I’ve come to see that deep, focused work gives my life its meaning. To exist is to create; that’s what it means to be human. I’m grateful to be creating something tangible, realizing a vision, instead of drifting in passive consumption or empty theorizing.
Tag: living
good life
Is when you have a productive day doing what matters, and still finding the time to gaze at the sunset.
why write
The act of writing reveals its deeper function: a disciplined way of metabolizing suffering. Stripped of cultural polish, it is a structured, and often solitary method of turning inner chaos into external order. In essence, writing becomes a healthy sublimation of darkness, transforming primitive drives into higher, even noble, expression.
The writer doesn’t escape suffering; they transmute it
The same force that might consume; as self-harm, addiction, or rage is redirected into language, image, and form. The pain doesn’t vanish, it’s recontextualized into meaning.
For me, writing is a healthy response to the absurdity and darkness of life, especially when it transforms. Addiction binds; destruction externalizes; rumination spirals. Writing integrates. It gives chaos a name, a clear boundary.
In that sense, the true writer isn’t escaping pain; they’re performing the psychological plumbing of living consciously. And for me, that remains the most persuasive argument for making art, not for others, but for oneself.
many lives
I carry many lives within me, but I will live them through one phase at a time. With the intensity of a storm, yet the soft transition of seasons that know when to move on. I do not need to do everything to express what matters most.
What matters is not how many forms I touch, but how fully I inhabit the truth I seek.
On freedom and the burden of choice
I value autonomy: the freedom to choose one’s own path, free from coercion or influence. This freedom is integral and forms the core of my values. This comes with a cost; the choices are mine and so is the blame. Some decisions are irreversible.
To choose one’s own path is to carry both the upside and the failures without excuse. It is easier to follow someone else’s path, to direct the blame when things fall apart. But true autonomy offers no such excuse. It asks for vulnerability and courage: to face regrets, failures, and still to say: this life is mine.
Faded
Those friends I once studied, worked with, people I had known so closely, now feel distant – lost in time. I remember those relationships as if they were from another lifetime, faded like a forgotten dream. We drifted apart, our choices have taken us in different directions.
Some connections served their time and dissolved.
As I grow older, I realize it isn’t just distance that separates us, but also our ideologies and values. Perhaps some friendships are not meant to endure, and it’s gentler to let them go; slowly drifting away. Those attempts to revive them didn’t endure.
Like a chapter in a book, perhaps they were meant to last only that long. Some connections served their time and dissolved.
Intentional Living
We live in a time where worth is measured by outcome, efficiency, and scale. That erodes the inner dignity of labour. Doing the smallest task with full presence, and thereby imbuing it with dignity and meaning. This shift in mindset—“what I do matters, however small”—restores meaning.
That’s where intensity arises: from a willingness to commit fully to this brushstroke, this canvas, this conversation, rather than diffusing oneself into everything at once.
Intentional living, for me, is about conscious attention. The opposite of being pulled along by speed, distraction, or habit. I have deep respect for the artisan who works with care and devotion, a singular unwavering focus, as if it is the only thing in the world.
Intentionality is less about slowing down for the sake of slowness, and more about living intensely in the moment—with full heart, mind, and spirit. For me, that’s where dignity and purpose live.