussels, oysters—the works. The kind of dish that would impress any other date. But for me? It was like watching a horror show unfold in slow motion.

I froze, staring at the plate as my stomach sank. The last time I’d come into contact with seafood, I ended up in the hospital, my throat closing before I could even realize what was happening. The mere sight of it was enough to send my heart racing.

“Everything alright?” he asked, noticing my hesitation.

I glanced up, not wanting to make a scene, but there was no avoiding it.

“Uh… I’m actually allergic to seafood,” I said, my voice quieter than usual.

His eyes widened in shock, and for a split second, I saw the panic flash across his face.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he said, his hand immediately going to his forehead like he couldn’t believe his own mistake. “I didn’t even think to ask. I swear I’ll double-check next time!”

I couldn’t help but smile, even as the waiter, who overheard, swiftly took the plate away to replace it with something less life-threatening.

“It’s okay,” I replied, waving it off, though I couldn’t quite hide the nervous laugh that followed. “Happens more often than you’d think.”

He looked relieved, but the guilt still hung in the air. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, his expression sincere.

“No, really, that’s on me. I should’ve asked. I don’t want to accidentally kill you on a first date,” he said with a grin, though the joke barely masked his embarrassment.

I laughed, the tension breaking a little more. “Yeah, that would definitely put a damper on things.”

As we waited for the replacement dish, the conversation flowed again, though with a few seafood-related jokes sprinkled in.

“I’ll be sure to stay far away from shellfish from now on,” he added with a sheepish smile. “You’ve made me rethink my entire seafood-loving existence.”

“Well,” I said, “at least you’ll never forget this date.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No chance. Next time, I’m asking about everything. I’m talking allergies, preferences, zodiac signs—whatever I need to know to avoid another seafood disaster.”

I couldn’t help but be charmed by how quickly he turned the situation around. It wasn’t just that he apologized; it was that he genuinely cared. He wasn’t trying to brush it off or make me feel like I was overreacting. He was thoughtful, and the way he handled it—so effortlessly kind—was something I didn’t expect but appreciated more than I could say.

As the night went on, it became less about the seafood mishap and more about how we laughed through it. That small moment could’ve been awkward or embarrassing, but instead, it brought us closer. His genuine concern and the way he quickly promised to do better next time told me a lot about who he was.

When the new dish finally arrived—this time a seafood-free option—he grinned. “Now, how’s that for a safer choice?”

I smiled back. “Perfect."

The night wrapped up, and as we left the restaurant, the cool breeze brushing past us, I found myself thinking about how one small mistake revealed so much about someone’s character. It wasn’t about avoiding errors or being perfect; it was about how we handle those little bumps along the way.

As we said goodnight, he leaned in and said, “Next time, it’s on me. And I promise, no seafood.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing. “Just steer clear of lobsters, okay?”

We parted ways, and as I walked home, I realized something. It wasn’t the flawless date that stuck with me—it was the way he turned a near disaster into something that felt like the beginning of something real. A small mistake, yes, but one handled with so much care that I couldn’t help but look forward to whatever came next.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m living a life I don’t fully deserve. No matter how many achievements I rack up, or how many times people praise my work, there’s this persistent voice in my head whispering that it’s all a fluke. That I don’t belong here. That I’m fooling everyone.

Imposter syndrome is like an unwelcome guest that shows up in the quiet moments, casting doubt on everything I’ve accomplished. It tells me that my success is an accident, that eventually, someone is going to figure out I’m not as capable as I seem. I look at others who seem to move through life with ease, confident and self-assured, and wonder how they do it—how they walk around without the constant fear of being “found out.”

For me, every new challenge feels like a test I might not pass. Even when I’ve prepared, even when I know my stuff, there’s that nagging feeling that somehow, I’m not good enough. The worst part is how easy it is to downplay my own efforts. I’ll tell myself, “It wasn’t that hard,” or, “Anyone could’ve done that,” as if minimizing my work will shield me from the possibility of failure.

