golden week!!

Yeah, it was a much-needed holiday — one I truly needed. So many things happened in just the blink of an eye. And now, finally, I can see the bigger picture. Woah.

As human beings, we all go through tough phases. Even when life seems simple, complications creep in. I was caught in one of those phases. It wasn’t clarity I was seeking — it was validation. And somehow, this morning, I finally found it. Everything that had been hidden deep within me became visible.

The morning started cloudy, with the kind of gray that quietly sinks into your mood. As predicted, it began to drizzle — just enough to blur the windows and quiet the streets. Then came the rain, steady and full, almost like nature’s way of crying with me. It felt like a cleansing, like the skies were helping to rinse away the heaviness I had been carrying for weeks. And then, just as suddenly, the rain stopped. The clouds began to part, and a soft, golden sunlight spilled across everything. It wasn’t dramatic — just enough to make you notice. And it felt like a sign, a whisper from the universe saying, "Even this will pass."

That weather — that journey from cloud to rain to light — mirrored what I was going through. My thoughts, once jumbled and stormy, were starting to settle. I had been suffering in silence for a long time. The people I once held close had grown distant. I longed for someone — anyone — to reach out, to say, "Don’t worry, everything will be okay." But no one came. And so I sat with the silence, and in doing so, I began to hear my own voice again.

Sometimes, even those you trust the most walk away at the very moment you need them. I had read about this in books — pages filled with wisdom, pain, and healing — but it’s a different thing altogether to feel it in your bones. And in that kind of moment, you’re forced to learn how to walk alone. That’s how strength is born — not out of comfort, but out of loneliness. That’s when you realize who’s truly with you, and who only walked beside you when the sun was shining. And truth be told, now that I’ve lived through that storm, I understand why people write about it. Still, I never want to go through this kind of emotional storm again.

So, let me try to put this into words.

Like everyone else, I have a family, friends, and special people in my life. But in what felt like the blink of an eye, everything changed. Everyone seemed to drift away. Just when I moved to a new place and started a new job, suddenly, I was surrounded by strangers. I started questioning myself: Am I the wrong one? Am I making mistakes? My self-esteem dropped, and I was drowning in the feeling that maybe I was to blame for it all.

I held on tightly to my old mindset — believing that loyalty means forever, that love never fails, that the people you give your heart to will always show up when needed. But reality unfolded differently. The people I thought would never leave, did. Some showed their true colors, and it hurt. I was clinging to memories, to expectations, and it only deepened the suffering.

But then came the silence. The solitude. And in that silence, I had no choice but to keep going — to do the work, to eat, to put on a smiling face for the new people around me. But deep inside, I felt like I was living through a never-ending dark night. I realized I was holding on to people who had already let go of me.

One day, during a long walk through the quiet streets of my new city, I looked around and realized that change isn’t always the enemy. Sometimes, it’s the path to liberation. And maybe, just maybe, I had to let go of what no longer served me. I began to find peace in small moments — a kind word from a stranger, the warmth of the morning sun, a deep breath that didn't feel heavy.

I also started noticing the people who stayed. Not the ones I expected, but the ones who listened, who checked in without being asked, who accepted me without judgment. That’s when I understood — it’s not about the number of people around you, but the depth of connection you share with a few.

Sometimes, you have to change your old mindset. Letting go of what you once thought was permanent isn’t easy — it feels like losing a part of yourself. But you have to allow new people to become your home, to step into your life with open hearts. And as you let them in, they might just find a home in you too. In that space of renewal, you begin to realize that not everyone leaves — some people arrive. And among them, sometimes you meet those rare, special people who feel like they've been waiting for you all along. People who don't just enter your life, but understand your silence, see your scars, and still choose to stay.

And maybe, all this pain, all this distance, all these lessons — they were meant to shape you into someone who is ready to receive the love and peace you've always deserved. Who we contact and connect with in those moments of change truly matters — not those who left, but those who arrive and stay when you're at your most vulnerable.

And that’s where I am now — not completely healed, but no longer broken. Just… growing.

