RedJade_Queen

There’s a recurring misunderstanding in gaming discussions that keeps surfacing every time a new title drops—people confuse lore with narrative. It’s not just a semantic mix-up; it shapes how players judge whether a game “has a story” or not. Lore gives a world its bones—its history, politics, and myths—but narrative gives it a heartbeat. Without that distinction, we end up praising world-building while overlooking the emotional core that makes stories matter. 

Therefore, I want to discuss what people get wrong about lore versus narrative.

Why “Good Lore” Doesn’t Mean “Good Story”

Many people think lore is a story. It’s part of the story-making process, but it’s not a narrative. So, when someone says a game doesn’t have a story or that the story is bad, they’re not talking about lore. Lore is part of world-building, particularly when you’re creating a fantasy or science-fiction world. It’s the history of that world—its politics, culture, mythology, even its spirituality or religion. It’s the background. 

The perfect examples of games that predominantly focus on lore while lacking a strong narrative are the Dark Souls trilogy, Demon’s Souls, Elden Ring, Bloodborne, The Elder Scrolls Online, and Skyrim.

These worlds are rich with history, myth, and atmosphere—every item description and environmental detail adds to their lore, but the emotional through-line is minimal. Players piece together fragments of the past rather than follow a character’s journey with clear motivation or growth. The result is an experience that feels intellectually intriguing yet emotionally distant. These games excel at world-building but rarely at storytelling, which highlights the difference between a well-crafted setting and a compelling narrative.

Foundations Aren’t Journeys

Lore enthusiasts enjoy the foundation—the playground where a story takes place. A narrative, however, follows the journey of a character or characters through that world. People who argue that lore is a story by itself probably don’t understand how stories are made. They likely don’t grasp the emotional depth of character development that helps people resonate with the world. When that’s missing, the story isn’t seen as good. Stories create emotional resonance. Historically, they served as cautionary tales and gave meaning to someone’s life journey. The background of those stories changes with time.

Your Game Doesn’t Have “Deep Story.” It Has Lore.

Recently, I watched a snippet of someone talking about Stellar Blade and claiming it has a good story if you read the in-game text. But text in a game isn’t a narrative when the gameplay centers on a humanoid robot named Eve.

The text reveals history—a distant past that explains the world Eve travels through, its foundation, and the origins of its creatures. That person enjoys the foundation of the story, not the story itself, which is about Eve. I’ve played Stellar Blade; the story itself is lackluster because the characters are flat. They lack emotional range and don’t have a solid identity to connect with. When a character is flat, you don’t care about them. Some of the most heavily criticized game characters have range—if someone despises a character, the writer did their job. When you feel nothing toward a character, that’s a problem. That’s a flat character.

Silent Hill Games Understands Narrative

In my last blog, I talked about Silent Hill. Here, I’ll use James Sunderland as an example of a deeply complex character with range. Specifically, the remake version of James, whose voice actor’s soothing tone adds to the deception of James as an abuser who murdered his sick wife.

In Silent Hill 2, you play as the abuser—the murderer—and he manipulates us by showing his grief. But the world of Silent Hill reflects his psyche. The letter he receives from his wife, Mary, isn’t from her; it’s his own psyche sending a letter under her guise. Even the letter Laura gives him is self-deception, because Silent Hill only shows you what you desire to see. That’s why Angela and Eddie, other characters in Silent Hill, experience different versions of their own inner turmoil. They pass through similar spaces but perceive them differently, each facing unique manifestations of their monsters.

There are texts you find in Silent Hill, but they only describe the past—a history that helps players understand the town and James. The real Silent Hill and its psychological nightmare coexist: the conscious and the unconscious. That’s why the stories of Silent Hill remain beloved. They balance lore and rich narrative, played out through a fleshed-out character with an inner world.

When Lore Isn’t Enough: What Makes a Story Actually Work

Changeable avatars in games can be hit-or-miss because their inner worlds are malleable, shaped by player choices. Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy games like Cyberpunk and Mass Effect—but they don’t have fixed characters like James from Silent Hill or Senua from Hellblade.

Because these characters follow a fixed story from beginning to end, they carry more emotional weight. You play them for who they are, not who you can make them. The only thing that changes in Silent Hill 2 is the ending you choose. At his core, James is still someone who killed his wife and is dealing with the consequences of his desires.

The lore of Silent Hill 2 and Hellblade is deeply rich, but it’s the foundation for a story to unfold. Therefore, when someone says there’s no story or that it isn’t good, they’re not talking about the foundation—they’re talking about the characters and their journey through that world. Understanding this distinction helps us appreciate games not just for their worlds, but for the people who inhabit them.

I finally watched Return to Silent Hill last night, and how do I write this without saying it was totally awful, even though it does deserve to be heavily bad-mouthed because of the story choices? Let’s be clear about this: when a revision of a story is so bad that even spectacle can’t redeem it, that says a lot. Because Return to Silent Hill has a plethora of spectacle. However, that spectacle was done with a 23‑million‑dollar budget.

The first Silent Hill, released in 2006, had a 50‑million‑dollar budget. I know that 23 million is a lot of money, and really, on paper you’re just seeing a budget decrease of 27 million from the first film’s 50‑million budget. So why couldn’t they make something just as good, quality‑wise, as the first film? For one, that’s not how money works with an almost half‑slashed budget cut.

Let me explain the difference to you.

Fifty million in 2006—when production was probably during the early 2000s—had more purchasing power. You could buy a lot more with 50 million dollars back then. That money paid for good actors, stronger CGI, and quality props. Prices for goods and services were much lower than today. By the time they started production for Return to Silent Hill, 23 million dollars for a world like Silent Hill, in this economy, required at least a 100‑million‑dollar budget to be done well. I’m surprised at all that they made what they did with that little amount of budget available. Now, if they had a better story, I would have ignored a lot of what I witnessed—like the awful fake beard and wigs.

The worst mistake with the story is that it was changed to a love story. No Silent Hill story in the games is a love story. It’s rooted in the uncomfortable conversation about the human psyche and the darkness of human behavior. James and Mary in Silent Hill 2 are not a love story—it’s a tragedy. The movie adaptation of James and Mary completely flattens and, worse, sanitizes the complexity of their relationship. It erases what James actually did—not out of love, but out of selfishness and resentment toward his sick wife. Each character you come across in the game displays how societal abuse shapes our reality and the lack of accountability for the actions taken afterward. Return to Silent Hill is flat and sanitized, and mostly spectacle that does not make it better. I caught most of the incorporated images from the game in the film’s scenes, but those scenes made no sense in the context of what the story was going for.

Now, I have no issue with changing James’s occupation from a cubicle‑working man to a carefree artist, but making it a love story lost the psychological edge—because the first scene of the film landed flat.

When you compare the intro scene of James in the game versus the film, the game doesn’t give you much information. By starting with James looking in the mirror in the bathroom, hands trembling, it gets the hair standing up right away—his heavy breath, the confusion on his face. That’s the hook my creative writing teacher taught me about writing ‌a compelling first few paragraphs. Now compare it to Return to Silent Hill: James driving a windy scenic route looks nice. I admit, they shot that at a beautiful landscape, but that’s not a hook that digs in. It’s a dull experience. Adding in almost hitting a bus head‑on because James was smoking a blunt, then running into Mary’s suitcase, is not compelling for psychological horror. That’s why I said it was the worst mistake to turn this into a love story—it lost its sharpness to pierce.

Now, if this had a better budget, and they never bothered with the love story, and kept it true to the real context of Silent Hill 2, a lot of the newer concepts—like switching from first-person to third—would have worked beautifully. I enjoyed the running and the switch to first person; it made me believe the character was running a cutscene in a game where you have to run, not fight or explore.

Why I believe the first Silent Hill adaptation worked was because it incorporated the game’s themes: Pyramid Head, the bugs, the cult, the female officer from the first game—even though in the game the officer doesn’t die; however, her death in the film worked. It still had the concept of the protagonist constantly reviewing the map, memorizing it, like how a player had to memorize routes in the game. It worked. What was done with Return to Silent Hill absolutely did not. Even though they added the loop of James meeting Mary again at the bus stop outside Silent Hill, and him deciding to drive her to the next town, it was flat. And from what the director said, the ending was made lighter because he was going to settle on the drowning‑in‑the‑lake scene.

The thing about people who do film adaptations of video games is that they make the same mistake as with literature adaptations: the core idea—the very soul of the story—gets erased or rewritten based on the cultural and political climate of the day. Turning Return to Silent Hill into a love story erases the core, the soul of the game’s story: a man who couldn’t live with murdering his sick and dying wife. It ignores the sinister side of how James views women in the game—about sexual violence, about abuse. 

Angela in the game’s story was a victim of sexual violence from her father and brother. She was in Silent Hill looking for her mother, who had abandoned her.

Eddie killed people because of societal abuse, with him having been bullied.