But that doesn’t make the fear go away. It just hides it beneath layers of self-doubt. Instead of celebrating my victories, I question them. Instead of owning my success, I attribute it to luck or timing, convinced that at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

The thing is, I know I’m not alone in this feeling. So many of us walk around with this invisible weight, afraid that one wrong step will expose us. But I also know that those feelings aren’t truth—they’re just fear disguised as fact. And though I struggle with it, I’m learning that I don’t have to listen to that voice. I can acknowledge it without letting it dictate how I live.

Because the truth is, I’ve worked hard for what I’ve achieved. I’ve earned my place, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. And just because I grapple with feelings of inadequacy doesn’t mean I am inadequate.

It’s a journey, learning to silence the imposter in my head, but I’m on the path. Every day, I remind myself that I’m not just faking it—I’m showing up, doing the work, and becoming the person I’m meant to be.

There’s something irresistible about seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, isn’t there? The way everything glows with possibility, how hope somehow softens reality’s harsh edges. I’ve always been that person—the one who walks straight into the fire, not quite realizing until it’s too late that I’m bound to get burned.

When I meet someone new, be it a friend or a lover, I’m quick to embrace the beauty in them. I’m captivated by their quirks, their charm, their flaws that I somehow convince myself I can fix. It’s as though I’m spellbound by the idea that, despite what everyone else sees, this connection is different. "No," I think, "they don’t understand." And while the people around me see warning signs flashing like bright neon lights, I remain oblivious, wrapped in the fantasy I’ve built around this person or situation.

Perhaps it’s my unwavering belief in the good in people, or maybe it’s the romantic in me that refuses to let go of the narrative that love, friendship, or loyalty can conquer all. Others whisper in my ear, gentle but firm, “Can’t you see? This is going to hurt you.” But their words are like smoke in the wind—there one moment, gone the next—unable to penetrate the dream I’m living in.

Time and time again, I find myself drawn to those whose hearts are closed off, whose intentions aren’t pure, or whose presence in my life is anything but good for me. Yet, I stay. I convince myself that if I just hold on a little longer, the tide will turn, the light will shine through the cracks, and things will change. I remain, steadfast in my denial, until—inevitably—the story crumbles, and the weight of reality hits me like a wave.

And then, there’s the aftermath. The unraveling of everything I thought I knew, the sudden clarity that leaves me breathless, wondering how I didn’t see it all along. It’s a bittersweet symphony, really—this constant cycle of falling for the wrong people, making excuses, ignoring the inevitable, only to be left standing in the ruins of what could have been.

But I suppose that’s the price of seeing the world in a way that others don’t. I chase after the dream, the ideal, the promise of something beautiful, even if it’s fleeting. And though it often leaves me with scars, there’s something tragically romantic about the fact that I’m willing to risk the fall. Because deep down, I believe that one day, amidst all the red flags I so easily ignore, I’ll find something real, something worth holding on to.

Until then, I’ll continue to stumble blindly through the mess, still hopeful, still searching, and still seeing the world with those rose-colored glasses—until they finally shatter.

Good night!

Saying goodbye to someone you once loved hits differently—it feels like you’re losing a piece of yourself, like the life you built together is slipping away. But as time passes, you start to see it for what it is: not a loss, but a chance to rediscover yourself and take back your heart. You learn to put your own needs, dreams, and happiness first. That’s where I am now, standing in that new, unfamiliar freedom.

No, I don’t want you back. Not in the way I once thought I would. We’ve grown older, and, more importantly, we’ve grown apart. The connection that once kept us close has faded, and with it, my need for you. I’ve taken that step many fear – the step towards reclaiming my own life, apart from the one we shared.

In the process of moving forward, I found myself rediscovering who I am. When you're with someone for so long, it's easy to lose yourself. You start compromising, blending your personality to fit theirs, and sometimes you forget the things that made you... you. But now, after letting go, I’ve started to rebuild. I’ve taken back my heart, my sense of self, and with that came the courage to start fresh.

I packed my bags and moved to a new city – the place where I was supposed to restart, to thrive, and find my footing. But instead, I’ve found myself feeling… nothing. It’s not that I expected things to immediately fall into place, but there’s an emptiness I can’t shake. It’s like I’m in the right spot for a new beginning, but my heart and mind just aren’t ready to bloom yet.

