Tag: mental health

Plates of sushi, grilled vegetables, steak sandwich with fries and a glass of beer on a wooden table

Flavors that Stir the Heart

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Daily writing prompt
What’s the best local dish you’ve ever eaten while traveling?
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Food has always felt complicated to me, almost like my kryptonite. I never thought of myself as someone with a good palate. For the longest time, I believed the purpose of eating was simply to not be hungry, and taste didn’t matter. That mindset made me cautious whenever I traveled — I would search for food I was already comfortable with, rather than risk trying something new and wasting it. It was only recently, when someone asked me how my last meal tasted and all I could say was “not bad,” that I realized how much my attitude toward food reflected something deeper about me.

I’ve started to change that. My first real step was trying Thai food. At the Original Hoy-Ka restaurant, I expected fiery spice, but the waiter recommended gentler dishes: Chicken Satay and Ka Prao with Rice. They turned out to be sweet, comforting, and surprisingly easy for me to enjoy. The portions were large enough to take home, and for once, my taste buds didn’t resist. That experience made me wonder what it would be like to taste these dishes in Thailand itself. Maybe one day, when courage and circumstance align, I’ll add Thailand to my travel list.

Japanese food was another revelation. I tried Miso Soup alongside a rice bowl with crispy seaweed, egg, and sesame-coated chicken. I later learned it might have been Oyakodon or Katsudon. The flavors were explosive, layered, and overwhelming in the best way. Japanese food feels wholesome, like it carries a sense of home even when eaten alone. It evokes warmth, belonging, and joy — emotions I didn’t expect to find in a meal.

I tried a Philly Cheesesteak in Philadelphia. Rich, hearty, and indulgent, it felt like comfort food in its truest form. But it raised a question for me: does eating a dish from another region within the same country count as “traveling through cuisine”? I think it does. Just as Indian food varies different regions American food shifts from Philly cheesesteaks to Tex-Mex. Regional cuisines are worlds within worlds, each worth exploring.

Food is no longer just about filling my stomach. It’s becoming a journey — one that mirrors travel, culture, and even emotion. Cooking these dishes myself may not capture their authenticity, but it allows me to participate in the story of flavors. I’m learning to accept and appreciate tastes from around the world, one dish at a time. And maybe, through this journey, I’ll discover not just new cuisines, but new parts of myself.

Symbolic crown casting long shadow over scarred ground

Words that Move

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What is your favorite quote?

“Show me a Hero, I will write you a tragedy”

There have been many quotes that have resonated with me throughout my life, but one quote has always stayed with me.

There is so much depth and meaning packed into that single line. I have generally been a negative person, but this quote helps me look beyond that negativity. It reminds me that, despite how often I blame myself and feel like a failure, every person I admire has faced challenges of their own. They have failed, stumbled, and experienced moments where everything seemed to fall apart.

We rarely stop to consider the scars they carry or the struggles they endured to reach the heights at which we see them today. This quote shifts my focus from their success to their journey. It reminds me of their setbacks, failures, and perseverance.

It is not the shining crown that motivates me. It is the realization that these successful people are just like me. They are not perfect. They found a way forward despite their imperfections, mistakes, and obstacles.

I have always considered this to be the quote I relate to most. While I may come across many other quotes with profound meaning, this one has carried me through my weakest moments. It has helped me on days when I felt the whole world was against me, and it has given me the strength to keep moving forward.

Person walking alone on a dirt forest path surrounded by trees and mist

Be yourself but more

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If you had to give one life-changing tip, what would it be?

“Be yourself.” Most of us have heard this line at least once, perhaps on a billboard or tucked into an advertisement. It’s become such a cliché that its meaning often slips away. Yet, beneath those two words lies a strength that can be interpreted in countless ways.

Like many motivational phrases, its meaning shifts depending on who hears it. In today’s world, where right and wrong seem to change with circumstance, “be yourself” can be a life-affirming call to embrace imperfection. But for someone blinded by narcissism, it can become a justification for harmful traits. That’s why I believe the phrase needs an unspoken addition: Be yourself — but do not destroy another.

You cannot truly be yourself if your choices trample someone else. Selfishness in moderation is healthy. Walking away from a toxic situation is not weakness; it is strength. Some may call you fragile for leaving without “making the other pay,” but in truth, it takes far more courage to walk away than to stay and retaliate.

Most people carry pain — not the physical kind, but the soul-crushing kind. The world is crueler than it appears on the surface, and we rarely know what battles others are fighting. Never change for someone who only wants to mold you into their world. Change for someone who wants to grow with you, to build a shared space where both can belong. And sometimes, walking alone is also being true to yourself — because solitude can be the path to finding your place in the world.

In the end, being yourself is not about defiance or conformity, but about choosing a way of living that honors your truth without diminishing another’s. It is about carrying kindness alongside authenticity, and realizing that the most genuine version of yourself is the one that makes space for both courage and compassion.

Day 236: Taking a step back

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When I first decided to pursue my qualification, I imagined myself building a meticulous schedule and sticking to it with unwavering discipline. After all, this milestone deserved seriousness. Yet what unfolded was far from that vision. I became procrastination personified, caught between exhaustion from work and the lure of late-night distractions.

I am not a morning person, and studying at night felt natural. But after eight to ten hours of work, my mind was drained, my body begged for rest, and yet I found myself scrolling through endless reels instead of sleeping. The cycle left me tired, guilty, and unprepared. My study plans shifted constantly — two hours a day, then weekends, then impossible five-hour marathons after work. Each plan collapsed under its own weight, and eventually, I rescheduled my exam.

The anxiety leading up to that decision was suffocating. For days, I carried the dread of failure, until finally, rescheduling brought relief. In that pause, I noticed another pattern: stress had pushed me back into online shopping, the very habit I had tried to limit this year. Purchases became a coping mechanism, a temporary dopamine fix for mounting pressure.

Yet amid the chaos, one good habit emerged — art. I began sketching, experimenting with digital drawings, and creating spreads. Art became my anchor, a healthier outlet for stress and a reminder that creativity can restore balance when life feels overwhelming.

Stepping back taught me something vital: slowing down is not failure. It is recalibration. I had been lazy at first, then delusional with unachievable targets, and finally regretful when timelines shifted. But failing outright would have been worse. By pausing, I gave myself space to breathe, to reflect, and to redirect energy toward what matters.

Consistency is not about grand gestures or impossible schedules. It is about small, steady steps — reducing what drains me and increasing what sustains me. My life may feel like a leaking boat, but leaks can be patched. With patience, awareness, and gentler expectations, I can steer myself back on course.

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 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.