Tonight I’m sitting with one thought more than anything else: I need tomorrow to be different . My hope is that tomorrow is the day things finally begin to take form and take shape. Lately, it feels like I’ve been letting everything except the important things take control of my time, my attention, and my peace of mind. I keep moving, I keep doing things, I keep sending emails and making plans and thinking ahead, but when I stop and really look at it, I have to ask myself a h

Let me take a step back for a second and really process what happened, because I think that’s the only way I can move forward properly. Late February was the turning point. That’s where things started to shift in a way that I didn’t fully understand at the time. I made a decision to reach out to someone that, deep down, I probably shouldn’t have reached out to. Not because they’re a bad person, but because of what that connection represented for me mentally. It wasn’t stable.

This month is a crucial month for me. I can feel it. There are moments in life where you realize that the direction you're going in will determine a lot of what happens next, and I feel like I’m standing in one of those moments right now. I have a lot that I want to accomplish, especially with my music and the things I’ve been creating. But more than anything, this month is about discipline and learning how to move properly with the time and energy that I have. Recently I tal

This morning started a little differently than usual. I woke up later than I normally do, and by the time I got up, my dad had already left for work. Most mornings I’m the one who takes him, so it felt strange realizing he had already gone. For a moment I wondered if I should feel guilty about that, but honestly I was exhausted. The last couple of weeks have been overwhelming, and my body is clearly still trying to recover from all of it. Still, the day doesn’t stop just beca

After the past couple of weeks, I feel like I’ve been given something I didn’t expect—a new lease on life. Not in some dramatic, cinematic way, but in a quieter, more reflective way. The last two weeks were chaotic, exhausting, and honestly overwhelming. I went through midterms, back-to-back stress, and moments where I wasn’t functioning at my best. But now that I’m stepping back and looking at everything that happened, I feel like I’m being given another chance to make thing

I’m about to go into my therapy session today, and I feel awful. At the same time, a strange kind of relief has come over me. It’s like a weight has finally been lifted, but the path that led me to that relief was messy. I made mistakes along the way. I damaged connections with people. I mishandled situations. I tried to be everywhere all at once, except in the one place I actually needed to be. That’s the pattern I’m starting to notice about myself lately. I move fast. I jug

It’s 3 o’clock in the morning. I should be asleep. Instead, I’m sitting here wondering if I’ve been sabotaging myself. Not because I’m lazy. Not because I don’t care. But because I have too much to do. And when there’s too much to do, something in me freezes. I stay up late worrying instead of sleeping. I plan instead of executing. I overthink instead of organizing. I haven’t even touched the FE exam the way I should. But it’s not even about “touching the FE exam.” It’s about

It’s crazy that it’s almost March. Midterms are either here or around the corner. The semester is moving whether I’m ready or not. Time doesn’t slow down just because I’m overwhelmed. It doesn’t pause because I feel unproductive. It doesn’t care if I spent Monday watching YouTube instead of pushing my research forward. And that’s the reality I have to sit with. I just ate a whole sandwich, and now I can’t sleep. Too much food, too late at night. It’s small, but it represents

I don’t know. I’m just getting sadder and more depressed, and I can feel it happening in real time. Part of it is because I push people away—but in my mind, I do it for a good reason. I tell myself they were going to push me away first anyway. I’ve been rejected enough times to believe that before anything even starts, it’s already over. There was this one person I felt close to. We had a shared trauma bond, both struggling with our mental health in different ways. I thought

Lately, I’ve been realizing something uncomfortable but necessary: I have too many goals. And having too many goals is not always a blessing—it can be a burden if you don’t know how to prioritize them. I’ve always been ambitious. I want to do research. I want to pass the FE exam. I want to release music. I want to write a book. I want to build a legacy. I want to graduate with a PhD. I want to be great. But greatness doesn’t come from having dreams. It comes from deciding wha

I’ve always lived with a quiet but persistent fear: the feeling of being overexposed. To me, overexposure isn’t just about being visible. It’s deeper than that. It’s the feeling that people know too much about you—your thoughts, your next moves, your vulnerabilities, your private life. It’s the sense that nothing is truly yours anymore. No privacy. No mystery. No control. When you’re overexposed, it feels like your identity is no longer in your hands. It feels like other peop

It’s the middle of the week, and classes have just begun. Normally, this is the part of the semester where motivation should still be high—where routines are fresh and optimism hasn’t worn thin yet. But instead of feeling focused, I already feel behind. Unproductive. Uneasy. Worried about where my future is actually headed. I’m drinking too much coffee, trying to force energy that doesn’t feel natural. I know that’s a sign in itself. When I rely on caffeine to manufacture urg

We’re officially in a new year— 2026 —and I won’t lie, it feels different. It feels heavy, but it also feels purposeful. After everything I went through last year, I made a vow to myself that this year would be the best year of my life , not because things will magically be easier, but because I’m finally willing to do the work without excuses. Last year taught me something humbling: I’m not special.  And I don’t mean that in a depressing way—I mean it in a grounding way. Non