It’s strange. I’ve planted myself in fertile soil – a new city, new surroundings, new opportunities – but I refuse to let anything take root. I know there’s the potential for something beautiful to grow, whether it’s new friendships, a new love, or simply a new sense of belonging. Yet, for now, I’ve been keeping everything at a distance.

Maybe it’s fear. Fear of letting anything new take hold, knowing that it could uproot me once again. Or maybe it’s just that I need more time to heal, more time to understand who I am in this new chapter of my life. It’s hard to open up when you’ve just closed a door that was such a big part of your identity.

But even if I feel nothing at the moment, I know it’s temporary. I know that, eventually, something will take root – whether I let it or not. Life has a way of moving forward, even when we resist it. So, while I might not be ready right now, I’m learning to be patient with myself. I’m learning that it’s okay to not feel like I’m flourishing just yet. The seeds of growth are there; they’re just waiting for the right time to sprout.

For now, I’ll keep rediscovering myself, taking back more pieces of my heart and soul. And when the time comes, I’ll be ready to let something beautiful grow.

Daily affirmations

I am healthy, I am wealthy, I am rich, I am that bitch I am gonna go get that bag and I am not gonna take your shit I am protected, well respected, I'm a queen, I'm a dream I do what I wanna do and I'm who I wanna be 'Cause I am me

Thanks, Flo Milli!

Lately, I've found myself turning to astrology more than I'd like to admit. It started as something fun and lighthearted—reading my horoscope for a little daily insight, checking my birth chart to see if the stars aligned with how I was feeling. But slowly, it became more than that. Now, I find myself looking to astrology for validation, seeking answers to questions I don't even fully understand.

The problem is, the more I rely on it, the more cynical I become. It's almost like I'm waiting for the universe to give me a sign that everything will work out, but it never quite happens the way I expect. Every time something doesn’t align with the "predictions," it throws me off. I start overthinking everything—why isn't my chart matching my reality? What does this mean for my future? Is something wrong with me or my choices?

In some ways, it feels like I'm losing trust in myself. Instead of taking charge of my life, I'm handing over the responsibility to something abstract, like the alignment of the stars. And honestly, it can be exhausting. I spend too much time analyzing and trying to piece together meaning from the cosmos, when maybe I just need to live my life, make decisions, and be okay with the uncertainty.

Astrology has its place—it can be a comforting lens to view the world through. But I’m realizing that relying on it for constant validation only traps me in a cycle of doubt and overthinking. I need to remind myself that while the stars can offer guidance, they don’t have all the answers. At the end of the day, it's up to me to trust my own instincts and make peace with the fact that life won’t always fit neatly into an astrological chart.

Maybe, instead of looking up at the stars for clarity, I need to start looking within.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I sat at the dinner table with my parents. I had been waiting for this moment—the moment to talk about him. I smiled as I spoke, telling them what a great guy he was. He was kind, thoughtful, hardworking, and, I believed, someone who genuinely cared for me. I was convincing them—convincing myself, really—that I had found someone good.

Little did I know, while I was telling my parents how lucky I was, my phone was buzzing with messages I hadn’t seen yet. Messages that would unravel everything. He had chosen that very moment, when I was trying to paint him in the best possible light, to break me.

When I finally checked my phone later that night, there it was—a breakup in the coldest, most unexpected way. “I don’t think this is working out,” he wrote. As if my heart wasn’t already racing from the excitement of sharing him with my parents, it shattered all over again reading his words.

How could I have been so wrong about him? One minute, I was talking about how wonderful he was; the next, I was realizing that everything I believed had been a lie. It was like a cruel joke the universe was playing on me—the timing, the irony of it all.

I replayed my earlier conversation with my parents in my head, feeling like a fool. I had spent the better part of the afternoon defending someone who wasn’t even fighting for me. I was pouring out words of love and admiration, while he was silently letting go. And the worst part? I never saw it coming.

It’s strange how blind we can be when we’re in love. We see only what we want to see—the good moments, the gentle words, the potential of what could be. I was so caught up in the idea of him that I missed the reality that he wasn’t as invested as I was.

In that moment, I wasn’t just heartbroken over losing him—I was heartbroken over the version of him I had built up in my mind. The version I wanted so badly to be true, the one I was excited to share with my parents. But he wasn’t that guy. Not even close.

