The Highs are Not For Show

 If you know me in real life—or if you’ve been around my blog or social media—you might notice I rarely talk about the highs in my life. The joyful moments, the wins, or the things I’m grateful for don’t always make it into what I share publicly.

Sometimes I wonder if that gives off the wrong impression. Maybe it makes it seem like I’m always struggling, or not content with my life. But alhamdulillah, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I know how blessed and privileged I am, and I carry a lot of gratitude in my heart.

The reason I don't post much about the good things isn't because they’re not there—it’s because I believe in Ain. It might sound strange to those who don’t believe in it, but for me, it's something real. That’s why I tend to keep the good moments (or things I cherish most) private. They feel safer that way, protected from unwanted energy or attention that might unintentionally cause harm.

I wasn't always this private. In fact, if you catch me in person, I might overshare without meaning to—lol. But when it comes to social media or the community around me, I’ve grown more reserved. It’s not about hiding anything, really. I just don’t feel the need to invite people into every part of my life or to seek validation online.

I’m also quite fond of modesty. I appreciate when people perceive me as someone grounded, because I think there’s something really cool about not needing to announce everything. Truly confident people, I believe, let their lives speak for themselves.

So if you’ve ever read my posts and wondered what my life is really like, just talk to me. I’m always up for a good conversation.

Dysfunctional Over-Thinker

Rei used to think heartbreak came with violins and torrential rain. But no—it's in the awkward silence when he doesn’t text back and the tight smile when he says, “I’ve just been busy.” Every breath felt like breathing in rare, thin air, wondering if he even wanted to be here. 

How much sad did he think she had in her small stature? Enough to stick around for his half-love? Nah. She's tragic, sure, but she draws the line at self-implosion. So, she blocked his number, bought overpriced ice cream, and inhaled it like revenge. And guess what? Breathing’s easier already.

The thing is, she wanted it to hurt more. Like, if he's gonna break her heart, at least make it Oscar-worthy. But nope. No grand finale, no tear-soaked monologue—just her, realizing she cared more about his ‘busy schedule’ than he ever did about her favorite ice cream flavor. (It’s salted caramel, by the way. Superior choice.) 

So, here she is, alive, un-imploded, and maybe—just maybe—better off. Because if love feels like gasping for air, maybe it’s not love. Maybe it’s just waiting for someone who never shows up. And honestly? She's got better things to do.