Category: Daily blog

Log of my everyday

Yoga mat beside open journal and bowl of fruit on wooden floor near window

Day 221: Trying to

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have heard over and over again that to develop good behavior you don’t need to be perfect — you just need to be consistent. But that’s where I struggle. I always want things to be good because I don’t want people to find fault in what I do. I think I probably want their appreciation, but the main thing I worry about is someone saying that it’s bad. I don’t particularly want everyone to like what I do, but I really don’t want anyone to hate it. Is that a shallow thought? I end up spending way too much time trying to perfect the things I do, and at some point I feel it’s taking too much time. Then I decide it isn’t worth it, and my hope of starting a good habit fades away. With the pressure of work and studies, good habits fall out of the list of things that get done in the day.

I wanted to make exercise a daily thing just to keep myself healthy. I tried for three months, but the body aches kept getting worse and worse until I gave up. The thought of pain made me want to take a break. I kept thinking I would get back to it, but the truth is I never actually did.

I wanted to stop eating outside food and start cooking at home. I wanted to learn different recipes. I don’t have a refined palate — if it were up to me, I could probably live on instant food for the rest of my life. But I knew it wasn’t healthy, and I wanted to eat better. I managed to cook for two days in a week, and then I was done. By day two I felt exhausted and didn’t have the energy to try again.

Another thing I lose is my hobbies and passion projects. I wanted to start writing again. I’ve always wanted to write my own novel. When I was 13, I wrote the first chapter after months of creating characters and a plot line. It took me four months because I kept re‑editing it. But as schoolwork increased, I dropped the weekly writing practice.

I also wanted to continue improving my art skills. I started drawing whenever I found time — between school notes and random pieces of paper. Over time, I collected a lot of sketches stuffed into a file. I wanted to learn portrait painting, but I never put in the time to improve.

When it comes to sleep versus good habits, sleep wins. And when work and study come into the picture, hobbies fall off my mind. I am trying to stay consistent. I am trying to make a better version of myself. This year I thought I would start doing things every day, but it’s like I start and then stop, start again, go on for some days, and then stop again. Consistency is my Everest, and I am hoping that maybe this time around, I can conquer it.

Person standing on rocky cliff edge facing sunset over ocean

Day 218: Falling, Failing and Finding a way to hold on

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It has been more than 200 days since my diagnosis was confirmed, and the weight of it still lingers. I often feel like I’m falling—slipping into fear whenever I think about being alone. The thought of pain flaring up and causing me to stumble or collapse is always at the back of my mind. Independence, something I once took for granted, now feels fragile.

There are days when I feel like I’m failing. I want to reassure my family that I can manage on my own, that I am capable of caring for myself. Yet doubts creep in, whispering that I’m not strong enough. I don’t ask for extraordinary achievements; I only want to do the ordinary things—tasks that make up a normal life—without fear or dependence. But impatience grows as each month passes, reminding me that I’m not yet back to my old self. The mantra “You are better than before” has started to lose its power, and negativity presses harder against the walls I try to build.

And yet, I keep searching for a way to hold on. I remind myself that healing is slow, that years of damage cannot be undone in months. I look at people who seem to carry positivity like a shield and wonder how they manage it all day long. Their willpower feels extraordinary. If I could capture even a fraction of that strength, I believe I could reshape my life.

Holding on doesn’t mean ignoring the fear or denying the setbacks. It means acknowledging the falls, accepting the failures, and still choosing to keep moving forward. That, I think, is where resilience begins.

Teenage girl writing in a notebook at a desk in a bedroom with Harry Potter poster and packed boxes

Day 211: Finding my Independence

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Being the younger child in the family comes with a lot of privileges, but it also comes with its challenges. While I am extremely pampered because my parents literally want to do everything for me, they do not set high expectations because they don’t want me to feel burdened. They are always happy with whatever I achieve, no matter how insignificant it is.

I have now come to a stage in my life where I want to live independently. I want to have my own home — and yes, my parents’ home will always be my home. But being the younger child often means your opinions or choices are not really considered. I think I want a home of my own not for the freedom that comes with it, but because I want to decorate it the way I like. I want to finally be able to buy furniture that I love. I want to have my own office room that I can set up according to my preference, without someone constantly asking, “Do you really need this? Why this? Why that?” And of course, I want to walk around my house in the clothes I like. Since I’ll essentially be by myself, I doubt relatives will visit often, and there will be no judgment on how I look.

