Shadows and Self Worth

I need to be careful. It’s strange how easily someone else's confusion can start to feel like my own, how their uncertainty can seep into my thoughts and make me question things that were once so clear. When they waver, I find myself slipping too, teetering on the edge of their indecision, wondering if maybe I’m the one who’s lost. Am I too much? Not enough? I keep asking myself these questions, knowing deep down that they weren’t mine to begin with.

But here I am, letting their doubts crawl into my mind, letting their hesitation make me wonder if my worth is as fragile as their ability to see it. It’s like I’m standing in a fog that isn’t even mine, trying to find my footing on ground that’s been shaken by someone else’s storms.

There’s something deeply human in this tendency, isn’t there? This strange, almost instinctive drive to define ourselves through the eyes of others, to measure our worth by the scales of their perception. Maybe it’s rooted in our nature, this yearning for connection, for affirmation, for someone else’s recognition to validate our existence. But is that where true worth lies? Is it not a more profound truth that worth is intrinsic, something that exists independent of external acknowledgment? A tree does not cease to be a tree simply because no one is there to admire its strength and beauty. So why should I doubt my own value simply because someone else is too lost in their own confusion to see it?

I need to remind myself that their confusion isn’t a mirror for my own worth. This quiet voice inside me keeps on reminding me that my worth isn’t tied to anyone else’s uncertainty. "We are what we believe we are," C.S. Lewis once said. It’s a simple truth, really. My value isn’t something that shifts and changes with someone else’s indecision; it’s something solid, something I define for myself. If I believe I am valuable, then I am. If I believe I am enough, then I am enough. My value isn’t something that changes with their moods or their moments of uncertainty. It’s always been there, steady and solid, even when they can’t seem to see it. Their doubts don’t define me, and their inability to decide doesn’t mean I’m the one who’s lacking.

I can’t let their confusion become my own. I need to guard my sense of self, protect that deep understanding I have of who I am and what I’m worth. It’s too easy to let their storm pull me in, but I have to anchor myself in the truth that’s always been there. My worth doesn’t depend on them, on their clarity or their lack of it. It’s something I hold, something I’ve built, and no one else’s uncertainty can take that away from me.

So I remind myself, again and again, to be careful. To recognize that their confusion is just that—theirs. It doesn’t have to become my burden. I am enough, whole, and complete, no matter what someone else sees or doesn’t see. That’s the truth I have to hold on to, especially when the fog rolls in.

A Blank Verse Poetry

I ran this morning. Gray sky, nothing special. Weather that doesn’t force you to feel anything. Usually, I wander without purpose. Today, something stopped me. Time is a trap. We pretend it’s limited, but it isn’t. So we rush through it—steps, choices, life—until it all blurs. The small things disappear. The smell of earth, the quiet air. Gone. A song got stuck in my head. “I’ll stop the world and melt with you.” Unwanted. Persistent. How did it get in? Maybe fate. Maybe nothing. I don’t believe in destiny, but here I was—stuck in the sound, stuck in a loop. The world paused inside me. I didn’t move. The day went on. Hands trembled—not from connection, but from the weight of existing. Scars on skin—maps of past failures. Nothing clean, nothing clear. I touched a cheek. No softness. Smoke? Habit? Grip loosened—like sanity slipping. Wanting to let go, but afraid of the emptiness that follows. I kissed a cheek. A stupid move. A laugh broke the silence. A glitch. A mistake. Coffee a...

The Slow Death of the Familiar Lie

The 2025 elections just ended. Not with fireworks, not with riots—just the quiet unraveling of yet another chapter in our nation’s long and complicated dance with democracy. There’s something different in the air this time. Something subtle, like the way dusk falls before you even realize the day is gone. You feel it before you name it: a shift. Not seismic, perhaps not even visible to the untrained eye. But there, like a whisper at the edge of a crowded room. People have grown wiser. And no, this isn’t naive optimism. It’s not the kind of blind faith that wears campaign colors and chants slogans. It’s the kind of wisdom that comes from repeated heartbreak—from choosing hope too many times, only to be betrayed by men in suits and smiles. From believing in change only to see it morph into the same old trapo politics dressed in newer fonts. “Pain is a brutal but effective teacher—especially in a country where memory is often the first casualty of every election cycle.” But maybe ...

Stars and Songs

It’s 2 am and I am still awake. Though I had a long nap this afternoon, for some reason, my stubborn brain suddenly erupts in these manic streaks. My mind suddenly reboots itself and in a couple of minutes, I become as hyper as a kid who just ate 27 chocolate bars. Since it’s pointless to lie down and struggle to find the best position, I took my laptop, go out at the porch and started writing. As sat there, I looked at the heavens and there shines my moon together with the stars. The sky was barren of clouds and you can perfectly see how the earth is blanketed by the dark sky as the moon and the stars gave it an enchanting touch. The moon’s light is waning, so are my thoughts. I guess I am lunatic as I can write lots whenever the moon goes full. I consider the moon as my muse so I wondered, Why can't I shift my obsession to the stars? I think this is quite improbable. Stars are illusions, I mean, most of the time, the light that we see from these stars are actually t...

Fragments of the Quiet Mind

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