My Mind Won’t Let Me Rest At Night

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.

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?

Kinda having some hard time making friends. Have been talking to my family since lockdown and I never checked anybody. This is funny. And I am also scared making friends. When someone tries to talk to me I think I make them bored and at the end I feel stupid and I don’t even know what to talk about haha omg whyyyyyy

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!

I don’t know about you, but dating apps are a comedy goldmine. Don’t get me wrong—I understand their purpose and how they’ve helped so many people find connections, but honestly, they’re like an endless source of entertainment for me.

First of all, the profiles. Some are well thought out, showcasing someone’s personality and interests, but then you’ve got the absolute gems. The guys who upload blurry photos from 2010, or better yet, a group photo where you have no idea which person you're supposed to be swiping on. Or the ones where they pose with a fish—what’s with the fish?! Is that supposed to reel me in?

And let’s not forget the bios. I’ve seen it all—from overly poetic lines like, “I’m a wanderer looking for my partner in this chaotic universe” to the extreme laziness of, “I don’t know what to put here, just ask.” You get two extremes—people trying way too hard to sound deep and philosophical, or people who are straight-up giving no effort. Both are funny, in their own ways.

The conversations, though, that’s where the real comedy kicks in. Sometimes you get a perfectly fine opener like, “Hey, how’s it going?” Other times, it’s like people forget how to have a normal conversation and come in with, “You’re cute, wanna get married?” I mean, at least they’re getting to the point! But really, there’s no better way to start a day than by reading awkward pickup lines or someone saying something completely random out of nowhere. It's like people are playing a game of How weird can I be?

And then there’s the unmatched confidence some people have. Like, they’ll send one message and if you don’t respond in 15 minutes, it’s either “Hello??” or worse, “I didn’t like you anyway.” What even is that?! The speed at which some people can go from interested to offended is impressive.

Maybe I’m just here for the show, but dating apps, to me, are like reality TV: a little absurd, a little unexpected, and always good for a laugh. Sure, I might be looking for a real connection, but I’m definitely going to enjoy the comedy while I’m at it.

Feeling queasy.

It Has Been Quiet for a While

It has been silent in my life a bit lately. Between work, family, and the usual routine, things seemed to have slowed down in the personal connection department. So, I did something I hadn’t done in a while—I went back to dating apps. It felt like dipping my toes back into an ocean I hadn't swum in for a while, with no expectations, just curiosity.

I started chatting with random people. Some conversations were fleeting, like waves crashing quickly and disappearing into the shore, while others lingered a little longer. Then, there was one guy in particular who stood out from the rest. We had so much in common—our interests, hobbies, and even some random quirks. What surprised me the most, though, was how comfortable I felt expressing myself with him.

There was no pressure to impress or act a certain way. I could just be me, flaws and all, and he seemed to embrace that. In a world that often feels loud and demanding, this simple connection brought some warmth into the silence. It's early days, and who knows what the future holds, but for now, it feels nice to share a moment with someone who genuinely seems to get me.

Maybe the silence wasn’t so bad after all—it gave me space to appreciate this connection when it came.

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.

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.

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.