While the prospect of living separately excites me, it also brings with it the guilt tied to the “empty nest syndrome.” I sometimes just stare at my parents doing their regular tasks and notice the shift in the way they move. They have become slower. They have become quieter. They spend most of their days just resting, ironically scrolling through the phone or watching TV. I see them huffing and letting out exasperated sighs when they take a break after doing some tasks. They are together now, but I keep thinking: should one of them leave, how will the other manage? Would it be right for me to leave them too?

But on the other hand, I’ve received very fitting advice: “You can love and care for them, but it is not your responsibility to fix their life.” It is true — parents are the most resilient class of people. Their world keeps changing, and somehow they adapt. They may not adapt in the way you believe is right, but they find a way to adjust to their new life.

And so, I return to my desire to finally break free from the nest and find a place of my own in this world.

Day 205: Small step but still a start

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Today was, all in all, an uneventful day. I woke up considerably early, though I still didn’t manage to get my six hours of sleep. I lay in bed for an hour, scrolling through Instagram shorts before finally convincing myself to get up and begin.

I started my work with enthusiasm, but of course today had to be the day my laptop decided to give up on me. The system ran so slowly that it was frustrating to refresh the screen over and over just to load a single page. I made myself a cup of coffee, hoping it would give me the energy I needed to push through.

Later, I found myself guilty of indulging in online browsing. What do you even call the equivalent of window shopping when it’s done online? Whatever the name, that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t buy anything, thankfully, but I did add a few things to my cart that I’m still tempted to purchase. It took everything in me to stop myself from checking out and to close the website.

Despite the distractions, I managed to complete the work assigned for the day. I finished my calls and meetings, completed my trainings, and wrapped everything up within the timeline. I finally switched off my office laptop. Now I am hoping to put sometime into studying, the thing I have put off for as long as possible.

It wasn’t a perfect day. But it was a start. And sometimes, a start is enough.

Day 204: Coming back from the Haze

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For a hundred days, I felt like I was in a state of limbo. I don’t even know how the time slipped by. What did I accomplish in the past three months? Nothing—literally nothing.

My initial determination to avoid binge shopping and be content with what I already had completely collapsed. I started buying random things—items I had kept on my wishlist for months, only to remove them from my cart because I knew I didn’t really need them. All my reasoning was gone. I was filling a hole inside me.

Yes, I bought a few things I needed, but compared to the junk, it was nothing. I loved the dopamine rush of opening parcels from online shopping sites, even though I knew it wasn’t healthy.

I stopped reading my Bible. I stopped drawing and doing anything related to art. I stopped studying. Even at work, I don’t know what I was really doing. It felt like I just slept and woke up, over and over again.

There were ups and downs that felt like whiplash. I know I’m struggling, and I’m aware my coping mechanisms aren’t good. My wallet has taken a hit, and now sleepless nights have returned. I can’t fall asleep until 2 or 3 a.m., and I can’t sleep past 8. Some days I barely sleep 3–4 hours, while other days I want to sleep all day.

Procrastination has defined these past months—extreme procrastination. My mind kept telling me to do things, but another part of me always said, “Forget it, let’s just do it tomorrow.” But tomorrow never came.

I’ve lost six months of 2026. But I still have six months left to try again. I cannot give up on myself. I am not perfect, and I never will be—and that’s okay. What matters is being the best I can be.

So here’s to starting again. You fall, you fail, but you still need to try again. As cheesy as it sounds, it’s true. I’m praying for the will to begin again.

Day 106: Recovering from the Break Down

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So I am back. Today I am smiling again, even though there is still pain in my heart. Life feels heavy right now, with so many things going wrong all at once. Some days I am simply too weak to face it. On those days, I withdraw into myself and hope that the storm will pass. It feels like the world is closing in, and all I can manage is the simple act of waking up. I want to lie down the whole day, doing nothing, because nothing makes sense. It feels like drowning on dry land—unable to breathe, unable to move forward. My heart had taken my mind hostage, and I was trapped in the tension between wanting to live fully and feeling paralyzed by pain.