And that’s enough. And one last message to those who lost me…

Just because you lost me as a friend doesn’t mean you gained me as an enemy. I’m bigger than that, my guy. I still want to see you eat — just not at my table… Peace✌🏻

new page!!

As life turns its pages day by day, we, too, change with it. Moving to a new city has been like starting a fresh chapter—new streets, new shops, new faces. In the midst of adjusting my routines and finding my rhythm here, time seems to blur. I’ve become so busy that time itself feels like it has no time. Yet, ironically, I now have more moments to reflect and write than I did during my student life.

So, I’ve started a new page called “Whispers.” It’s a space for my thoughts—short, quiet reflections instead of long blog entries. This way, I can express myself more freely and regularly without being overwhelmed.

I’m also making a conscious effort to invest more in myself again. I’ve been thinking about picking up photography, something I’ve always wanted to explore more. Lately, I’ve been streaming my guitar sessions more often, and it feels good to reconnect with that side of me. With this extra “me time,” I hope to rediscover parts of myself I had put on hold.

Everyone needs a way to express themselves—and “Whispers” is mine. It’s not just a blog, but a reminder to stay in motion, to keep exploring, and never stay stuck in one place for too long.

So, here’s to new pages, new passions, and new beginnings. Let’s do this. Peace ✌️

Childhood!!

I survived a childhood where my inner child was dead—a sentence that sounds heavy because it carries the weight of unspoken battles, silenced laughter, and stolen moments of innocence. It wasn’t that I didn’t grow up; rather, I grew up too soon. I lived in a world where maturity wasn’t a choice but a survival mechanism, and where the small joys of childhood were luxuries I could not afford. I had to become someone older than my years, someone who knew responsibility before joy, and silence before self-expression.

From an early age, I learned to read the room before I learned to read books. I knew how to soothe the tension in the air, how to keep quiet when things got loud, and how to avoid being the reason someone else felt overwhelmed. The home that should have been a shelter was sometimes a battlefield of expectations, emotional storms, or neglect. There were no bedtime stories, only the stories I told myself to sleep. There were no tantrums, only inner negotiations of what I could afford to feel without upsetting the fragile balance of my environment. Because of this, I never really got to know my inner child. That version of me—curious, spontaneous, playful—was buried deep under layers of caution and maturity. I didn’t know how to play for the sake of playing. I didn’t have the luxury to be vulnerable, messy, or carelessly joyful. I envied other children who laughed loudly and cried freely, because I was busy managing emotions too big for someone so small. My maturity was not noble—it was necessary.

Now, as an adult, I find myself drawn to mature people. Those who are grounded, emotionally aware, and responsible attract me like magnets. They reflect the survival traits I cultivated early on. I admire people who have a sense of control, who listen deeply, who understand pain, and who communicate without hurting. But here lies the cruel irony—I admire them because I became like them far too early. And I hate that. I hate that maturity, for me, was not a destination reached after youthful exploration, but a shortcut forced by circumstance.

Sometimes I wonder who I might have been had I been allowed to just be a child. Would I have been more carefree? Would I smile more, cry less, worry less about being “too much” or “not enough”? I mourn the childhood I never had. I grieve the version of me who never got to feel safe being little, loud, and loved without conditions. There is sadness in becoming the adult you needed as a child, especially when that adult now resides in a body carrying wounds disguised as wisdom.

Yet here I am, surviving still. There is strength in surviving, even if survival cost me my innocence. There is depth in being mature, even if maturity arrived as a burden. And though my inner child feels distant, I now try to speak to them—gently, with patience. I try to give myself permission to be silly, to rest, to create without purpose. Healing is not linear, and some days I feel like I’m parenting the little me I lost. But that, too, is part of survival.

So yes, I survived a childhood where my inner child was dead. And now, piece by piece, I am learning to resurrect them—not to erase my past, but to reclaim the joy I was once denied.

current mindset!!

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships, and I’ve come to realize that I’m not quite ready to fully commit to one. It’s not that I don’t value connection—but it's just that I really enjoy my alone time. I feel like I don’t get enough of it. I work long shifts, come home, and still have a list of other things to take care of. And somewhere in between all of that, I wonder: where’s the time just for me?

