My childhood ended when I was six years old, and it all came to a close in this one room. This goddamn, sterile room. Walls white upon white, with bright lights. I grab my elbow with my hand. Standing in this semi-hug, I start fidgeting around. Moving helps me
It was a normal Tuesday when I almost drowned. It all started in the morning. It was the most average of days you can imagine: laptop in front of me, with a cup of dark-brown anxiety juice in my hand. The task was easy: just create a new structure
When you want to find the greatest problem-solver in existence, it's not inside a screen, but out there. After arriving from traveling for half a year, my room was still sublet for another month. I went home to live at my family home. All my friends were
"Different. Finally be different. To be better, you must be different." That was the axiom from every single self-help essay I read. Nothing else was at fault, only I. At this time, I was at a crossroads in my life, eager to become a "better"
The greatest enemy isn't an outside force, but the person staring back at you in the mirror. Or your amygdala. Fear, to be more precise. Especially fear that's not real. In this blog post I discussed how I've been writing for two years, but
So I've been writing for over two years now. I realized I have two modes of starting to write: * Inspirational fuel shooting me to the literary stratosphere * "God, do I hate writing" Nothing in between. A little harsh, but also true. For some weeks, this one
I realized I had died when I was 28, but it was for the better. The sweltering heat pushes down into the asphalt, and steam comes up: it had just rained ten minutes before. Petrichor fills my nostrils, the sun dances on my skin, and I'm absolutely miserable.
People don't love remaining the same quite as much as they hate changing. Change goes against everything we were taught. In school, we're rewarded for being the same: learning the same, doing the same, acting the same. We swim in the monotony of sameness, and trying
People in the West (or all over the world, actually) have a problem with one particular thing: feeling their feelings. Before somebody even considers doing so, you have to wrap the topic of feelings in a neat bow of productivity and sprinkle some capitalism on it for good measure. Only
Your interests reveal what you really want to do with your life. It's best to follow them relentlessly, but with one nuance: don't gun for perfection. Perfectionism comes in two flavors: healthy and unhealthy perfectionism. I do hope you only have to taste the second one.
Let's play a game: If you had to choose a curse you were unlucky enough to suffer from your whole life, what would it be? After thinking about it for a while, coming up with all sorts of things, I'm not any further ahead in answering
If life's an ocean, trying to control the waves will break you. Nothing happens, then everything at once. That's been the story of my life. Sometimes, I guess, of everybody's life. I thought this journey having peaks and valleys meant going for a nice