A new era

 This is it. There is no graceful sign-off, no romantic bow on this chapter. I am not here to tell you I’ll be back, nor to keep the seat warm for a triumphant return. No. I am here to tell you the truth, raw and unapologetic: I’m done writing—at least for now. This is not a pause; this is a severing. A clean break for the sake of survival. Because sometimes, if you want to live, you have to kill parts of yourself. There’s a brutal kind of honesty in admitting that the thing that once gave you life can also start bleeding you dry. Writing was once my escape, my weapon, my therapy. Now it is a mirror I no longer recognize, a constant reminder of wounds I’ve outgrown, scars I refuse to keep reopening just to prove I can bleed beautifully. The truth is, survival isn’t pretty. It’s desperate. It’s cutthroat. It’s making sacrifices that feel like amputations, choosing silence over self-expression, choosing to step back so those I love can step forward. Because what is life worth, if not...

 Life has a way of testing us. At times, it hands us decisions so heavy, so daunting, that we feel as though our courage has been completely drained. The fear of the unknown, the weight of responsibility, and the pressure of making the “right” choice can feel unbearable. And yet, somehow, we find a way forward. Often, that way is not forged by bravery alone, but by the quiet, unshakable support of those who care for us. Family becomes our anchor when the storm rages. Their belief in us—steady, unwavering—reminds us that we are not facing life’s challenges alone. Friends become our fuel, igniting in us power we didn’t know existed. Through their encouragement, their laughter, their relentless faith, they teach us resilience, tolerance, and strength. They remind us that even when our own courage feels nonexistent, there is a backbone we can lean on, one made not of steel, but of love, loyalty, and shared experience. Sometimes, these decisions are painful in ways that cut deep. They m...