I need that space to focus on myself—to recharge, reflect, and simply breathe without always thinking about the next task or responsibility. So when I ask myself where a relationship fits into all of this, the honest answer is: it doesn’t. At least, not right now.

This realization has actually brought me a sense of relief. I no longer feel the pressure to force something I’m not ready for. Instead, I can focus entirely on myself, which is something I genuinely love doing. That time and energy I give myself is everything to me. It allows me to grow, to heal, and to work toward a version of my life that brings me real happiness.

And I’ve noticed something else—something powerful. The more I focus on positivity, the more positive my life becomes. Things that used to completely throw me off no longer have that power. Sure, challenges still come up, but they don’t shake me like they once did. I’ve built a sense of peace within myself, and I carry that into every day.

It wasn’t always like this. I used to be sad—really sad. But I took it one day at a time. I made small choices to appreciate what I have, to look for the good, even if it was just one thing. And from there, things began to shift.

Now, I feel grateful every day. I look at my life—what I have, what’s coming, and all the growth ahead—and I feel proud. When I started embracing that gratitude, everything began to slowly improve. And I’m still on that journey. Peace

to, Tokyo!!

Nearly two springs ago, I stepped into Tokyo, chasing something intangible—something hidden in time and space. Now, two years have passed, and as I sit down to write, I realize this city didn’t just happen to me—I happened to it. If I step back and look from a distance, though only a week has passed since I left that cozy room, I see myself clearly: relentless, restless, reaching for everything at once.

In these two years, I did so much. Another graduation, night shifts at part-time jobs, drifting through a sea of unfamiliar faces, soaking in knowledge, and pushing forward with an urgency I could barely comprehend. It was an intense, unforgiving stretch of time—one that changed me in ways I am still uncovering. And though I am just a 30-minute ride away, I already feel the absence of Tokyo settling in. I miss the air, the never-ending flow of people, the endless lights, the food, and the way time felt different there.

Tokyo gave me stories—too many to count. The late-night walks through neon-lit streets, when the world felt like it was holding its breath. The ramen shop on the corner where I sat alone at first, then later with friends, laughter filling the air along with the scent of broth. The bookstore in Jimbocho where I spent entire afternoons, losing track of time as I flipped through pages of forgotten poetry. The train rides—sometimes silent, sometimes filled with voices that became familiar. The rainy evenings when I stood at a crossing, watching headlights reflect on wet pavement, feeling like I was inside a movie whose ending I hadn’t yet seen.

In my last week in Tokyo, I finally visited Tokyo Tower. The opportunity had presented itself countless times before, yet I never went. I don’t know why. Maybe I wanted to leave something undone—a reason to return. But when I reached the top, I didn’t just see the city; I saw my childhood. As a child, I had only known it through anime, newsletters, and stamp papers. I never thought I would stand before it—not like this. But here I am, walking forward, carrying every version of myself within me. And as my dreams grow bigger, as my ambitions stretch further, I owe it to my younger self to see them through. After all, it was me who dreamt them in the first place.

Tokyo was more than just a city; it was a timeline, a chapter, a feeling. I made friends whose paths may never cross mine again. I laughed, I struggled, I lived. There aren’t enough words to thank the people who shared those fleeting moments with me, but perhaps that’s the beauty of it. Some things don’t need words—they just exist in memory, in the spaces between then and now.

And so, I move forward. Not away, but onward. Tokyo will always be a part of me, in ways I have yet to understand. But for now, all I can do is take a deep breath and keep going.

To conclude this journey: It’s time to start living. Life is the greatest miracle to have ever happened. Look up at the sky and witness a masterpiece—billions of stars burning in silence, planets drifting among them. Look around and realize that you exist on the only one that breathes. Now, take a look in the mirror and understand that what you see is the greatest work ever created. We only get so much time to experience this life, and certainly not enough to do anything half-heartedly. If you’re going to do something, do it. If you have a dream, a vision—pursue it fully and embrace the journey that comes with it. So what if you get lost or fail? You learn, you find your way, you persevere. Because it is in that process, in that journey, that true living happens. And yes what I lost was never mine, but what you lost was only yours. Peace!!