Laura was in Silent Hill because she was looking for Mary, as Mary had promised to become Laura’s mother. Maria is the dark feminine of Mary, because Silent Hill 2 was built around some of the concepts of Carl Jung. The cult is just a plot device. The monsters are just spectacle. But all the monsters James encounters in his version of Silent Hill—because each character experiences a different version of Silent Hill—are monstrous versions of women. The nightclub is an important location in the game because James had sexual desires that weren’t being met. Maria is an aspect of what James wished his wife, Mary, would be.

The film doesn’t have that.

Video games have become a good medium for telling stories. Films, because of how influenced they are by politics and what’s going on culturally—and the fact that they intentionally sanitize and flatten already complex stories—are falling behind. And maybe that’s okay, because mainstream is kind of awful. After all, it only wants to reach a broader audience, and that always flattens nuance. People are enjoying indie films more. Yes, they’re done with lower budgets, sometimes funded by loans and heavy risks to pay them back, or by selling their story to a larger publisher—because we still function under capitalism. 

Indie films are appealing because they don’t flatten the story or the characters. After all, that would make the audience uncomfortable. I’ve been thinking about writing a blog post about how having uncomfortable conversations is healthy. Watching films that display discomfort because of the story’s context is healthy—it makes you think. It makes you confront the darker aspects of life.

Either way, take that as you will.

Roses and Monsters

Where was I?

Just a moment ago, I was lying comfortably in my bed, and suddenly, darkness engulfed everything around me, creating an eerie void. A video captivated me on my phone about Greek mythology and the story of Medusa. But in an instant, the sound faded, and my device vanished from my hand, leaving me in complete darkness. The usual noises from the nearby road were absent, adding to the unsettling silence. The light from the street lamp had mysteriously vanished as well. Confusion washed over me as I realized the window was nowhere to be found, and I questioned where I was—and whose bed I was lying in.

As I sat up abruptly, my hand glided across the bed’s surface, encountering something thin and silky. It felt round and cool, like delicate flower petals scattered throughout the mattress. My curiosity got the better of me. I brought one petal to my nose, instantly overwhelmed by the familiar scent of roses. The sheer size of the bed surprised me—wider than a California King, adorned with an abundance of pillows. My search yielded no one else in bed with me, confirming that I was alone. Eventually, I settled into one spot, finding the bed soft and comforting. Yet, the darkness surrounding me remained unsettling.

Suddenly, a rattling sound shattered the silence, causing my heart to race. Straining my ears, I tried to identify the source, and it became clear that something was crawling at the foot of the bed, emitting a hissing sound as it drew closer. Fear gripped me, rendering my legs paralyzed as I sensed the vibrations of someone—or something—slithering onto the bed, causing the mattress to shift under its weight. It inched closer, and my instincts told me to remain silent, as if it were unaware of my presence. Holding my breath, I awaited its arrival, catching a faint whiff of alcohol on its breath.

The rattling ceased, and the hissing transformed into a deep exhale. “I can smell your fear,” a firm yet ominous female voice declared.

With a gentle touch, she clutched the bottom of my jaw, forcing me to look up, even though I couldn’t see her. Startled, I exclaimed, “Am I dreaming?”

My hand reached out instinctively, realizing she had no legs below her waist. Her skin, smooth to the touch, resembled that of a serpent. I quickly pulled my arm back, apologizing for my intrusion. Suddenly, I realized who she might be—but I refused to accept the possibility, leaving me speechless with panic.

She chuckled softly. “No, this is not a dream,” she assured me, her tone gentler now.

I sat there, stunned by her identity and the potential harm she could inflict upon me if I tried to escape. “There’s no need to worry,” she said. “It’s too dark in here for me to turn you to stone. However, if light were to enter this room, there would be no escaping the unavoidable fate.”

Trembling, I felt her breath draw closer to mine, her tongue playfully grazing my lip.

“Why did I bring you here?” she asked, as if reading my mind. “Isn’t it obvious? The dark is the only place where I can meet with you.”

Curious, I asked, “Where are we?”

She replied, “This is my secret chamber in the underground temple within the Gorgon Cave. You’ve already learned the myth of what happens to all who come here.”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Good,” she said. “Now that you know who I am, you understand the lengths I’ve gone through to have you here with me. I even had the roses brought in just for this rare occasion. Just so you know, I never do things like this. Even though you can’t see them, I have infinite bouquets displayed throughout the room, decorating everything in a lustrous crimson. I know you love the scarlet ones—even with their thorns.”

“I love roses,” I said carefully. “Thank you... But why would you go to such lengths just for me?”

“Because you empathized with what they did to me,” she answered. “You showed sadness when you learned how the goddess I worshiped didn’t save me from the sea god who stole my dignity. I expressed no interest in him and said no many times, but he saw me as a possession to take. They assumed it was within their right to take advantage of me just because I was born with beauty. And then, they cursed me to be this monster known to man.

But in your novels, you didn’t portray me as a monster. You wrote about how lonesome it must be—and how the gods sin just as often as man. You recognized they are the actual monsters in all the myths and tales, not the souls they twisted out of jealousy.”

“It’s lonely to be cursed,” I said quietly. “I’ve experienced the suffering of being alone. Most people don’t understand me, and many don’t accept me. The curse on my love makes it impossible for any relationship to fulfill me, and the right person never notices me... like you. I’m taken advantage of because of my generosity. They never looked at the real me. You and I both know what our souls are capable of, even in the dullest moments. We gave away our love to those we wanted acceptance from, regardless of their intentions.”

“I’ll never worship another god,” she declared firmly.

“That’s good to hear,” I replied. “They never deserved your devotion anyway.”

“And those girls never deserved your love,” she added.

I sighed and sank back into the bed.

“Do you feel more relaxed now?” she asked, lying beside me and breathing softly on my neck. The snakes on her head hissed gently, and one grazed my forehead—but I no longer feared them or her.

“Yeah... Do you mind if I’m cursed as well?” I asked.

“Not at all,” she said.

“Do you care if I’m broken inside?”

She countered, “Does it matter?”

I sighed. “I guess not...”

“Do you accept me for who I am?” she asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I answered. “My ex made me look like a monster too. So we’re both misunderstood. But who cares about others’ opinions, right?”

“You’re not a monster,” she whispered.

“Neither are you,” I said.

“Very well,” she replied. “I suppose we’re not so different after all.”

Despite the world viewing us as monsters, we discovered solace in one another as we confronted our shared destiny. If only they truly comprehended the reality...

We were like roses without thorns, while those who still perceived thorns were merely concealing behind falsehoods. Only when we were oblivious to their deceit did they harm us and condemn us to be perceived as villains.

But we knew.

One day, others will inevitably uncover the truth—whether by chance, vulnerability, or mutual understanding. It will unveil what’s hidden beneath the façade.

We understood that our love, though cursed, was pure and genuine, unaffected by society’s judgments and expectations. We discovered solace in each other’s embrace, accepting our flaws and brokenness. Through that acceptance, our souls found sanctuary—a refuge from the world’s harsh realities.

We defied the labels imposed upon us and proved that love could transcend curses and perception. As we lay there, entwined in one another’s arms, we clung to the hope that one day, our love would no longer be seen as a curse but as a testament to the strength and resilience of the spirit.

This is going to be an interesting discussion, since I’ve noticed how the indie horror film Obsession has become the talk lately.

I have to admit, horror is fascinating because it’s like having an uncomfortable conversation about human behavior and people, but displayed on a screen. What pulled it onto my radar was its use of ritual magick as a tool to invoke a wish. It leans into the supernatural to show what it looks like when someone strips another person of autonomy and agency, which breaks the natural laws of consent.

I practiced witchcraft in the past and learned about other things. I have a basic understanding of the costs of leaning in either direction, light or dark. When you do things that harm another person — yes, that includes love spells — you’re still stripping someone’s autonomy and agency. And that has consequences.

Obsession isn’t the first film to explore infatuation through a crush, or the desire for someone who doesn’t desire you back. Funny enough, two ’90s films with Sandra Bullock tap into influencing people against their will:

Love Potion No. 9 and Practical Magic.

Love Potion No. 9 follows two socially awkward scientists — Sandra Bullock’s character being one of them — who come across a mysterious elixir that makes them irresistible to anyone who hears them speak. They test the potion on themselves, setting off a chain of “funny” and supposedly romantic misadventures. I don’t find ’90s rom‑coms romantic, because they often romanticize predatory behavior. It’s basically the siren‑voice concept, but bottled. They intentionally use it to influence people in their favor. Their victims — and I’m calling them victims because we need to be honest — could not resist. This film is one of many pieces of media showing that if someone who feels unseen or neglected is given the means to get what they want, even at the cost of someone else’s agency, they’ll use it for self‑interest.

Practical Magic shows this in a short scene where a customer begs the aunts for a love spell to make a man love her.

We don’t see the consequences of that spell, but we do see the consequences of other things the sisters invoke.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely enjoyed Practical Magic. It’s still one of my favorite films that portrays modern‑day witches without going over‑the‑top like The Craft.

