Long time no see

It's crazy how consistently I choose inconsistency. I stopped writing the moment I started getting other work. Yes, I started an internship at a publication and it's pretty awesome. Today however, I am feeling a little feverish, so I decided to rest. And what happens when I decide to rest? I write, right!

So, there are different things I wanna talk about today.

1. My skillsets
2. My therapy
3. My standard of living
4. My principles

Let's begin with my skillsets.

For the longest time, I thought my biggest skill was writing. Turns out, writing is just one branch of a rather chaotic tree. Over the years, I've accidentally collected skills the way people collect souvenirs. Content writing, editing, proofreading, teaching, social media management, SEO, graphic design, branding, publishing, a little bit of video editing, a little bit of marketing—I keep picking things up because I'm curious. Not because I planned my career that way.

Sometimes that makes me feel like I know everything halfway instead of one thing completely. Other times, I realize that being able to connect different fields is a skill in itself. I can look at a book and think beyond the manuscript. I think about the cover, the typography, the reader, the Instagram reel, the product page, the author interview, the marketing campaign, and the shelf it'll eventually sit on. Maybe that's what I'm actually good at—seeing the whole picture.

Now, therapy.

I never imagined I'd become someone who talks positively about therapy. Growing up, I thought healing happened automatically with time. It doesn't. Time simply gives you more opportunities to either heal or repeat the same mistakes.

Therapy isn't some magical room where your life gets fixed in fifty minutes. It's uncomfortable. Sometimes you leave feeling lighter. Sometimes you leave feeling like someone just reorganized your brain and forgot to put the furniture back where it belonged.

One thing my therapist said has stayed with me. She said that resilience is probably my greatest strength. I didn't know whether to feel proud or sad. Because resilience sounds beautiful until you realize people usually become resilient after surviving things they never should have had to survive.

I'm still learning to be kinder to myself. That's surprisingly harder than being kind to other people.

Then comes my standard of living.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about money recently. Not because I dream of luxury, but because I dream of stability. There's a difference.

I don't need designer handbags or expensive cars. I want to buy books without calculating whether I should wait until next month. I want to order good coffee without feeling guilty. I want to visit my parents because I miss them, not because I happen to have enough money for train tickets. I want a room full of books, warm lights, wooden shelves, plants that don't die because I forgot to water them, and enough financial security that an unexpected expense doesn't feel like a personal attack.

I've also realized that my standard of living includes time. Time to read. Time to write. Time to think. Time to do absolutely nothing once in a while. If my career takes away all of that, then no amount of money will make it feel successful.

Finally, my principles.

I'm not someone with a long list of rules, but there are a few things I refuse to compromise on.

I believe people deserve respect until they prove otherwise.

I believe good work matters more than loud work.

I believe saying "I don't know" is smarter than pretending you do.

I believe books change people, even if the change is too subtle to notice immediately.

I believe kindness is not weakness, and boundaries are not cruelty.

Most importantly, I believe that life isn't a race against other people. It's a conversation with the person you were yesterday.

I'm sure I'll break some of my own principles. I'll contradict myself. I'll fail. I'll start projects I never finish and abandon hobbies only to rediscover them months later. Apparently, consistency and I are still in a very complicated relationship.

But maybe that's okay.

Maybe growth isn't becoming a perfectly disciplined human being who wakes up at five every morning, drinks green juice, journals religiously, and somehow has their entire life colour-coded in Notion.

Maybe growth is simply returning.

Returning to writing after weeks of silence.

Returning to books after scrolling for hours.

Returning to yourself after trying so hard to become someone everyone else wanted.

If that's the definition, then I think I'm doing just fine.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to make myself a cup of tea, take my medicines, and probably convince myself that tomorrow is the day I become consistent.

I've been saying that for years.

One day, I'll probably be right.