Moving On!!

There are endless ways to live your life—limitless opportunities waiting to be embraced. That dream of yours? It’s not unrealistic. You are not foolish for believing in it. The only thing standing between you and that dream is you. Too often, we let fear and doubt hold us back. But the moment we release those fears and take action, we step closer to making our vision a reality.

It won’t always be easy, and that’s okay. The journey may be challenging, but it will be worth every effort. With each small victory, each step forward, you will find yourself more determined, more inspired to keep pushing. Success is not a single defining moment—it is the product of daily effort, discipline, and unwavering perseverance.

Some days will be tough. Some days, even getting out of bed will feel overwhelming. But if you rise, if you show up for yourself, if you pour your heart into your dreams, failure will never be an option—unless you choose to walk away. The only true defeat is in giving up.

So if you are striving for a life of purpose and fulfillment, give it your all. Believe in yourself, push through the struggles, and never let go of your dreams. Because in the end, persistence is what shapes success through deliberate practice, cognitive resilience, and an unwavering commitment to one’s aspirations. The path to fulfillment is neither linear nor effortless, but it is a dynamic process of refinement, adaptation, and intellectual growth. Every challenge encountered serves as an opportunity for self-discovery and skill enhancement, reinforcing the foundational principle that perseverance and strategic action ultimately dictate the trajectory of success.

So, here’s to the beginning of a new season—one filled with growth, determination, and the courage to chase what sets your soul on fire. Let this be the chapter where you step boldly into your purpose, unafraid and unstoppable.

————

Dear Me,

I am so sorry. I’m sorry for carrying the weight of the world when your own hands were trembling. I’m sorry for not giving you the time to heal, for asking you to mend the wounds of others while you were still bleeding. I’m sorry for the days when even smiling felt like a burden, yet you forced yourself to laugh so no one would worry. I’m sorry for giving so much of your love and energy to those who never returned it in the same measure.

You deserved kindness. You deserved rest. And most of all, you deserved the same love and care that you so freely gave to others.

But now, it’s time to choose yourself. To heal. To grow. To become everything you were meant to be. Because you are worthy of joy, peace, and a life that lights up your soul.

So step forward with strength. Embrace the journey ahead. And above all, never forget—you are enough. Peace!!

The Door That Waits!!

When I was a child, my mother shared with me a lesson as tender as a lullaby, yet as lasting as time itself— “Never close the door immediately after someone steps out.”

At that age, I didn’t question it. I just followed her words, the way children do, believing in the quiet wisdom of their mothers.

Years passed. I grew up, forgot many lessons, but not this one. Even now, when someone leaves, I pause. I watch as they walk away, waiting until they are far enough before gently shutting the door—softly, so softly that the sound never reaches their ears.

Some goodbyes are easy, like closing a door behind a guest who will return. But some goodbyes carry a weight that stays. There are people we wish we could hold on to for just a little longer, people who leave behind echoes in the spaces they once filled. Yet time, relentless as ever, pulls them away from us. And so, we let go.

Even then, in those moments of parting, I still wait. Not to stop them—because some departures are unavoidable—but to see if they turn back, if their eyes hold a quiet yearning, a whisper of “Stay a little longer.!!”

And on those days, I don’t close the door at all. I simply stand there, watching them walk away, carrying with them a piece of my world!! Cheers!!

realization!!

Some people take the softest souls and make it hard rock. They push and push, testing limits, mistaking kindness for weakness. And when that sweetness turns bitter—when the hurt finally speaks—they call it crazy, call it toxic. They point fingers, forgetting they were the ones who lit the fire.

But here’s the reality: Every reaction has a root. Every flame starts with a spark. You can’t blame someone for defending what’s left of themselves, for refusing to be disrespected any longer. Sometimes, breaking is the only way to survive.