I enjoyed The Craft too. But again, that film shows what happens when you’re offered the means to change your reality and how you choose to use it. In that story, a love spell is cast on Chris Hooker out of vengeance for how he treated Robin and Nancy.

He becomes almost Robin’s slave, doing whatever she asks without hesitation. That spell pushes him into extreme obsession.

Then there’s Weapons. Even though it doesn’t use a love spell, the concept of craft and tools being used to control people is still there. The day the trailers dropped, the moment I saw the bell being rung, I already knew what kind of ritual was being invoked.

The children running out into the night at the same hour, only responding to the bell — it all clicked.

They didn’t have to say a practitioner was behind it; it was obvious. And of course, I watched the film, and oh my gosh.

Now, with Obsession, what the other films don’t say directly is that every victim is conscious throughout the whole thing. The sinister — or, honestly, the most diabolical — aspect is that the victim is fully aware of what’s happening but has no control over their body.

I played The Last of Us and watched the live‑action series. The thing about the cordyceps takeover is that the victim is still conscious and feeling everything, but the body is being controlled. Every facial contortion, every moan, every groan hits harder because the victim is in extreme agony. They feel everything and cannot stop it.

That’s why ending someone’s life after infection is considered mercy; the alternative is far worse. But the story isn’t really about the infection; it’s about how people react to it. Even with an external force taking over bodies, humans still find ways to dehumanize each other, exert control, and justify extreme violence.

Obsession, Practical Magic, Love Potion No. 9, and Weapons all showcase what happens when a person is given the means to fulfill their deepest desire. That’s why people get uncomfortable when someone says crushes aren’t healthy, or that infatuation is rooted in fantasy. Obsession with one particular person blinds you. Many people act like they’re entitled to the people they’re attracted to. It shows up subtly, calling dibs on someone, getting upset when feelings aren’t reciprocated, or when someone doesn’t view them romantically or sexually. Nikki, the victim in Obsession, had her entire life destroyed because one person was obsessed enough to make a wish.

Desperation is an interesting topic because it drives so much of human behavior. It shapes decisions, relationships, priorities. It makes people tunnel‑visioned. And I used to be there. I thought life would be better if I fulfilled certain things; if I was with this woman, if I had this job, this amount of money, a motorcycle. I thought everything would feel better. Different. No.

I absolutely love writing. I enjoy stories. I’m invigorated by mythologies, folklore, and fairytales, especially the ones that are actually cautionary tales. So when Nikki quit her job to become a full‑time writer and write that love story, I related to that. But someone else’s infatuation with her led to everything that happened in the film.

Sometimes you have to acknowledge the truth: the real critique is what a self‑serving human being will do if they’re given the tools to make their wish come true. The ritual, the wish; those are just tools. The person choosing to use them is the real antagonist. Sometimes, we are our own worst villains in society.

I’ll end it here.

I’ve been thinking about how different sapphic connection feels across generations. And honestly, a lot of the conversations I see online, especially the ones insisting there are “no clear signs” when a woman likes you, really show how much the environment has shaped us.

Because when two inexperienced women like each other and both miss the signals, they walk away thinking, “See, there were no signs.” But that’s not proof that the signs weren't there. That’s two people admitting they didn’t know what to look for, and they were running on risk-aversion. Fear of rejection. Fear of ruining a friendship.

Here’s the truth: if a woman likes you, you will know. The signals were there. You just didn’t have the ability yet to see them. This is why you have a friend group around you who can see a different perspective, because we can be blinded by our own limitations and self-biases.

However, not noticing if a woman showed interest- signs that they were interested- that’s not a flaw. That’s just inexperience. You learn patterns by living them, not by reading lists or watching TikToks. And people forget that sapphics come in a range of charm. I'm the bare minimum seasoned lesbian. I like to consider myself the domesticity lesbian because I really stretch a relationship from 4 to 6 years. That means when I enter a partnership, I'm not going to be single or available for at least 4 years, give or take. That means there are other lesbians out there who charm a woman in an instant with much less work, and they change out quite frequently as well. Some sapphics aren't interested in the long haul, and that has to be respected. I knew someone like that, and oh my gosh, my ex bad-mouthed her all the time, not believing her charm attracted such gorgeous ladies. And each one I was able to meet, yeah... my friend could charm a snake if she wanted to.

And this is where the generational gap shows up.

Gen Z didn’t get the same world I did. I'm a millennial. They had the pandemic, lockdowns, isolation during the exact years when you’re supposed to learn how to talk to people, how to read faces, how to handle awkwardness, how to flirt without a script. They learned everything through screens. That’s not their fault; it’s the environment and the decline of 3rd spaces or access.

When I came out at 21, I had to be outside in the wild. It was still a transition from analog to technology that was growing every year. I still remember dating sites, not apps, where you had a screen full of profiles to go through. I used to use Facebook and Myspace to talk to other lesbians across the globe. That was interesting. Call it digital pen-pals. However, I had to talk to women in person. I had to learn rapport from actual conversations, not curated posts. Retail jobs taught me how to talk to people. Dating taught me how to read energy. And eyes never lie. That’s something you only learn in person.

For funsies, because my friend dared me, I walked down the hallway at my college and eyed a girl from head to toe. I stopped right alongside her so she could see me do it. Right away, she did the exact same thing, eyeing me from head to toe. And a second later, she asked, "Can I have your digits?" Because that's my silly time period.

Eyes that linger on you, and if you notice it and learn what that means, yeah.

However, I admit, rejection wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t catastrophic. It's survivable. You learned from it. Now rejection is treated like a failure or like something that destroys your worth. So I've noticed people avoid it. They want certainty without risk. A formula. They also want a guarantee when there's no concrete method. They want to know someone’s sexuality without asking, someone’s interest without vulnerability.

But connection doesn’t work like that. It never has.

My generation was probably the last one where lesbians or outed bisexuals still took emotional risks even without many rights or protections. We had nothing to lose, so we risked everything. We were also strategic. Something a late-bloomer lesbian or sapphic person has no experience with because they were living the heteronormative life through those times. Now people have more rights, more visibility, more community, and somehow less courage to be vulnerable and come up with methods to avoid learning and training the mind to spot signals and patterns in people. Again, not their fault. Just the environment.

And honestly, I’m not even thinking about partnership right now. Other parts of my life need to be solid before I ever let someone into it again. My identity and my values aren’t negotiable. I’m not shrinking myself for anyone’s comfort ever again, and I'm rooted in my experiences. My experience dissolves a lot of safety blankets about self-limitations that make people believe they can't learn or be trained to see broader.

I watched a lesbian dating‑advice creator on YouTube today. I’d seen a few of her videos before- the usual “how to tell if she’s into you” or “how to know if she likes women” content. I stopped watching because it plays into this idea that women are impossible to read unless you ask the “right questions” or follow some script.

Most sapphics aren’t living in that world anymore. We use dating apps. We go to queer spaces when we can. We meet women at work, through friends, at events.

And honestly? Most women who are interested in you will tell you, or they’ll behave in ways that are unmistakable.

But here’s the part that made me pause.

In her newest video, she revealed she came out at 36. She’s 43 now. So she’s been in the lesbian world for six, maybe seven years.

And I thought: She’s a gay baby teaching other gay babies. A freshman teaching freshmen how to navigate senior year.

I’m not judging her for coming out late. But I came out at 21. I turned 40 this year. I’ve lived decades of sapphic dynamics — long-term relationships, heartbreaks, misreads, wins, losses, and the slow accumulation of actual lessons.

Her entire lesbian lifespan is the same length as my longest relationship. And before that, I had a four-year partnership — we lived together, built a life, and were woven into each other’s families. My mother still calls her “my favorite daughter-in-law,” and my ex still calls her “mah.”

Outside of relationships, I dated and hooked up with plenty of women — while being neurodivergent, awkward, and living under far more social pressure than younger sapphics face today. Even the later lesbians. And I still managed. I still learned and lived it in its full chaos.

This isn’t bragging. This is pointing out a problem: There is a lack of elder or seasoned lesbians giving clarity, so the vacuum gets filled by people who are still in their intro chapter.

When I was 21, older women wanted me. I don't know why, but I dated them. So, understand the age-gap dynamics. I learned boundaries early, including telling one woman no because she was my boss at my first real job. I learned that the biggest block for younger sapphics is honesty and overcoming insecurity. As you get older, you learn to state your wants and needs directly. You learn that women aren’t complicated books to decode — you’re a woman yourself. Understand your own behavior, and you’ll understand hers.

One of this YouTuber’s videos said you can “signal interest” by sitting close or touching her arm. Baby, that’s just human behavior. If a woman likes you, you’ll know. Her eyes will follow you. She’ll want your attention. She’ll find excuses to be near you. She’ll test closeness in ways that feel natural, not strategic.

I’ve had women at work buy me snacks, check on me when I was sick, and hover around me because they were interested. I heard the weirdest flirts about taking care of my hands, and a woman touching them like it's precious, because I injured a finger. I’ve had friends visit me at my job because they had crushes. My wife once leaned over and said, “You know she’s in love with you, right?” And I already knew — because women show you through their body language and eyes.

