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The Gentle Power of Being Alone

I used to think that doing things alone meant something was missing. That if no one was beside me, the experience wouldn’t feel complete. But lately… I’ve started seeing it differently. There’s something quietly magical about being alone—on purpose. It’s in those solo café moments, when it’s just me, my thoughts, and the soft hum of the world around me… that I begin to feel most like me . I’m not performing, not adjusting, not reading between the lines of someone else’s energy. I’m just being —and there’s so much peace in that. Alone time has become my reset. My reminder that I don’t always need to wait for someone else to say “let’s go” before I do something I’ve been wanting. Whether it’s going to the gym, taking myself out for a quiet meal, or even just walking without a destination—I’ve found a kind of freedom there that feels gentle but powerful. What touches me most is how, in that stillness, I hear myself more clearly. I understand my thoughts better. I can feel when somethin...
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Lost, but Still Breathing

When we see ourselves as only flesh and bone, the mind scatters—chasing noise, avoiding silence. But when we remember there’s more—something deeper—the way we see life begins to shift. It’s like a seesaw. We swing between the physical and the unseen. Some days we feel everything. Other days we feel nothing at all. But in that back-and-forth, something in us starts to understand. We experience pain to know what peace feels like. Our hurts come in many forms—through the body, the heart, the mind. And so does joy. These moments shape us, not just to survive—but to remember that we’re meant to grow, not stay stuck. Many of us stay in the mental space, focused on what hurts, what heals, what distracts. But it’s a loop. Temporary highs, shallow fixes, wasted energy. We rarely ask: What would it feel like to connect to something deeper? That’s where spirit comes in. It’s not some distant concept—it’s the part of us that remembers the sun even after long nights. It’s quiet, strong, and of...

A day I remembered my worth

Maturing is realizing that not everyone is meant to stay — and that doesn’t mean they were a mistake. Some people are mirrors. Some are teachers. Some are simply chapters. And it’s okay to outgrow them. I don’t owe anyone permanence just because we shared a moment. I’ve learned to stop forcing closure. Sometimes the healing is in the unanswered questions. In the silence that follows the storm. In choosing to move forward anyway. It’s realizing that I can still be a good person even if someone misunderstood me. That I don’t have to shrink to keep the peace — I can be kind and clear. I can walk away and still wish them well. Maturing is noticing when I’m performing instead of living. Catching myself mid-people-pleasing and gently asking, “But what do you want, really?” And then giving myself permission to want it. It’s not always easy. But it’s always worth it. I am not here to be everything for everyone. I am here to be fully, completely, unapologetically… me. Love, Chits!

The circle I keep...

There’s something profoundly painful about realizing that a small misunderstanding can unravel the truth of how someone really feels about you. It’s strange, isn’t it? How quickly a single moment can expose the undercurrent of thoughts people have quietly carried about you—thoughts you never imagined they held. Makes the things that I thought important value just left as unnecessary. I’ve always chosen people in my life with care. My circle is not just a group; it's a space I guard deeply. Letting someone into that space is not a casual act—it’s rooted in sincerity, intention, and hope. I value the people I keep close. I give them trust, warmth, and the comfort of being known.  Being bare is who I am.... So when that is thrown out the window—over a misjudgment, a silence, a reaction that cuts deep—it aches. It makes me question if the sincerity I pour out is seen, or if it's disposable. And what’s worse is not the misunderstanding itself, but what it uncovers: the unspoken trut...

Hello, Monday....

I hate you. Not just because of the work piling up—but because today, I end up with that familiar weight again. I cried. Quietly. Not for attention. Not for help. Just because the pain needed somewhere to go. I thought I was past this. I thought I had healed. But one tiny trigger, and suddenly I was there again— Back in the version of me who wasn’t enough. Back in the moment where love felt one-sided. Back where I started to disappear just to be chosen. I know it sounds tired. I know people have it worse. But this… this ache? It’s sharp. It tells me I’m unlovable, even when I know that’s not true. It makes silence feel like rejection. Distance feel like punishment. God, I haven’t moved on—not fully. I’ve functioned. I’ve laughed. I’ve shown up. But I’m still carrying pieces of something that broke me. Please… Heal this. I can’t keep cycling through this pain every time I try to open up again. Some days, I’d rather stay numb. Because the ghosts? They don’t knock—they barge in. And sudde...

Climbing the Mountain (in Birkenstock, Obviously)

You know that quote — “Everything happens for a reason.” Yeah, I’ve heard it too. Usually right after my favorite nasi padang stall runs out of rendang, or when I miss a flight only to find out it was delayed anyway. But lately, that quote hits a little different. Life has been throwing me curveballs like it's training for Wimbledon nahhh more like training for 10K. The highs have been breathtaking — those rare moments where the stars align, my eyeliner flick is perfect, and I feel like Beyoncé on a budget. The lows? Oh, darling. Let’s just say I’ve had existential crises in the middle of a traffic jam while listening to 90s love songs. And cried over freakin chocolate for once. Don't ask. But here’s what I’m learning: nothing is random. Not the people who came in like a thunderstorm, flipped my world upside down, then ghosted like Casper. Not the detours. Not even the silent moments that felt like life hit “pause.” There’s a weirdly poetic logic behind it all — a “Divine Plot ...

A Little Messy, A Lot of Real

April felt like that middle part of a romcom — not quite the beginning where everything’s cute, not yet the happy ending — just the messy part where the main character is figuring stuff out with unwashed hair and mismatched socks. There were good days, for sure — the kind where I felt productive, inspired, maybe even a little bit on it. But then there were also those “can I just pause life for a sec?” kind of days. Days when my brain felt foggy, my heart felt heavy, and honestly, I just wanted someone to tell me I’m doing okay. And maybe I am. Because even on the days I felt tired or stuck or unsure — I still showed up. For work. For others. For myself (even if it was just brushing my hair and answering one email before hiding under a blanket again). There were small wins too: choosing rest without guilt, sending that message I was scared to send, letting go of something that was weighing me down. And also — finding comfort in the little things, like warm coffee, long showers, unexpect...