Fortunate Life

I’ve noticed something about myself: whenever I’m hurt or going through something heavy, my first instinct is to think my way through it. I replay moments in my head, ask endless questions, and try to come up with answers. It’s almost like my mind is a safe house. Maybe it started way back when I was younger, when I didn’t know how to handle certain experiences. Back then, I had no tools, no support, so I did the only thing I could—I escaped into my head. Instead of letting myself feel the pain, I shut it down and started overthinking: “Why did this happen? What’s wrong with me? How do I fix it?” But here’s what I’m slowly learning: Healing doesn’t come from logic. It doesn’t happen because I figured out the “why.” It happens when I allow myself to feel again . Safely. Gently. Without judgment. That’s why no matter how many books I’ve read, or how much advice I’ve consumed, some patterns kept repeating in my life. Because knowledge alone isn’t the same as healing. The real shift beg...

  Last night, I was watching a Korean drama called Beyond the Bar when a line caught me off guard: “You’ll never know how strong the tea bag is until you put it in hot water.” It sounded so simple, almost too ordinary. But for some reason, it stayed with me. Maybe because, in my own quiet way, I feel like I’ve been living that line. Hot water. Life has given me plenty of it—moments I didn’t ask for, challenges that felt too heavy, days when I wondered if I had the strength to keep going. And in those moments, I thought I would break. I thought the heat would destroy me. But somehow, something else happened. I began to discover pieces of myself I never noticed before. A kind of courage that only shows up when I’m scared. A patience I never knew I had. A resilience that whispers, “You can still stand, even when it hurts.” It reminds me of the tea bag. You can’t really tell what’s inside just by looking at it. But when the boiling water touches it, its flavor seeps out—slowly, q...

It’s so easy to forget that behind every smile and laugh, there are stories we don’t see. If you see my reels and other social media posts, you’ll always see me smiling, laughing, and being playful — like I’m carefree. But what you don’t see is that I went through a real roller coaster of emotions from 2023 until early 2024. The Silent Questions I reached a point where I asked myself: “What am I really living for?” I even thought, “If I disappear, will anyone even remember me?” Sounds dramatic, right? But those thoughts were real. Don’t worry — I never thought of harming myself — but I did feel worthless, like my life didn’t matter, like there wouldn’t be anything worth saying in a eulogy about me. Yes, I had achievements — I’m a trainer, I finished my MBA, I get to travel for work — but sometimes, even that doesn’t stop the heart from feeling heavy. Why Was I Feeling This Way? After reflecting (and with the help of my best friend Google), I found some possible reasons: Hormonal imba...

I once read a sentence that caught my attention: “Blame is a way to discharge pain and discomfort.” At first, I thought it didn’t apply to me. I rarely blame others when things go wrong. If anything, I tend to turn inward, reflecting quietly or sometimes even blaming myself. But as I thought more deeply, I realized that blame doesn’t always have to be loud or obvious. Sometimes it comes in subtle ways—like a passing thought of “If only they had acted differently” or “If only this situation had turned out another way.” What I’ve learned is that blame, whether big or small, is often a mask for something deeper. It shows up when we’re hurting, when the discomfort feels too heavy to carry alone. By pushing it outward, even for a moment, we get temporary relief. But that relief is short-lived—the pain remains, waiting to be faced. The truth is, healing doesn’t come from assigning fault. It comes from recognizing what’s really underneath: our vulnerability, our disappointment, our grief, o...

I just finished watching Brené Brown’s TED Talk on The Power of Vulnerability , and I can’t stop thinking about something she said: we numb vulnerability. The moment those words came out of her mouth, it felt like she was talking directly to me. Because that’s exactly what I do. I numb. I don’t always call it that, but I know it’s true. When things get too heavy, when emotions feel too raw, when I sense that being open might expose me to rejection or hurt — I retreat. I keep myself busy. I distract myself with little routines. Sometimes I even act like I don’t care, when deep inside, I do. It’s my way of staying safe, of keeping control. But here’s the part that hit me the hardest: when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the good ones. I realized that every time I put a wall up to avoid feeling hurt, I also block joy, love, and connection from fully entering my life. It’s like closing the door not just on fear, but on hope and happiness too. I thought about the moments in...