And here’s something younger sapphics need to hear: You are not entitled to the women you’re attracted to. Your type is not a guarantee. Rejection is not a devaluation; it’s incompatibility. It means you’re meant for someone else.

Long-term partnership is its own universe. It’s unlearning emotional suppression. It’s not losing yourself in the relationship. It’s learning the difference between sexual intimacy and emotional intimacy. It’s appreciating the quiet closeness that comes with compatibility or even domesticity.

Even in my toxic marriage, my ex-wife understood me deeply, and I understood her. That kind of mutual reading comes with time, not tips.

Older lesbian dating is a different world than younger lesbian dating. Seasoned lesbians don’t approach relationships the same way. We’ve lived enough to know what matters: honesty, clarity, compatibility, and the willingness to communicate openly.

Everyone has wants and needs. The real work is being honest about them, with yourself and with the woman in front of you.

Lesbian Dating + Relationship Tips From a Seasoned Sapphic

If a woman likes you, you’ll know. Her eyes will follow you, she’ll seek your company, she’ll hover, she’ll find excuses to be near you.

Women show interest through attention. Snacks at work, checking on you when you’re sick, wanting to sit next to you, visiting your job, wanting you at lunch — these are signals.

You don’t need tricks. You need honesty. Ask real questions. Say what you want. State your needs. It saves everyone time.

Understand yourself to understand her. Women aren’t mysterious puzzles. If you know your own behavior, you’ll recognize hers.

Rejection is not a devaluation. You’re not entitled to your type. Rejection means incompatibility, not that something is wrong with you.

Don’t assume anyone’s sexuality. If she’s into you, she’ll make it known. If she’s not, respect that.

Boundaries matter — especially with age gaps or power dynamics. If she’s your boss, your teacher, or in a position of authority, step back. Attraction doesn’t override ethics.

Long-term relationships require unlearning. Especially unlearning emotional suppression, over-functioning, and centering your partner to the point of losing yourself.

Sex is a conversation, not a performance. It’s personal, it’s paced, it’s mutual. You don’t need to “be experienced.” You need to communicate.

Let intimacy be personalized. Every woman has preferences. Ask. Listen. Adjust. Don’t assume.

Older lesbian dating is different from younger lesbian dating. Seasoned sapphics move with clarity, not games. We know what we want and say it.

Compatibility > fantasy. Your “type” might not be the woman who gives you a fulfilling relationship. Attraction isn’t destiny.

If it’s mutual, it unfolds naturally. The closeness, the leaning in, the shared breath, the territorial little gestures — it happens without forcing.

Women who like you will try to include you. They’ll invite you places, want you near them, pull you into their world.

Don’t center the relationship so much that you disappear. Keep your identity, your hobbies, your friendships. Love shouldn’t consume you.

Emotional intimacy is the foundation. The cuddling, the affection, the being seen — that’s what sustains long-term sapphic relationships.

Be vocal about your wants and needs. And create space for her to be vocal about hers.

Remember: you’re not owed a woman’s time, body, or attention. Attraction doesn’t equal entitlement. Respect her autonomy.

So...

I remember a time when I could have long chats with women across the world. Back when pen‑paling was a thing that created a deep connection with people you would most likely never meet in person, but they made you feel seen.

I'm 40, by the way.

There was something sacred about that era, the slow, intentional rhythm of it. You’d send a message, not expecting an instant reply, but knowing that when it came, it would be thoughtful, personal, and real. It felt like opening a letter, even if it was digital. It felt like someone choosing to sit with your words instead of skimming past them.

Back then, the internet wasn’t a stage. It was a quiet room where two people could talk for hours about life, identity, heartbreak, dreams, and the strange ways we try to make sense of ourselves. I met lesbians from countries I’ll probably never visit, women whose lives were nothing like mine, yet somehow we understood each other better than the people physically around us. That was the magic of it. Connection without performance.

Somewhere along the way, that world disappeared.

Social media shifted into something fast, loud, and relentlessly superficial. Everything became a spectacle. It became content. The long conversations turned into short bursts of curated personality. The pen‑pal dynamic, the slow, steady unfolding of two minds, got swallowed by algorithms that reward speed over depth, aesthetics over honesty, and noise over nuance.

As a millennial, it’s strange to watch the world you grew up with dissolve in real time. I’m old enough to remember when online spaces felt like community, not competition. When people talked because they wanted to know you, not because they wanted engagement. When connection wasn’t a transaction.

Now I scroll through feeds that feel like conveyor belts of slop — fast, shallow, and forgettable. And I don’t enjoy it. I don’t feel nourished by it. It's disconnected at the heart. I feel like an older lesbian standing in the middle of a digital marketplace that wasn’t built for people like me anymore.

Maybe that’s why I’ve drifted into singlehood so comfortably. Maybe that’s why I’m not chasing connection with the same urgency I once did. I used to sprint in a fictional race. The race to find a partner, to build a life that looked “fulfilling” from the outside. But I burned myself out emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. I spent so much of my energy trying to keep up with a world that kept speeding up.

Now I’m tired. And I’m finally admitting that I’m tired.

But I’m also grateful. Because even if the internet has changed, even if the world feels faster and more hollow, I still carry the memory of what connection used to feel like. I still remember the women who wrote to me like I mattered. I still remember the nights spent talking to someone across the world who made me feel understood in a way that didn’t require performance or perfection.

Maybe that era is gone. Maybe it won’t come back. But it shaped me. And I miss it.

It’s interesting being an older lesbian who has raced through life experiences as if it were a race. I experienced life moments young. So the aspects that younger people crave, I already experienced, but not with mindfulness. That’s because the question was never asked: Am I moving forward toward something meaningful, or am I moving away from things I can’t deal with? They sound similar, but they’re not. But it's a question about being honest with myself. I learned that you can't do anything with self-deception. But with honesty, you can do plenty with it.

When I ran toward romantic or sexual relationships, it was because of the internal agony I was experiencing from my home life and the environment as a whole. I ran toward it believing it would bring me relief — which it didn’t. So it led me into relationships that were incompatible, but they carried their lessons. Lessons that painted a clearer view of what is more important and what aligns with me, as well as pointed a light into the darkness that hid things about me that needed to be acknowledged.

As usual, my best friend inspired this topic I want to write about. I’m older than her by a couple of years. I’m 40 years old, and she’s going to be 38 on Wednesday. We both have been married and divorced, and we are both on the neurodivergent spectrum. We both have experienced life in the darkest and lightest aspects. We both understand that the sexual aspect of being the priority in a partnership gets pushed into the background, and the mundane — or should I say domestic — aspects of a partnership move to the forefront. Those are the things we agree we miss the most from being in a partnership. I say partnership and not relationship because partnership is working together to build up a home and run a home. That’s what we did with the women we were with. We shared life and burdens.

What came with sharing life and burdens were the memories that remain in vivid detail. The ones we both shared are about our four‑legged family members. In all our long relationships, there were always dogs and cats involved.

I had two Dachshunds that lived through some of my partnerships. My second mini Dachshund, Bea, was alive for both my 4‑year and 6‑year relationships. My first Dachshund, Casey, was only alive during my 4‑year relationship, and I was grateful that my partner at the time was with me to help deal with the process of putting her to sleep. But I had the best memories within those years, especially when Bea entered the family.

My mother got her for me as a kind gesture to ease my pain of dealing with Casey having cancer. I really did not take it well at first, receiving a new puppy to care for. But at some point, my coldness to the situation eased, and I ended up truly caring for her. She had the nickname “Monster” because of the fur on her tail shaped like a pitchfork. And she had a habit of chewing wires.

The best memory was when my partner at the time picked me up from work with a distressed look, as if she needed to tell me some bad news. I already knew the bad news was always about the dogs and what schemes they did. The first thing she said was, “Before you get angry, I wanna let you know I already went to GameStop and bought a replacement. Bea chewed the PlayStation wire and zapped herself.” Sure enough, we get home, and I see Bea with her fur spiky from the static shock.

That happened a long time ago, and I still remember it in full detail. So many things happened in those days that are forever implanted in full clarity because it’s hilarious now — but back then I was frustrated and afraid at the same time. Frustrated because of the schemes, afraid because some of those schemes could have led to them getting seriously injured or killed. I always thanked my lucky stars that it never led to that. They were happy and still intact.

I remember with my first dog, Casey, we couldn’t do road trips at normal hours when driving to my family’s home, which was a four‑and‑a‑half‑hour drive that could be torturous for one reason: Casey had a habit of barking from anxiety. She could easily bark for hours and not stop. So my solution was to get up at 3 a.m. and drive before the sun came out. Casey would be too tired to bark at those hours, so she always slept in her bed the entire road trip.

When Bea entered the family, I had no space to myself in the early hours. Bea clung to me, and Casey had to sleep on my lap the entire time because it was only fair. I had to give both dogs attention and affection. So, to keep Casey from barking and Bea feeling safe, I had to experience the road trip with no space and discomfort for those long hours.