As I sat in my room that night, the pain hit me in waves. The disappointment of not just losing someone I loved but also realizing I had been wrong about him hurt deeply. I felt embarrassed, not only because I had just told my parents how wonderful he was, but because I had believed it myself.

But as the days passed, I realized this heartbreak wasn’t just about him. It was about me, too. About how I had let myself settle for someone who wasn’t deserving of the love I had to offer. How I had been so focused on getting others to see his goodness that I forgot to see if he was good for me.

Looking back now, I realize that heartbreak has a way of teaching us the lessons we don’t want to learn. I learned that sometimes the people we think are good for us are the ones who hurt us the most. I learned that it’s okay to be wrong about someone, but it’s not okay to stop trusting yourself because of it.

He may have broken my heart while I was defending his character, but in the end, I’m the one who gets to decide how to pick up the pieces. And next time, I’ll be more careful about who I choose to give those pieces to.

Why People in Relationships Who Stay in the Dating Pool Are the Worst 🙄🙄🙄

Let’s get one thing straight: if you’re already in a relationship and still lurking in the dating pool, you’re playing with fire—and not in the fun, adventurous way. You’re deliberately hurting people, and no matter how you spin it, that’s just plain selfish.

For starters, relationships are built on trust. When someone chooses to be with you, they’re committing their time, emotions, and often a big part of their life to you. By keeping one foot in the dating world, you’re betraying that trust. It’s dishonest and manipulative. You’re leading people on, both your partner and anyone you’re flirting with in the dating scene, giving them false hope or expectations.

It's not just about hurting your partner either. The people you’re chatting up on dating apps or meeting through other channels? They're being deceived too. No one enters the dating pool thinking they’re going to be someone’s backup plan or side fling. Most people are there hoping to build something genuine, and by pretending to be available, you’re wasting their time and energy—time they could be using to find someone who's actually emotionally and physically available.

Then there’s the emotional damage you're causing. People who discover their partner is still dating on the side often end up with trust issues, insecurities, and emotional scars that last long after the relationship ends. You’re not just making a mistake in the moment; you’re causing long-term harm to others.

Being in the dating pool while in a relationship is an act of selfishness. It shows a lack of respect for your partner and for the people you're stringing along. If you're unhappy in your current relationship or seeking something new, the mature and respectful thing to do is end things before involving other people. Otherwise, you're just proving you don’t value honesty, loyalty, or the feelings of those around you.

In short, if you’re in a relationship and still trying to date, you're acting like an asshole. It’s toxic, harmful, and deeply disrespectful to everyone involved. Do better. 💅

Depression is an odd thing. It doesn’t always stem from a single reason, and it’s not something I can just “snap out of.” There’s a common misconception that people are depressed because they’re constantly sad, but that’s not always the case. For me, it feels like a heavy weight that sits on my chest, something that zaps my energy, motivation, and joy—even on days when everything is going okay.

Some days, it’s the little things that pile up: unanswered emails, personal doubts, the pressure of being a parent—especially to a son with autism—and the overwhelming sense that I’m just not doing enough. Other times, it’s bigger, unresolved issues, like dealing with loss, past traumas, or feeling like I’m constantly underperforming in areas of my life, despite my best efforts.

Living with depression also makes relationships tricky. I often feel disconnected from people, even those I love. Sometimes, I withdraw, not because I don’t care but because I just don’t have the energy to keep up. Other times, I overcompensate, trying too hard to be present, only to feel drained afterward.

As a single mother, I’m responsible for more than just myself, and that pressure can be overwhelming. While I love my son deeply, managing life on my own sometimes feels like walking uphill with weights tied to my legs. It’s not about him—it’s about the relentless pressure of trying to be everything for everyone while still battling my own inner demons.

I go to therapy because I know I need help unraveling everything that’s been tangled up inside for years. There are days when I feel a glimmer of hope, when I feel like maybe things are turning around. But there are also days when I just need to ride out the storm, trusting that even though it feels endless, it will eventually pass.

So if I seem distant, tired, or not like myself, it’s not that I’m avoiding anyone. It’s just that I’m doing my best to survive the battle that’s happening inside my own head.