Fragments of the Quiet Mind

There have been moments in my life where words have utterly failed me, leaving a gaping hole in my heart. It's as though I'm standing at the edge of an abyss, unable to find a way to express the emotions swirling within me. But in those moments of despair, I find solace in the unspoken thoughts that reside deep within me. They're the whispers of my heart that resonate with my soul and speak volumes without uttering a single word. It's a silence that's both deafening and comforting, commanding my full attention and stirring my very being. I've come to realize that sometimes, it's the slightest murmur that has the most profound impact on me. It's the sound of a loved one's breath, the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind, or the soft hum of a melody that reaches me on a subconscious level. These are the moments that connect me to my emotions and remind me of the depth and complexity of the human experience. It's in these moments that I realize...

Amidst the depths... When life has scraped the marrow of your being,   and hardships outnumber the stars in the night sky. Yet, in that abyss, there lies a flicker, a spark of resilience refusing to be extinguished. For it is in the darkest moments,   where the strength to endure is forged with every breath,   and the embers of hope persist against the odds. Amidst the depths,  a transformation takes hold,   where wounds become scars,  and vulnerability turns into fortitude. With each trial endured,  a fragment of wisdom is gained,   a lesson etched deep within the dark crevices of the soul. And as the weight of the world threatens to suffocate,   the spirit within rises,  defying the gravity of despair. For even amidst the depths,   there exists an unwavering belief,   t hat the human spirit is indomitable,   and from the depths,  it shall ascend,   t o pierce the night with a beacon of resilience.

There are moments when life throws us into chaos. Despite our efforts to maintain a positive outlook, some instances push us to our limits. Suddenly, it feels like we're staring at our own reflection, where darkness engulfs the itsy-bitsy light that we are so desperately trying to ignite. It's disheartening...  In this state of condemnation and self-judgment,  as we struggle to make sense of it all,  we find ourselves consumed by angst and painful realizations.  No matter how hard we try to mend things, there are unforeseen circumstances where destruction triumphs over creation. Perhaps it's due to our limitations,  our inherent inadequacies that we persist in trying to fix what's broken. But more often than not, our attempts only result in shattering it further, leaving us with countless irreparable fragments.  Maybe they're right;  I seem to destroy everything I touch. I can't help but question what is wrong with me. I feel like a forsaken soul, ...

The self-righteous-religious-fanatic who keeps on using the name of God in almost all her sentences and yet gossips about the life of others. A preacher who keeps on telling us about a merciful God and yet talks about punishment and how souls are hell-bound if ‘donations’ for the church are not made. (which gives me two points for reconsideration:  First, it’s an implicit way of saying that you must join their religion if you want to be saved,  and secondly, donations are defined with a specific percentage of your income.) ok, I don’t intend to wage a war against beliefs here, all I am trying to imply is that donations should be done wholeheartedly. Some does that, but I doubt if everyone really gives the ‘real’ percentage of their income.  Incidentally, faith without reason breeds mediocrity, and religions nowadays are doing the exact opposite of what Jesus preached. (or what they are really meant to do.) Quoting the song Holy Wars by Megadeth: Brothers will kill brot...

There’s a quiet shame stitched into the seams of wanting. Not just wanting something—no, we’ve learned to be bold about ambition, about goals, about the curated dream lives we post in digestible squares. But the wanting to be chosen? To be someone’s definite yes in a world of soft maybes? That kind of wanting, we tuck under polite detachment. We make jokes. We pretend we didn't notice when they hesitated. We apologize with our silence. With sentences that trail off. With the way we say “no worries” too quickly when someone forgets to show up, as if our worth is measured by how little space we occupy when disappointed. When did needing connection become a flaw? When did the ache to be seen—fully, wildly, without edit—become something we felt the need to shrink? I used to think I was too much. Too sensitive. Too intense. Too honest in a world that taught us to blink away the truth with emojis and distractions. I learned to wrap my needs in disclaimers. “I know this sounds clingy...