I used to think that love was about giving everything you have. So I gave it all—I showed up, I stayed late, I listened, I poured every part of me into something I thought would last. I believed that love meant holding nothing back, that if I just tried harder, stayed longer, maybe love would stay too. But love isn’t about exhausting myself to keep something alive. It isn’t about proving your worth or sacrificing and break into pieces, just to be enough.

Love is about growing together, and I was so busy trying to make it work that I didn’t see how I was falling apart. I convinced myself that I had to hold on tighter, that letting go meant failing. But the truth is, love isn’t a debt to be repaid or a battle to be won. It’s not something we can possess or force to stay. Love is more like laughter, like sunlight—beautiful in its existence, even if it fades.

So now, I don’t hold on so tightly. I give what I have, but I no longer beg love to stay. And if it leaves, then it was never mine to keep. Love should be a mutual journey of nurturing, understanding, and supporting each other. It should make you feel safe and valued, not empty and exhausted. Understanding this situation can lead to much deeper, more genuine relationship where both partners thrive and sing “I was also Enchanted to meet you too”. Cheers!!

Rebuilding Trust!!

If you betray someone’s trust, you have no right to question their actions. You don’t get to decide how long they take to heal or how they should react. The fact that they are still there means they care, and it takes incredible strength to face the person who hurt them every single day.

They are not just hurt—they are grieving. Grieving the version of you they once believed in. They never thought you were capable of this, and now, no matter how much they love you, they no longer feel safe.

They want to forgive because they want this relationship to work, but that doesn’t mean they will forget. Now, they are stuck in a loop, wondering why you did it—whether they weren’t enough, or if somehow they pushed you to do it.

But here’s the truth: they are not obsessing over your flaws. What may have been a moment of gratification for you was destruction for them. Now, they are constantly on edge, analyzing every move, questioning your intentions, searching for reassurance—reassurance that might never come.

Their emotions are unpredictable. The memory of what you did lingers, making them more reactive than they want to be. No one enjoys arguing. No one enjoys bringing up the past. But when the pain resurfaces, all they want is to be understood. They want validation. They want proof that it won’t happen again.

If you truly value this connection, rebuilding trust is your responsibility. It takes patience. It takes consistency. And sometimes, you’ll have to sit with their emotions even when it’s uncomfortable. You cannot shift the blame onto them. You cannot ask why they are still hurt.

The only way they will truly move on is if you put in the effort to help them heal. And here’s the most important part—words aren’t enough.

You must take real action.

You must avoid the behavior that broke them in the first place.

You must reassure them, again and again, that it won’t happen again.

Because whenever you repeat the same mistake, you’re not just making an error—you’re reopening a wound they’re still trying to heal. Every repeated action pulls them back to square one, making them wonder if trusting you again was a mistake.

If you’re serious about making things right, remember this: they don’t owe you another chance. But if they give you one, don’t waste it.

Trust is like glass—once shattered, it may never look the same again. But if you’re willing to pick up the pieces, handle them with care, and never let them break again, maybe—just maybe—you can rebuild something even stronger. Cheers!!

Unfulfilled Desires!!

Ah, dear one, when a heart’s wish is left unfulfilled, it trembles with sorrow and burns with anger. The mind rushes to find blame, and the one it sees as the cause becomes the bearer of its wrath. We think, ‘'This pain is because of them; let them feel the weight of my suffering.'‘ But tell me, beloved, is every unfulfilled wish truly the doing of another?

Many desires remain incomplete—not always by the reason of another person, but by the unseen dance of destiny, by the tides of time, or simply because some wishes are not meant to be. If, without understanding another’s heart, we decide they are the cause of our sorrow, is that truth, or is it merely the whisper of revenge?

Truth, my beloved, is woven with kindness and tenderness, while revenge feeds on anger and pride.

So, if your heart does not first bathe in kindness before passing judgment, is that not itself a greater injustice? Tell me, dear one, will you hold another in blame, or will you let your heart bloom in the grace of understanding? Close your eyes, listen within, and you shall find the answer—truth is never born from anger, but from the love. Hare Krishna!!