My mind kept reminding me of all the things I needed to do, all the ways I should keep pushing forward. But the reminders felt hollow, because nothing seemed to matter. I don’t like this feeling, but I think it was inevitable. For too long, I’ve tried to push down the pain, convincing myself to focus only on the good things. That works sometimes, but not always. There are days when the weight of what I’ve hidden breaks through, and I am forced to face the vulnerability I fear. I hate being vulnerable. I think I am scared of what it reveals about me, scared of being seen as weak. Yet, despite that fear, I made it through. After days of feeling like everything was collapsing, I am finally beginning to emerge from the darkness. Sitting here now, writing this post, I feel grateful to be back on track, ready to work toward meaningful change in my life.

I know this cycle will repeat if I keep relying only on myself. That’s why I hope, going forward, I learn to turn to God instead of crashing out internally. He has carried me even when I never asked Him to. If He takes care of me without my asking, how much more will He take care of me when I reach out to Him for help? That thought gives me hope. It reminds me that I don’t have to fight alone, that there is strength beyond my own walls. And today, even with the pain still lingering, I am smiling again—because I believe I am being led toward something better.

Day 101: Cracked Walls, Shaken Will

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There are nights when the tide rises too high, when emotions surge like waves against the walls of my chest, and breathing feels like a luxury. Tonight is one of those nights. My mind is a storm—thoughts racing, colliding, multiplying—each scenario demanding attention, each possibility dragging me deeper into the undertow. The compartments I’ve built to keep myself functioning are collapsing, one after another, until I am left standing in the ruins.

It’s astonishing how something so irrelevant, so small, can become the final straw—the crack that shatters the whole structure. I want to run away, to escape, to leave everything behind. And yet, tomorrow I know I will begin again. I will stack bricks of compartmentalization, rebuild fragile walls, and convince myself I can breathe one more time. But tonight, I am falling.

There is irony in this collapse. A quiet voice inside me whispers: You’ve been here before. You survived. This storm will pass. But another voice roars louder, insisting that my heart is breaking, that this breakdown is shameful, that I am failing to meet the world’s impossible standards of “normal.”

Society has taught us to equate breakdowns with weakness. To cry is to falter. To panic is to fail. To admit that the mind cannot carry the weight is to confess defeat. And yet, isn’t it strange that we celebrate resilience only when it looks polished—when it’s the triumphant comeback, the motivational story, the glossy version of survival? We rarely honor the messy middle, the nights when breathing feels impossible, the moments when strength is simply enduring the next minute.

But here is the truth I am learning: weakness is not failure. A breakdown is not the end—it is a signal, a cry for pause, a reminder that even the strongest structures need repair. To collapse is human. To rebuild is human. To admit that the tide is too high is not shameful; it is honest.

So tonight, I step back. I let the walls fall. I let myself feel the weight of this moment, knowing that tomorrow I will gather the pieces again. Today, only part of me believes in my resilience. Tomorrow, I hope the whole of me will recognize it.

And perhaps, if we begin to speak of these nights openly, without shame, we can redefine what it means to be “normal.” Maybe normal is not the absence of breakdowns, but the courage to rise after them. Maybe normal is not perfection, but persistence.

Day 100: Choosing Joy, Seeking Peace

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Today feels different. It is a day of contemplation, a pause to ask myself – why am I doing this?

When I began this blog, it was with the hope of reigniting a passion that had quietly slipped away. Writing once centered me, even when my world was engulfed in chaos. Putting thoughts onto paper made the weight of life feel lighter, more bearable. It gave me perspective, strength to fight one more day. But somewhere along the way, the more blows I took, the further I drifted from writing. I lost a piece of myself without even realizing it.

I wonder—when did we move away from doing things simply for the joy of doing them, to doing things only because we have to? Today, every action seems to demand justification, a measurable benefit. My parents called it “growing up.” But in truth, it clipped the wings that longed to fly. Perhaps they too had dreams they were expected to abandon in the name of reality.

I count myself among the privileged, because I still have the choice. The choice to follow dreams, even when it goes against everything I’ve been taught. The choice to take the difficult path, knowing it may lead to failure. But I am grateful for that choice, because even if I stumble, I will have tried. And in trying, I will have chosen happiness. In a world where joy feels scarce, perhaps that is the greatest achievement of all.

