No More Delusions

There was a time I became deeply fixated on someone. Not in a grounded, healthy kind of way. More like a spell I couldn’t shake off. Everything felt heightened, confusing, and irrational. My mind knew better, but my heart refused to listen.

I spent a lot of time trying to make sense of it. I excused things I shouldn’t have. I tried to empathize my way into feeling okay, telling myself he probably acted that way because of something going on in his life… or maybe something I did… or maybe it’s just who he is. I stretched my compassion past its breaking point, until it stopped being kindness and became self-abandonment.

I even made a pros and cons list. The cons ran like a grocery receipt. The pros? Mostly vague feelings and the fact that he had a nice face. And somehow, that still felt enough. At least, at the time.

Looking back, I wonder, was it love? Or just my ego trying to prove something? Was I in love, or was I just addicted to the emotional high of being chosen by someone who never really chose me?

I used to tell myself it was chemistry. That I’d never find this kind of connection again. But the truth is, it wasn’t chemistry. It was emotional confusion. And no matter how much I wanted it to mean something deeper, it never really did.

What I didn’t know then was that I was caught in cognitive dissonance—that mental tug-of-war when your actions and beliefs don’t align, and your brain fills in the gaps with excuses. I knew he wasn’t right for me. But I had already invested so much emotionally, I kept trying to make the story work.

It’s like luxury branding. When something feels out of reach, we automatically assign more value to it. We do the same with people. If someone is mysterious, inconsistent, and emotionally unavailable, it’s easy to turn that into a puzzle worth solving.

I grew up watching films and reading stories that romanticized this dynamic, the emotionally distant love interest who “softens” for the main character. So when someone was emotionally open with me, it felt boring. When someone was unclear, I became obsessed. That’s not love. That’s conditioning.

The truth is: if someone leaves you confused, anxious, or constantly second-guessing, that’s not your person. Maybe they’re not cruel. Maybe they’re just not emotionally mature enough to show up. And maybe it’s not your job to wait around while they figure it out.

In reality, not everyone who likes you genuinely wants to love you. Some people enjoy the comfort of knowing they can have your attention, even if they’re not prepared to fully show up. And when you’re still building your self-worth, that push-and-pull can easily be mistaken for love. You might think, if this feels so intense, it must be real.

I don’t look back in regret. I understand why I held on. But I also see now that I wasn’t choosing love, I was reacting to a pattern. I was mistaking intensity for meaning. And that kind of emotional guessing game can quietly reshape how you see yourself.

But here’s the hopeful part: it doesn’t last forever.

The more grounded you become in your self-worth, the easier it is to spot the difference between emotional unavailability and real connection. You stop projecting potential and start seeing people clearly. You stop chasing clarity and start expecting it. You stop craving the thrill of uncertainty and start choosing the calm of stability.

You realize love isn’t something you fight for, it’s something that flows when both people are ready.

And if you’re still in that confusing place, just remember:
If it brings more anxiety than peace, it’s not love.
If it feels like a puzzle, walk away.
The right person won’t make you feel small or unsure.
Real love doesn’t need decoding.

It shows up, clearly. Consistently. Kindly.

My Hair Journey to Self-Acceptance

They say a woman’s hair is her crowning glory though sometimes it felt more like my clowning glory. Looking back, my hair has mirrored nearly every emotional shift I’ve ever gone through. It was never just hair. It was identity, rebellion, change, and sometimes even a silent cry for help.

Back in school, I kept my hair short most of the time. Every time I came back from a haircut, my teachers would ask, “Heartbroken ka ba?” I wasn’t, but I guess a drastic haircut tends to give that vibe. I liked my hair short it felt light. My mom said long hair made you look older, more mature. Whenever I tried to grow my hair out, it always felt off. I’d see other girls with their long, flowing hair and think, they look beautiful. Then I’d look at myself and think… Does this make my face look fat? Maybe it was just in my head, but it stuck with me.

I tried to grow it out a few times, but boredom always won. And weirdly, every time I cut my hair, the guy I liked would disappear or start pulling away. Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe my subconscious already sensed the ending before I did, and my hair was my way of cutting ties.

They say when a woman cuts her hair, she’s about to change her life. I believe that. The first time I ever cut my bangs was when I was around three or four years old. I’ve been cutting them myself ever since. It’s become a little ritual. A way to reset or feel in control again.

In 2023, something in me shifted. I cut my hair short again, brought the bangs back, and bleached it into a bright champagne blonde. It was bold. It felt like a rebirth. But deep down, I wasn’t okay. I was chasing brightness on the outside because I couldn’t feel it on the inside.