So we miss the domestic aspects that come with a partnership. It’s those moments and others. It’s the intimate conversations about what’s going on in life. It’s the mundane tasks of grocery shopping, sharing meals together, sharing a space together, having someone to come home to. Even sharing travel experiences together. It feels different experiencing new places with someone versus solo. I’ve experienced both, and my best friend has as well. Even sharing an experience at a food place feels different than doing it solo — which we have both done. I used to go to a lot of places by myself without my partner. I would sit at the bar, and the bartender knew me so well that they would create a drink special for me. I went to a lot of food places on my own as well, and later on would take my friends there to experience it, and later, my partner.

But now I’m in a different phase of my life, where I don’t have to go to places as much to have fulfillment. I find more comfort in being in my home and enjoying my interests and hobbies to their full extent. And the people who are close to me experience the fruits of those hobbies and interests, because one of those interests is cooking. I make it an entirely relaxed experience.

Life for me has transitions and phases that I allow to happen. I understand better that the aspects that were the most important to me in a partnership weren’t the physicality of it; it was the emotional and mental aspect that came with the mundane experiences. I say mundane because it doesn’t have the chemistry bursts or highs and lows that come with sexual attraction, or even the romantic aspect. I kind of laugh about the fact that I find it sexy now when a woman chooses to drive me places, because I don’t like driving. I absolutely enjoy being just a passenger. So it’s aspects like that I’m drawn to.

We can all have a particular type, but the truth is, my type is the woman who has a solid mental and emotional foundation to move beyond insecurities and understands the difference between interdependence, codependency, and independence. My type is a woman who looks at the world with a spectrum lens versus the binary. Because regardless of what people may believe, the binary lens has extreme limitations, and it creates competition in the home. It always values and devalues. And it exploits what is devalued. However, what is truly important to me — and the lessons I learned from my other relationships — is that I absolutely enjoy women who are direct and say what they’re feeling and thinking, because I don’t like to waste energy figuring out social cues and trying to read between the lines of their words and actions.

I am that person who understands that people need validation to feel a certain way about themselves and use that as a tool for connection. I just want to state that it’s exhausting. Why? Because it’s emotional and mental energy used as currency. Trying to read between the lines with people is energy being used up, at least for me. My best friend is the same. Even though we miss the domestic aspects of partnerships, I don’t think she would admit that it was emotionally taxing to deal with partners who never spoke their mind directly, or earlier on, how they felt until it led to not making the best choices. I don’t get drawn in by missing relationships as much as others, mostly because I don’t let it blind me to what the cost was to share a life with someone. That’s why I can talk about past relationships without falling into despair or longing for a partnership again — even if it’s about the simplicity of the domestic aspects of it. I remember the costs and how much space I had to have on my plate for that partnership. It’s not easy. Even functioning in life with more than just yourself is not easy. But I hope my friend does find that partnership again and gets to experience those aspects she longs for again.

As for me… I keep asking the question I mentioned at the beginning of this blog post: Am I moving forward toward something meaningful, or am I moving away from things I can’t deal with? I have to keep the meaningful in mind. That means I can’t go toward things like I used to, to escape the things I can’t or don’t want to deal with.

By the way, I hope you enjoyed the pictures of Bea.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how power moves through people — not just in Westeros, but in the real world. The way it twists love, loyalty, and survival into strategy. “House of the Dragon” isn’t just a story about dragons or thrones; it’s about how people are shaped by the systems they’re born into and how they fight, quietly or loudly, to live within them. This piece is me tracing those threads — especially the ones that lead to Rhaenyra Targaryen’s death. 

I wanted to keep this blog post separate from another I wrote: How Misogyny Forged the Dance of the Dragons | House of the Dragon Series.

In that piece, I mostly wrote about who ignited what befell the demise of Rhaenyra Targaryen — Ser Otto Hightower. I explained that Alicent was a chess piece on a board her father had set from the very beginning, even orchestrating the friendship between Rhaenyra and Alicent. It doesn’t need to be said explicitly, but that’s what it insinuated. Otto had served three kings, and he always had his daughter with him. It benefited him to have her there because she could be used for whatever purpose he needed. It didn’t matter if Rhaenyra was a boy or a girl — a girl equaled close friendship; a boy would have equaled Alicent enticing him to marry her.

I’m training my mind to think like Otto — to imagine what might have been brewing in his mind. He may have loved his daughter, but his eyes were set on putting his lineage on the throne.

When you understand the core of the Game of Thrones universe, it’s about who’s strategic enough to get what they want and survive the several moves of different players on the board. It’s about who has the upper hand to manipulate pieces on the chessboard. It means you have to foresee everyone else’s moves and make decisions several steps ahead — collecting information, creating relationships with people who can get that information, and most of all, doing the unspeakable.

Game of Thrones is the concept of a bloody play of chess. It’s politically heavy and reflects a lot on the structures of our world — who makes it to the top and who survives or dies. The author of the universe just wrote in the Night King and the undead as something to worry about, but they don’t have much to do with the core of the story, which is the strategic power play to gain control. The Iron Throne is the symbol of power — the object many players pursue. Those who sit on that throne are not guaranteed healthy, wonderful lives. Plenty of characters say it: “It’s a burden.” Being even adjacent to the throne means the risk of death. Rhaenys said it to her husband, who was stuck on her being the rightful queen that was denied. Rhaenyra said it too, crying to her father.

First, I need to address something important because I’m aware of how people can misunderstand the intention of the story — they place their own story on top of it to make it make sense to them. But I’m going to write it plainly: House of the Dragon is a witness to the different accounts and decisions that led to the brutal death — or should I say, the execution — of Rhaenyra Targaryen. The end goal of this series is Rhaenyra’s death, not her success. Her death. When I entered this series, I had that at the forefront. I am witnessing and putting together the pieces the writers are giving us through the characters’ decisions and actions that lead to Rhaenyra’s death — meaning who was directly and indirectly involved in steering her toward that fate.

What makes it heartbreaking is that almost everyone in the series is steering Rhaenyra to her death. Almost every person she loves, loved, or trusted has led her there — along with her children. Very few who tried to guide her wisely survived.

Rhaenys said that Rhaenyra shows great restraint throughout the usurpation of the throne and being betrayed by Alicent and the council. She convinces her husband to stick with Rhaenyra, and she stands by her proudly because restraint is strength — not resorting to bloodshed right away or using dragons, which would lead to bone and ash.

People mistake kindness and restraint as softness. That’s not softness. Why? Because it’s so easy to act without thinking. It’s easy to take revenge. It’s easy to commit violence. It’s challenging not to — especially in that world, where if you don’t, it means your death or worse, your enslavement.

Alicent was the epitome of softness and everything feminine in that world — compliance, politeness, submissiveness, obedience. Yet she was quick to have a child’s eye removed because her son was entitled enough to steal a dragon during the days of mourning, and he would have seriously harmed those girls if Jace and Luke hadn’t intervened. He later used that same dragon to kill Luke. Alicent even cut Rhaenyra’s arm because Rhaenyra wasn’t going to let anything happen to her son. The problem with that scene is that everyone was just watching. They didn’t stop what was happening until it was done. Why does that matter? It shows that those two women are on their own — no one will intervene.

There’s no such thing as hardness or softness. If you are soft, you die because you are naïve. If you are too hard, you risk being emotionless, which leads to your downfall anyway. It’s all performative. They were taught to be this way. “Malleable” was the word Alicent used when it came to her son Aegon’s actions. Malleable means they can still be manipulated and steered in the direction they want him to go. It means you can create a framework for them that’s constructed and not real — because the goal is control.

Society and civilization in general are a work of fiction — layers of systems, infrastructure, and ideas. Even money isn’t real; it’s a trust that it has collective value. Alicent is aware of this because it was done to her. Her father groomed her into her position in life, and she’s doing the same to her children.

Rhaenyra Threatens Tradition

Rhaenyra — people miss the point entirely of what the TV series is showing. Through the dialogue, she is a threat to tradition. She’s a threat because she does not represent the traditional values of a lady in that world. It’s not the incestuous part of her marrying her uncle, Daemon; it’s the fact that she wants the same privileges men are given. She doesn’t want to be shamed and scrutinized for her actions and choices in life. She says to Daemon that the life of a man is different — women receive consequences for living boldly.

People miss the part of her holding the sword and speaking about it, imagining that if she were born a boy, a sword would have been placed in her hand the moment she was able to hold one. She even almost walked out holding the sword until Mysaria reminded her that she was still holding it. Yes, she dresses finely, but she also smiled and laughed when she disguised herself as a boy while going out with her uncle into the city. She wants to live boldly, without the consequences that come with being a lady.

The discussion of being a girl and her desire to have boy privileges happened with her father, Viserys, and he had to remind all of us that Rhaenyra wasn’t born a boy — she’s a lady. Meaning, she has to play her role, or there will be consequences. And in that universe, those consequences are exile, shame, and even death for a highborn.