While I am deeply grateful for all the blessings God has given me, I cannot ignore the reality that, in many parts of the world, people’s lives are engulfed in war and suffering. Their homes are burning, their families torn apart, and their futures uncertain. My heart aches for them, and so I lift my prayers to the heavens—for peace, for hope, for protection, and for safety.

Prayer may be the only thing I can offer from where I stand, but I believe it matters. I believe that once hearts are changed, the world itself can change. And I hold onto the faith that God is the One who softens hearts, just as He did with Pharaoh in the Holy Bible. If He can turn hardened hearts toward compassion, then there is hope that even in the midst of war, humanity can find its way back to peace.

Day 99: Jigsawing a plan

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I’ve never considered myself an organized person. In fact, I often admire those who can plan their day and stick to it with discipline. They seem to move through life with clarity, while I stumble through mine with hesitation. This morning, I decided to try something new—I sat down to make a daily schedule. Deep down, I know I might fail at following it, but I want to become someone who honors her commitments.

The idea of a schedule feels both exciting and intimidating. On one hand, it promises structure and progress. On the other, it raises endless questions: how do I divide my day between home duties, work, studies, and rest? Eight hours are already reserved for sleep, leaving sixteen to be split wisely. Do I study in the morning when my mind is fresh, or at night when the world is quiet? How much time should I give to chores, and where do I fit in my art projects—the one thing that brings me joy? Sometimes, I feel I waste more time planning than actually doing.

After watching countless productivity videos, I’ve realized a few truths about myself:

  • First, I get anxious when I make plans. I imagine everything that could go wrong before I even begin. I need to remind myself that missing one task doesn’t mean the whole day is ruined. Progress isn’t about perfection—it’s about consistency.
  • Second, I am inherently lazy. Having had many things handed down to me, I never truly learned the discipline of effort. Procrastination has become a habit, almost an addiction. I know I need to break it. Maybe limiting my screen time again could help—it worked once before, and perhaps it can work again.
  • Third, I am easily distracted. I’ve reached a point where I can’t do anything without background noise. I replay old series I’ve already watched, convincing myself I don’t need to pay attention, but it still pulls me away from focus. Silence feels uncomfortable, yet I know it’s necessary for deep work.

Despite these challenges, I want to dive into the deep end. I want to build habits that last, even if they start small. I want to learn to sit with silence, to push through laziness, and to quiet the anxiety that comes with planning. My hope is that one day, I’ll look back and be proud of myself—not for being perfect, but for finally breaking free from the cycle of procrastination and distraction.

For now, I’ll take it one step at a time. A schedule may not transform me overnight, but it can be the first brick laid in the foundation of a more disciplined life. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll discover that organization isn’t about rigid control—it’s about creating space for the things that matter most.

Day 98: Family Moments and Quiet Wins

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A good rest is often more healing than any medicine. The night before, I tossed and turned with a migraine. I don’t know if everyone’s experience is the same, but for me, sleep never comes easily during a migraine bout. Only when I am physically exhausted do I finally drift off—and yesterday was no different. Thankfully, once I did get some proper sleep, I woke up with relief from the pain.

Truthfully, I could have slept longer, but my body rarely allows me more than seven hours at a stretch. So I got up and tried to study. Tried being the key word. Have you ever turned pages without absorbing a single word? That was me today—reading without understanding, just going through the motions.

For lunch, my sister stopped by with her family. Whenever my nephews are around, schedules go out the window. Books were abandoned, and we all sat together to talk and eat. After lunch, my sister and I continued our conversations in my mother’s room. Time flew by, as it always does when you’re caught up in laughter and stories.

Later in the evening, after they left, I made dinner for my parents. Nothing fancy—just an omelette—but I managed to get the seasoning right this time, neither too salty nor too bland. I also prepared some hummus, not for today but because I’d been putting it off for a while due to pain flare-ups. While cleaning up the kitchen afterward, frustration crept in as the pain returned. I slammed a door to release it—not the most effective method, but better than yelling and saying things I didn’t mean.

By the end of the day, I felt calmer. I spent some time journaling and practicing lettering in my workbook. And now, as the last act of the day, I’m writing this blog entry.