I went through a full-blown identity crisis that year trying to figure out who I was by constantly changing how I looked. I bought color-depositing conditioners and dyed my hair a different shade every month. Pink, violet, green, blue, orange, brown (that turned back to orange). It was fun… until it wasn’t. At one point, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, Wow. I’m literally falling apart. My hair was damaged, dry, breaking. And maybe I was too.

By the end of the year, I dyed it jet black. Strangely, it felt like the most honest version of me. The hair was brittle, sure, but it felt right like I was finally showing up as who I truly was. Not trying to hide anymore.

Around that time, I lost someone. And it hurt. But strangely, the grief didn’t last as long as I thought it would. I thought I’d be stuck in it for years, but I found peace within a few months. And that’s when I realized I had grown stronger. I had changed.

Now, whenever someone compliments my old blonde hair, I smile. But internally, I remember the version of myself who felt the need to dye it that way. Who wasn’t okay but didn’t know how to say it. It reminds me that sometimes, the most beautiful phases on the outside can come from the messiest parts of us.

Today, my hair is still healing some of the tips are dry, but the roots are strong. Just like me. I’m letting it grow out again, but this time it’s not out of boredom, or heartbreak, or a desperate need to escape. I’m just letting it be.

And I’m learning to let myself be, too. A sign of growth.

Snails, Spirits, and Superstitions

Today I had a weird and terrifying dream and I knew instantly I had to write about it while it’s fresh. Before I forget the details.

I was walking toward the dining table, where my sister and a few unfamiliar people were already seated. There were empty seats, and I was about to take one across from two women I didn’t know. One of them looked distressed, like something unseen was bothering her, her head was down while the woman beside her looks like she’s trying to comfort her. The air was heavy, thick with something invisible but undeniably there. A bad spirit. We all felt it.

Just as I was about to sit, my sister stopped me and said: “You have to cut your leg before sitting down.”

What?! She didn’t mean literally cutting my leg for sure, so I asked what she meant. She gestured for me to trace a line across my leg with my finger. I didn’t fully get it, but I sat down anyway. While I’m about to fully sat on the chair that’s when I felt something heavy like something like a big bird perching on my right shoulder. It’s not visible but I feel its claws on my shoulder and feel some of its feathers. In my imagination it was a grey dark bird that doesn’t really look like a bird but it has feathers like a bird but its figure doesn’t really look like a bird. It looks abstract. Then I thought it was the spirit. I’m not sure if its the one disturbing the woman or a different one.

I felt panic. My sister, told me to do it again properly this time. I followed her instructions, drawing a firm, deliberate horizontal line across my right leg before sitting down and the weight lifted.

The spirit is still around. It lingered even when there were snails scattered around us. Snails that, for some reason, we believed had the power to ward off evil in that dream.

Then someone in the table mentioned that keeping a snail as a pet was a sin. Maybe that was why it wasn’t working. I remember my nephew found a snail outside their house and decided to keep it as pet. Was that the flaw in our protection? The reason the spirit wouldn’t leave? I can’t remember what happened after that maybe I woke up.

After waking up, I started researching if the dream meant something. Some parts in the dream were also interesting like a nice concept for a book or a movie maybe.

I had never heard of snails being used for spiritual protection, but on my research it turns out they are. In some Asian cultures, they symbolize resilience and cleansing. In parts of Africa and the Caribbean, they’re used in purification rituals. European folklore links them to warding off misfortune, while Buddhism associates them with protection. Christianity, on the other hand, often depicts snails as symbols of sin rather than guardians.

Then I searched for anything about “cutting legs before sitting down” and found eerie parallels. In the Philippines, people say tabi-tabi po before sitting to eat to avoid disturbing spirits but even if I’m from PH I’d only ever heard it used in forests or near anthills. Some traditions believe failing to follow certain rituals allows spirits to perch on you. In Japan and China, marking the ground with a foot gesture or tool can sever a spirit’s hold. In some European and Afro-Caribbean traditions, foot movements prevent spirits from attaching to a person.

As someone who likes watching horror and supernatural films it’s so interesting to me. It could all just be a strange meaningless dream but what if my brain tapped into something ancient? What if our subconscious holds memories older than we are? things we once knew but have long forgotten. That sounds cool yet scary at the same time. Either way, the next time I sit down to eat, I might pause for just a second 🤣.

Unfinished Ending Or Tragic Ending?

Years ago, I watched a movie that left me with a question, one I still haven’t quite answered. Which is better: an unfinished ending or a tragic one? I don’t remember the title of the movie. I tried searching for it, but nothing looked familiar but I think it was about a girl who dances ballet. It was popular on Netflix at the time, which is why I watched it, though I remember not particularly liking it but I liked parts of it especially the ending.