There are so many details about Rhaenyra that get forgotten and overlooked because she chose to play her role. Instead, she played it on her own terms and married someone who would allow her to live her life covertly — and that was her lavender marriage. She knew her cousin was into men, and she didn’t judge him for it. I could tell they were friends — probably best friends — because they shared secrets and both wanted to have what they desired.

A lot of marriages in history were like that. Lavender marriages have been around for a long time, and some still practice them today because society only likes hetero-looking, traditional-style marriages. You are rewarded for following that script. It was designed that way.

So, when I watched those episodes, I saw it as her finding loopholes in the cage she’s stuck in — and it worked out for both of them. However, when House Strong was killed, Rhaenyra had to choose yet again. Daemon lost his wife, and she still desired him and even loved him because he was her favorite uncle. And he’s not just any person — he’s a skilled warrior who can protect her. So, they came up with the plan to fake Laenor’s death, which benefited him so he could be free and live his life as he pleased as a gay man.

Alicent even said Rhaenyra has a queerness to her. Queerness just means not conventional. So, insinuating that Rhaenyra is traditional in any way means they’re not watching the same series I am — or listening to the characters describe her. In fact, they’re telling a different story in their heads. That means they’re rewriting the story in their minds because they can’t process what’s really going on with the characters free from their lenses and filters.

I’m viewing from the lens that Rhaenyra is going to die. Her fate is sealed in my mind. And I understand how rigid societal frameworks can be — to the point that all they see is either/or.

A lot of viewers do not have a skill for nuance. Nuance, in terms of characters or people, leads to being free from binary thinking. Then you view every character as a spectrum versus good or evil or even gender roles or gender misconceptions. Everything about the Game of Thrones universe is a display of taboos and challenges ways of thinking — but with violence, a bloody spectacle, and a lot of sex and skin. It happens in reality, but we choose to ignore it. We justify it, or we think it doesn’t exist today. That’s technically called tunnel vision — where you’re blind to your peripherals. Whatever you don’t see or don’t see clearly enough, it doesn’t exist, even though it does.

Rhaenyra’s only marriage that was legit was with Daemon. But that doesn’t mean it was the best choice. As I mentioned in the beginning, these are choices that lead to her death. That means her choice to trust and love Daemon led to her demise — and it did.

Alicent learned early on to never say things loudly for others to hear, because the one who did… it led to House Strong being murdered. When Rhaenyra found the remnants of Luke’s dragon and his cape, she said loudly that she wanted Aemond. And Daemon took it upon himself, without discussing it with Rhaenyra, to use Mysaria — aka The White Worm — to hire people to kill Aemond. However, that’s not what happened. The people he hired couldn’t find Aemond and instead killed a little boy — the only son of Aegon.

This was used against Rhaenyra. And Rhaenyra, as a mother herself, was horrified by what transpired. The boy was her nephew. And Daemon sat beside her, smiling — no remorse, just sitting quietly, grinning. He didn’t ask for that to happen, but he wasn’t displeased about it. Rhaenyra had every right not to trust Daemon after that, because Daemon still doesn’t understand the consequences of what happens to women.

Daemon wants to be king. He corrects people when they refer to him as prince or as consort of the Queen. Yes, he learned his lesson through visions, but the damage was already done — the day he took Rhaenyra out into the city when she was a teenager and into a brothel. She got so enticed by it that she seduced Ser Criston Cole into her bed. If she had just not received that message and left, she would not have instigated anything.

I like Rhaenyra as a character. That’s why I correct any misconceptions placed on her through these blog posts. This is not the rise of a successful ruler who’s going to gain everything. No — quite the opposite. She loses her life and some of her children. And the people who help her lose their lives too in the process.

Rhaenys’ death hit me so hard because she could’ve left. The moment she took down Aegon’s dragon, she could have left to regroup and strategize on how to take down Aemond’s dragon — but no. Her kin were being attacked. And she was still a princess and the queen that never was. She chose to be there for her people until it ended her life and her dragon. That was the strength of a queen who should have been.

Rhaenyra wants to be the same. She wants to fight her own battles, but she’s not allowed to. Why? Because she is the Queen who has to be alive long enough to claim the throne. We know that never happens. We are just witnesses to everything that led to her not surviving. 

Rhaenyra represents the woman whom everyone underestimates. She remains kind, even though it leaves her open to being cut. She shows restraint because violence is easy. 

Alicent already let her mask slip. Rhaenyra called her out on it. Is it exhausting to cling to such righteousness? That is Alicent as a whole. She clings to it like it's sacred. Because if she doesn’t, she has to face all the suffering, the sacrifice she made that was for nothing. She was just a piece in the game of power and male dominance that her father orchestrated for her family.

Rhaenyra made bad choices as well; all had consequences. They led to other people dying. She learned the same lesson as Alicent: never allow yourself to speak your pain loudly to others, because it gets used. That’s because Rhaenyra, just like Alicent, surrounded herself with the wrong people. And Alicent can’t remove those people because she put herself into a dangerous position as Queen — and for stealing the throne.

Rhaenyra made the mistake of trusting and marrying Daemon without safeguards — meaning she had to remove all blindness to who she surrounded herself with. She would have learned a lot from Lady Olenna Tyrell, aka the Queen of Thorns. Olenna said out loud how incompetent and unwise her son and husband were. She’s the one who kept the family afloat and somewhat safe. She wanted to keep her grandchildren safe. She tried her best to make their futures look bright.

Her worst mistake was having her granddaughter get near the Iron Throne and her grandson. That woman may have appeared cold, but she loved her grandchildren. She would kill for them — and she did. She had Joffrey killed. She knew her grandson was into men, and she didn’t care. She wanted to keep him safe. She burned through any means possible to save her grandchildren, and it failed. It wasn’t enough.

Rhaenyra did create a connection with Mysaria, which helped to a degree. But we know it’s not going to be enough. We know everything from this point toward the goal will not be enough.

I laughed throughout season one when Alicent was so pissed that her husband wouldn’t accept that Rhaenyra’s kids were bastards. Why do I laugh? Because I put myself in the mind of Viserys in those moments. The man doesn’t care if his grandkids are bastards or not. He’s a family man. Throughout the entirety of his arc, he’s devoted to family. He loved his children and grandchildren. Even after all the discourse, he loved his brother Daemon. He loved his daughter so much, he made her heir — and it wasn’t on a whim forced by the council. He talked to his daughter and revealed the secret prophecy to her.

The Seven Kingdoms needed to be united for the winter that would come — and they weren’t. But Death, aka the Many-Faced God, sent his assassin, Arya Stark. She was a loophole when the Seven Kingdoms couldn’t unite, and the promised king couldn’t fulfill the prophecy. Jon Snow was never meant to kill the Night King — it was always Arya. Melisandre revealed it while looking into Arya’s eyes and talking about the different colored eyes looking back at her. All will be shut forever.

But back to not caring whether Rhaenyra’s kids were bastards — Viserys didn’t care.

And the same for Rhaenys. That woman didn’t really care. She told Luke, playing the fantasy, that he had Baratheon blood in him before he flew off as an envoy. These are characters who know exactly what’s going on. To them, it doesn’t matter. That’s the part that makes me laugh. They know, but they still choose to love and protect those kids and continue that narrative.

I’m reading between the lines with these characters. That world lives unconventionally — like its own crown to the story.

I like Rhaenyra as a character because I know she is working within a rigid framework, trying to live a fulfilling life in the best way she can. With her father’s death, she inherited her own demise, because the motion was set forth the day her father named her heir. But it was a duty — because of the prophecy. The prophecy her father feared. He made a decision based on that fear. The goal was to have peace and a united nation, but it fell apart because of who he surrounded himself with — people who had their own goals and didn’t know about the prophecy of the winter that would annihilate the world.

I’m going to be honest — I know the story has to have Rhaenyra die. The best choice would have been for her to give up the right to the throne and take the deal Alicent offered. It would have meant the safety of her family and herself. She could’ve revealed the prophecy to her family and children and created a new path to preparing for the winter without the power of the Iron Throne. But that’s not Rhaenyra’s story. Her story leads to her death.

After a long time—and two seasons later—I decided to put myself through both the displeasure and pleasure of watching House of the Dragon. The reason I say “displeasure” is because of how vividly graphic the series is in its violence and abuse, mostly against women. Yes, the series depicts the brutal deaths of men, but it’s how it displays women—as objects and tools for men—that stands out. And it doesn’t hide it. The story literally revolves around two women, both mothers, who begin as childhood friends and end up on opposing sides of a war for the Iron Throne.

I did watch Game of Thrones, and the throne melting into a puddle was the best ending for the franchise. It was the symbol of power that so many craved—the reason countless lives ended brutally and without remorse. It tore apart families, turned friends into enemies, and planted dangerous ideas. It wasn’t the throne itself; it was the meaning behind it. It became the center of attraction for the worst kind of souls.

