I am not sure how to start, because it feels like one of those stories that should start with “Once upon a time” simply because it’s been a really long time since I came here. And if you’re reading this, in 2026 you might have noticed the silence in 2025.
The past year felt like it went on for a very long time, a long time of not using my brain to make full use of my heart.
Exactly 400 days ago, I walked away from my writing space. Not because I ran out of words or was bored with it, nah! Far from it, writing is one moment I have always felt fulfilled. But the only reason I stopped was that I was tired of where I was. I was trapped in my head, obsessed with “skill” and “technique,” with proving myself, and with the crushing expectation of what a good writer should be.
So at the start of last year, I made a plan to take a break. I wanted to control my expectations of life and of people. But here is the plot twist: that year was my least expected year ever, and it gave me a lot of unexpected moments.
To some people, expectations are motivation. When they set expectations, they see them as a vision board in their mind. A picture of what could be. A standard or a dream to be fulfilled.
While others believe expectations are pressure, some sort of pre-planned disappointments. They prefer to approach life with openness rather than assumptions. When they expect less, they feel surprised more often.
So at some point, I was in group 2, yes I was, and I decided to stop trying to control my expectations. I felt, as long as I was not expecting it to happen, it wouldn’t hurt, and if it did happen, fine! Yippee, we are happy. But guess what? In that space and time, life actually happened to me. While my creativity sat dormant, my life became loud. In this “brainless,” heart-centered year, I stopped “searching” for love and approval. I simply handled each day as it came, but it found me. Yes, I fell in love and was caught 🤭, but that will be a story for another day.
I used to believe that writing was the most fulfilling part of my life. I was mistaken. Hearing people say things like, “How do you come up with such ideas?” or “I love your writing,” and hearing this appreciation was truly touching and filled me with pride because I will always smile from ear to ear. However, I’ve come to realize that living, itself and all the emotions it brings along are the most precious things, and writing is just a part of it.
I’m back now, but the me who left is gone. I’m no longer writing to prove my skill; I’m writing to share my heart. And this is a piece of it. ❤️