My memory is unreliable, so forgive me if I get the details wrong. What I remember at the end of the movie is this: two characters, standing at the edge of a building. They were torn between killing themselves or leaving to start a new life. The latter one was just what went in my mind haha. I was at the edge of my seat waiting for what’s gonna happen next. I’m also torn on which would be the best choice for them and for the movie as a whole. Then, just as it seemed they would step forward, the screen cut to black.

I felt relief as the ending credits rolled. A real, physical kind of relief, as if by cutting to black, the film had spared not just its characters but also me. Although it seems like they’re going to jump when the movie ended, it still leaves a possibility that they changed their minds and chose to live. The relief I felt back then after how the movie ended was my answer. I’d rather choose the unfinished ending than continue even if I knew that the ending will more likely be a tragedy. I’d rather not know than witness something tragic. For a movie I think it’s a good choice cause it leaves a room for interpretation and hope. You get to decide how the movie ends for you.

But is that the right choice? If you know, if you are 80% sure that a story will end in tragedy, do you still want to watch it unfold? Or do you leave before it happens? Even now, I still wonder: am I being practical, or is it just avoidance? Is it better to know, even if it hurts? Or is it better to let the story remain unfinished, existing in the space where anything is still possible?

And if we apply it to life, would you pursue something you know won’t end well, or would you walk away and live with the weight of what-ifs?

Luck Conservation

Do you think that it’s possible to spend luck? While I was playing Love in Deepspace, I came across the fascinating concept of luck conservation, thanks to Xavier.

I looked into it more, and the idea is that luck can be used up or spent. Once you use it up, misfortunes starts happening. It’s like if you experienced a lot of good things in a row, you should be careful after that because the universe might send something to you to restore the balance. There’s even a name for that fear: Cherophobia. It’s the fear of being too happy because you believe something bad will follow. It’s like having trust issues whenever you feel extreme happiness. I used to feel and notice that when I go out with my friends. When I get back home, I’ll have this feeling of unease. I would prepare myself that something bad would happen and eventually something does goes wrong. But was it really bad luck, or was I just so convinced that happiness had consequences that I started looking for proof?

The thing is, luck conservation isn’t real, at least, not in the way we think. It’s a mindset, a superstition we convince ourselves of to maintain a sense of control. In believing in it and in trying to prepare for the worst, all we really do in the end is rob ourselves of the actual moment. We don’t allow ourselves to feel too happy because somewhere in the back of our minds, we’re already bracing for the bad things that might happen. We dull our own joy, as if keeping our happiness at a level will somehow prevent the universe from sending misfortunes our way. But the truth is, life doesn’t work that way. The good things don’t require bad things to follow. Sometimes, happiness is just happiness, and by constantly anticipating the worst, we end up missing the best parts of it. And what a waste that is.

Not Everything is Meant to Be Posted (Including This?)

Do you know that satisfying feeling when you discover a really good song that no one else knows? It’s like finding a hidden treasure that you just want to keep to yourself so you decided to not share the song with other people. That’s what they call gatekeeping. I think most people do that to protect the magic. Recently, I realized that it doesn’t just apply with songs. You can gatekeep yourself too. Turns out, I’ve already been doing it… though mostly out of laziness to post anything. But just this week, I decided that it’s time to fully commit to it. So, as step one of my self-gatekeeping journey, I made my Instagram private. HAHA.

We live in an era where oversharing is the norm. Every thought, every meal, every interesting life update was captured, documented and uploaded on social media for the world to see. It’s fun and a good way to record your memories and thoughts. But like anything in life, too much of it is never a good thing.

Every time I post, I catch myself overthinking something like if the caption sound weird or if people will find it funny or cringe. Before I know it, something as simple as sharing a photo turns into a mental dilemma about how I’ll be perceived. Aside from the risk of sharing a personal information that might land in the wrong hands, social media also has this weird way of making you feel like you’re curating a character instead of just being. The more I put out this polished version of myself, the more I feel like an imposter in my own life.

So, I’ve decided to gatekeep myself a little. Keep my life mine. You don’t have to share everything. If you also want to do the same, a simple way to start is to post on delay. Sometimes, you might even forget to post it and realize you didn’t need to share it in the first place. Be a little mysterious; you don’t have to share your every move. It makes life feel less performative, and honestly, there’s something nice about keeping parts of your life exclusive. 

Of course I’ll still post, but I don’t feel the pressure to reveal everything or think about other people’s opinion. Some things can stay personal. Maybe I’ll just share the random weird, stupid, or chaotic things instead.