Before I get into the nitty-gritty of this post, I have to talk about the ignitor that started it all in House of the Dragon—the one responsible for the downfall of many family lines: Ser Otto Hightower. He is proof that reason and logic can be just as corrupted as irrationality.

Otto is a self-serving man. He may be well-spoken and a grieving husband, but that’s the deceiving part of his character. His intention from day one was to ensure the rift between Viserys and Daemon expanded. Otto may have served three kings, but that’s the problem. He had his daughter with him at King’s Landing and placed her near Princess Rhaenyra. I didn’t have to see it to know he planted Alicent like a pawn. The moment she walked into his office and he told her to comfort King Viserys after the death of the queen—specifying what she should wear, even mentioning her mother’s green gown—I knew he was making her look enticing for the king to get her into position. I see this series as a chessboard, and the characters are chess pieces. Otto treats his daughter like a chess piece to move into position. Alicent is the well-groomed chess piece. Naive and anxious. She destroys her fingers. That's a tic from distress.

However, despite the suffering that comes along, Alicent does what she’s told without objection. She’s the embodiment of a compliant girl—obedient, submissive, and self-suppressing. She clings to dignity, righteousness, and the rigid morality of what a lady’s role should be. She often uses the word sacrifice to challenge Rhaenyra, because Rhaenyra is her opposite. Rhaenyra represents everything Alicent envies and feels compelled to condemn through the ideals she clings to.

Rhaenyra desires freedom from her roles. She doesn’t want marriage; she enjoys wearing pants, carrying a blade, and exploring the wild. As an adult, she says that if she were born a man, she would have been handed a sword the moment she could hold one. She says it often: “If I were born a man instead of a woman.” When she escapes the castle with her uncle, she relishes the freedom. As a lady, she’s always guarded—like a caged bird. She wants to lie with whomever she chooses, without consequence. Men can be physical with whoever they want, and no one bats an eye. But women are expected to maintain their virtue—essentially, their virginity.

When Rhaenyra chooses to indulge in physical affection and abandon her “virtuous” duty, Alicent spirals into judgment and shame toward her childhood friend. I don’t blame Rhaenyra for not being honest with her, because Alicent married into the family. The day Viserys declared Alicent his next wife, their trust fractured. Rhaenyra wasn’t naïve—she knew Alicent had been placed before the king by Otto’s design. Once Alicent became queen, Rhaenyra couldn’t trust her with secrets or her true self. Even though she missed her childhood friend, she kept her distance. That’s why she lied about the brothel and didn’t reveal she lost her virginity to Ser Criston Cole.

Cole is the perfect reflection of Alicent’s blinding righteousness. Both represent moral superiority twisted by guilt. Cole killed Laenor’s knight and lover after realizing he was the one Rhaenyra cared for, becuase they were trying to figure out who. However, when Rhaenyra rejected Cole's self-serving marriage proposal, he spiraled—losing all honor and reason. His shame for breaking his vow of chastity turned into hatred. Instead of blaming himself, he blamed Rhaenyra. Because he had to work his way up—thanks to Rhaenyra—he let guilt guide his reason. When she married Laenor, which was a lavender marriage, he saw her as the root of all evil. He calls her a spider and treats her children cold with spite.

I feel so bad for Rhaenyra, who should have left King’s Landing after her first child was born. Her family endured endless scrutiny, yet she never reduced herself to Alicent’s level.

Ser Otto Hightower sowed countless misconceptions into Alicent—convincing her that Rhaenyra would kill her children, which never crossed Rhaenyra’s mind. Every misconception fueled Alicent’s behavior. Even her mishearing of Viserys’s dying words led her to justify her actions. And who killed one of Rhaenyra’s children first? Aemond. Alicent’s second son killed Luke. Her firstborn, Aegon, assaults servants, and she doesn’t see that her sons are cruel while Rhaenyra’s are better men. Aemond lost his eye because of his own cruelty and stole a dragon during mourning. Alicent’s sons embody entitlement—the twisted version of her righteousness.

Eventually, all the misconceptions her father had planted came crashing down. Otto was exiled from King’s Landing by his own grandson—a fitting end for a man who calculated his family’s climb to power. His decisions were biased, favoring entitled male behavior over women’s autonomy. Even with Daemon, he failed to grasp that a woman’s life in society carries dire consequences for wanting agency. Alicent constantly framed Rhaenyra as someone to be downgraded and removed from the path to the throne, still playing into her father’s ideals.

She, too, sinned—ashamed of enjoying her desires with Ser Criston Cole, the same knight who deceives himself constantly. I honestly want that character gone; I’m tired of hearing him speak and act. Everything he does shows how blind people become to their own biases. He’s not a poorly written character—he’s doing his job well, making me despise him. That’s the point. Cole represents how dangerously blind someone can become when they focus all their hate on someone who simply wants freedom—to make her own choices, not to be judged so harshly.

 In the end, Rhaenyra will die because of the misconceptions others uphold, because she became the vessel for their shame, guilt, and mistakes. Alicent only heard a prophecy—one word, “Aegon”—and that was enough. No thinking, no questioning. Deep down, she always wanted the throne. She wanted a reason to take Rhaenyra’s inheritance. Deep down, she wanted to destroy her childhood friend. All she needed was one word to justify her darkness.

Alicent represents the woman who acts as the pillar upholding misconceptions that keep men in power.

Rhaenys was the queen who never was—but she would have made a good ruler with her chosen consort rather than Viserys. Why? Because Ser Otto Hightower would have never been the Hand. Rhaenys' husband would most likely have been her Hand. Even she recognized that all she would inherit was a burden. Corlys would’ve inherited that burden too. 

Viserys allowed the people around him to divide him and his brother. The people around them wanted that division. Viserys tried to break the cycle by supporting a woman’s claim, his daughter and first child, to the throne and removing gender as a limitation. Alicent and her family made that transition harder, costing many lives. And whose fault is it? Her father’s—Ser Otto Hightower’s. By upholding his ideals, Alicent became responsible for the deaths of her children, grandchildren, Rhaenyra’s family, and the realm itself.

I hope people see how structures divide women and prevent women from helping each other. Mostly, I hope people understand that Alicent was shaped by her father, and all her fears and misconceptions were sown by him. The enemy of Westeros is the Hightower family line. It caused the war in the first place. And I saw how each step led to that war. And it led to the death of an innocent woman caught in the middle of it. Yes, Rhaenyra is the victim of everyone in this series. She pays the price with her own life and family because of old ideals and the pursuit of power. 

When “Feeling Alive” really means feeling numb...

The honesty about me today is how upfront I am about making things less sexy, exciting, and even breaking the fantasy entirely. Believe me… I can do that, but it’s my decision whether I want to do it kindly or bluntly. Because I can do both.

The worst thing I read is people asking if other women find a certain thing sexy — such as riding a motorcycle — which is the best example, because a lot of people get caught in the trap of trying to be viewed as cool in some way. Owning and riding a motorcycle does grab attention. Why? Because it’s dangerous. Simple as that. When you choose to ride a motorcycle, it puts you more at risk of meeting your maker. That’s the enticement of it, more than people would think. You can justify other answers, but no — it’s an adrenaline creator mistaken for a feeling of freedom. Why? Because you have no metal shell protecting you. It’s like playing roulette with your body. Even riding a bicycle at a fast speed carries devastating risks, even with protection. Without protection… yeah.

Now, do I have any credibility in saying this? Yes!

I’m a motorcyclist and used to be a cyclist. My dad is a motorhead, which is the reason I got into motorcycles in the first place. I also have a lot of blood relatives who ride, and people I’ve met in my life. Plenty have set it aside entirely for one reason — and I’ll tell you that reason soon enough. But let me explain more deeply first why I was interested in motorcycles in the first place. One was to connect with my dad. Two, it comes naturally to me. Three, I was always an adrenaline seeker when I was younger. Why? Because it made me feel alive and free — all associated with the adrenaline rush.

I rode bicycles like most kids. I was doing tricks, riding fast without a helmet on steep hills, making sharp turns, riding down staircases, riding up staircases, pedaling without my hands on the handlebars because I got a thrill from balancing that way. The difference between me and others who do it to seem cool is that, for me, it was a chemical hit I needed to feel something. My dad is the same way. And I always say — listen closely to the words they use: “I feel alive when I ride.” That means when they’re not doing it, they feel either dead or flat in real life.

People rarely know I ride or own a motorcycle. In fact, I haven’t ridden it for a long time, and I want to sell it. Why? Because it hit me that I actually want to live long enough and not risk becoming physically disabled one day and ruining my well-being. People in my life mention in passing that they have motorcycles in the garage collecting dust — for a solid reason. One man I met hadn’t touched his bike since the day his cousin died in a motorcycle collision. He used to ride with his cousin often. It took that to realize the obvious. He valued his wife and the future he was creating more than the thrill of riding a motorcycle.

