Seylene’s Memo

Some people only understand pain once life finally humbles them enough to experience it themselves.

For a long time, I was exhausted, heartbroken, sick all the time, losing weight, struggling to exist normally, and trying my best to survive days that already felt too heavy. But instead of kindness, I got questions, comments, assumptions, and observations disguised as “concern,” “jokes,” or “advice.”

“If I were you, I’d get over it already.”

“Why do you wear sneakers?”

“Why didn’t you dress like this?”

“Why are you so skinny?”

“Why are you so fat?”

“Why do you look so sad?”

“Why are you happy?”

“It must be so easy for you because you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Oh, she only gets on well with boys.”

“We don’t invite her because she doesn’t join us.”

“Why don’t you find a husband?”

“When are you getting married?”

“So many books, but maybe you don’t read them.”

“You go there to find a boyfriend?”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be like that.”

“You arrived late. Must be because you were busy partying the night before.”

“You got sick again.”

“Why are you so friendly to them?”

“You act like a child.”

“I am watching you.”

“You are rude replying back to older people.”

What’s strange is how people can comment on every version of you at once.

Too quiet.

Too friendly.

Too sad.

Too happy.

Too thin.

Too much.

Not enough.

Sometimes people do not realize that constant small comments can slowly become heavy stones someone carries every single day.

And sometimes the people saying these things have no idea what kind of battle a person is fighting privately before they even walked into the room.

The older I get, the more I understand that protecting your peace is not selfishness.

Some people will misunderstand your distance.

Some people will misunderstand your silence.

Some people will misunderstand your boundaries.

But surviving something difficult changes you.

These days, I no longer absorb every careless comment quietly. I finally learned that not every opinion deserves a place inside my heart.

Shin Chan in Japan

So when someone isn't kind to you... it usually has very little to do with you.

People who feel good within themselves don't go around making others feel small.

You don't have to take it personally.

And you don't have go stay close to it either.

My golden hour dream came true! ✨ Woke up before the sun to see the Angkor Wat equinox and it was even more magical than the photos. A little bit of ancient magic to start the day. 🇰🇭🧡

Waking up for the equinox at Angkor Wat is a pilgrimage in itself.

To see the sun align so perfectly over the central tower feels like witnessing a secret conversation between ancient architecture and the cosmos.

Location: Angkor Wat temple, Cambodia. 💚

But then I remembered who I am.

I remembered how kind I am to people. How gently I show up. How much love I give without expecting anything in return.

That kindness is a reflection of my character — not a weakness.

How others treat me is a projection of their own wounds, their mindset, and their values — not a measure of my worth.

My value remains untouched, unchanged, and undeniable.

If a comment is unnecessary, keep it Respectful—or keep it to yourself.

Bitterness isn’t honesty, and honesty shouldn’t be an Excuse used to mock lives you know nothing about.

- Harper Lee

Picture: Early morning at Angkor Wat Temple.

To know you aren't out there doing people dirty, hiding who you are, or screwing people over lets you sleep peaceful at night.

Karma is real, energy is contagious.

Jellybean walked the cobbled streets minding her business, but apparently, minding your own business was suspicious in this village. Everywhere she went, whispers bloomed like fungus:

“She is selfish.”

“She cannot be trusted.”

“She once looked at a pumpkin funny, and the pumpkin rotted the next day.”

These people had never seen her feed crumbs to birds until they waddled like overstuffed muffins. They had never noticed her stargazing so intently that she once walked into a lamppost. They didn’t know her. But did that stop them? Absolutely not. Why settle for facts when gossip comes free with your morning porridge?

Eventually, Jellybean grew tired—not furious, not heartbroken, just bored. If she heard one more theory about her alleged underground donkey-smuggling ring, she might scream. So, she walked straight out of the village, toward the forest—the one place where trees had better things to do than speculate about her social life.

The forest didn’t accuse her of theft; it just shed leaves. The streams didn’t call her selfish; they babbled happily like toddlers with secrets. The wind didn’t whisper lies; it just slapped her in the face occasionally.

And there, Jellybean found a hidden grove. In the middle was a pond so clear it could’ve charged admission as a luxury mirror. Leaning in, she expected to see the monster the villagers had painted her as. Instead, she saw herself: tired, yes; misunderstood, sure; but also radiant in that “I accidentally invented mysterious beauty” sort of way.

So Jellybean stayed. She befriended foxes who thought gossip was beneath them. She hosted tea parties with squirrels (terrible conversationalists, but polite). She told secrets to the stars, who at least didn’t run their mouths at the market.

Back in the village, the rumors only got weirder. Some claimed she’d grown wings. Others swore she lived on moonlight and sarcasm. A few insisted she was queen of the forest and collected taxes from the deer.

But Jellybean didn’t care anymore. Because she had learned the truth: when you stop begging for a seat at someone else’s table, you get to host your own feast—even if your only guests are slightly judgmental raccoons.