I’m going to be honest — I bought my first motorcycle after my marriage ended. Before that, I rode my mom’s motorcycle once in a while to help my dad fix it. I got my license in my mid-20s, during my first relationship, because I wanted to achieve that desire of obtaining it. I knew motorcycles were cheaper to commute with, and at the time, my partner and I were sharing one vehicle. My girlfriend had an entertaining time watching me on the course, learning to handle a bike. I impressed the instructor by getting out of a hydroplane because it happened to rain the entire time during the couple of days of the course.

So, me wanting to ride a motorcycle wasn’t about validation. I didn’t need to be seen a certain way — because what was I going to do, impress my partner even more than she already was the day she met me and decided I was hers?

But I never bought the motorcycle. Instead, we finally had enough stability to purchase another car. When that relationship ended, I still didn’t buy one. I was mostly focusing on my job and trying to get back into school. Then I ended up in another longer relationship, and that one — she was honest. She didn’t want me owning or riding a motorcycle. Her reason: “I don’t want to get that phone call. Don’t put me through that.” I knew what she meant then, and today I understand it even more deeply. It’s happened to people close to my family — you get that phone call about the accident. Some survive, and others don’t.

Like I said, there’s no metal shell protecting you from impact. You’d be lucky to walk away with just a broken leg, a few cracked ribs, bruises, and some road rash. But some people die on impact. Some go paralyzed from a back injury. That’s the reality of owning a motorcycle and making the choice to ride it.

I can tell you this: you have to be so present while riding. Some say that when riding, it forces them to be present because there’s that fear — especially when you have people at home waiting for you. It reminds you not to be careless. But you can practice presence without even sitting on a bike.

So, when my marriage ended, I got the motorcycle. I rode with my dad and other relatives who own one. And then it hit me: this is not worth it. It was the day a car turned out of a parking lot, unaware that my dad and I were riding by. The car missed my dad’s bike by a hair because he reacted quickly enough to swerve out of the way. Not everyone has that fast reaction. My dad has been on a motorcycle since he was 12 years old. After that day, I didn’t ride anymore.

As I drove my car to and from work, I noticed motorcycle accidents — the bike shattered, people trying to close off the scene. I already knew the person didn’t survive. And I thought, and still think, I would hate to be that person who receives that phone call.

I commented this line on a post a while back. Who knows how long ago. But it was in the context of how people handle or view food. It's really about people's unhealthy relationship with food in general. Some people at the time commented about people they know intentionally eating bland food because they are fearful of putting on some meat. LOL! Omg! The life we live today.

It took me a long time to have a healthy relationship with food. I don't think people realize their fear-mongering about food is kinda an undiagnosed eating disorder. I think no one really wants to say it out loud that so many people have a horrible, misguided idea about food. And it really has to do with the narrative of body standards. Not health. Body ideal standards. Looks. Not health. People want to achieve a look, but not health. But health is a multilayered discussion. I understand people want a simple answer for things, but it's complex. Nothing is a guarantee.

So, because of the high emphasis on diet in our body image, even though that's not the only factor, people focus on food. But the truth is, it's not all about calories. Calories are just energy that heats the body and keeps it alive. It's why I can shed the most amount of mass in the winter. Colder weather and calorie restriction equal using up more stored calories to stay warm and not go into hyperthermia.

The truth is, people are well below the micronutrient requirements in their diet. Western diet is not focused on micronutrition. People eat more protein than they think; protein is not the problem. It's a multilayered problem of movement: overworking the human body is built for; not enough play, not enough socializing, not enough rest, not enough mindfulness, always on the go, stressed out from jobs, incompatible everything, including relationships. Mental and emotional health will kill you before the body catches a whiff. Or life itself will claim its body with the amount of violence, vehicle accidents, and natural disasters... Even war. However, I have to be honest here. Yes, the US national average of obesity is high, but they don't reveal that the majority of obesity is in the southern regions of the US. That's a lot of sugar down south with extra-large portions of delicious BBQ, which is all meat. Like I said, protein is not necessarily the problem. Combine that with a desk job or a non-labourous job, you got people with problems brewing. Yet, still it's a multilayered problem. Laborous jobs will still give you problems.

But back to food ...

When it comes to people, macro is the conversation most of the time. It's about hitting protein goals and fiber. All important, but the importance is how nutrient-rich the food you're eating is. When health is a factor, micro is the focal point, not so much the macro. The macro will get you the body composition you want, but not the health entirely. I have friends who totally neglected the micronutrients they needed, paying the price in their late 30s, even with an athletic build. A lot of them are still going to suffer healthwise because of transferable diseases, which come in the form of health conditions and the worst case scenerio cancer. It's hard to factor in that cancer is a part of your cards because of living life more carelessly during the youth era of existence. Or that certain autoimmune conditions have cancer follow along with it, or other health issues that can become a hassle for well-being.

If you're a male in your 50s or 60s, you will be visiting a urologist for the prostate, whether you want to or not. You will know when you have trouble peeing or have severe discomfort.

Some things are never discussed honestly online or even in person. It's taboo. Why? Because it breaks the illusion that you can be the lucky one who can make it as a centenarian and intact, when the truth is, luck played a huge role in people who do live over 100. And the ones I do know in my life, who are hitting that hundred-marker, drink rum and cokes and drive on windy, mountainous roads still, and gossip like hell about everyone. Some are nearing their end, but that's a blessing more than a downside, because they are in so much pain. And there's always the risk of neglect when you are in your 90s.

What happens when the family you brought into this world dies before you, or becomes incapable of taking care of another because they have no mental ability to? These are never discussed when it comes to trying to achieve a long life. Or living a fantasy about life and death that they can bargain with death. Or control their fate.

Food is one of our greatest successes as a species on Earth. We were able to cultivate food because, when it came to survival, it was about never having access to quality food, or enough of it. Our nature leaned towards creativity, which led us to create cuisines today. You take our flavors to another world with less; it will move them. It will excite the taste buds of anyone who hasn't had it.

I always joke about being a glutton, but people correct me on being a foodie. I mean, they haven't been in my mind. When I say food is on my mind constantly, I mean it. It's stacked high, and it outweighs any other thoughts. I think about flavors, recipes, and which ingredients would combine well together. I just did it before writing this post, mixing a cocktail to loosen and grease the neurological wiring. Who would have thought mixing clear rum, a light beer, and a ginger beer with a squeeze of lime would take me to my own personal heaven?

I always look into how I can better prepare and create a dish. And I always use a variety of ingredients that people fear-monger about. When the Saja boys come to visit me one day, I will have no regrets about eating the tastiest foods. I will take all those memories with me.

I will have a smile on my face.

And the people who envy that will dislike it like hell.

I’ve been playing the Fatal Frame II remake, and something keeps tugging at me, the same thing that stirred last year when I played Maiden of Black Water. It’s the way these games talk about spirits, but really they’re talking about people. About how humans function in the living world when we refuse to face ourselves.

There’s always this unspeakable thing in the village. Not a curse. Not a demon. Just… the thing no one wants to name. The emotional waste everyone produces, but no one wants to claim. It piles up like humidity. It thickens the air. It becomes a geographical mess.

And then they hand it to a girl.

In Maiden of Black Water, the priestesses take in the emotions of the dying so those people can leave the world “clean.” It’s sin‑eating, but softer, and more intimate. The maidens swallow grief, regret, fear — all the things the living never processed. They become containers for other people’s unfinished business.

And containers have limits.

When a maiden reaches capacity, they don’t help her or comfort her. They don’t ask why the village keeps producing so much sorrow in the first place. They just shove her into a box. Seal her away. Pretend the problem is solved.

It’s strange how familiar that feels.

Japan has this cultural pressure to suppress emotion, to perform politeness, to keep the mask on, and to never burden others with your truth. But the emotions don’t disappear. They just go underground. They become the “gate of hell,” mistranslated for Western players, but really, it’s just the underworld of everything unspoken.

And the bride — the Maiden of Black Water — becomes the center of it. Not because she’s evil, but because she’s the one they used. The one they loaded with everyone else’s grief. The one they expected to hold the world together without ever being held herself.

When she finally breaks and refuses to uphold her role, the mountain floods. The spirits spill out. The living get swallowed by the very emotions they refused to face.

It’s not a haunting. It’s a consequence.

And when Yuri acknowledges her — truly sees her — the entire mountain clears and the paradise underneath returns. Because the bride was never the villain. She was the wound. She was the pressure valve. She was the girl everyone leaned on until she collapsed, and then blamed for collapsing.

It’s always women in these stories. Always girls. They are always the ones expected to absorb what others refuse to feel. I see it every day, in different women in my life.

Crimson Butterfly does it too, but sideways. The twin ritual never made spiritual sense to me. It makes emotional sense, though. The village envies the bond twins have. A connection deeper than the community’s control. A loyalty that can’t be redirected. So they break it. They ritualize the breaking. They call it tradition. It's done regularly, just through a different method.

It’s the same old story: women as containers, catalysts, or fixers. They use women as emotional infrastructure. And women, dying young because the system requires their disposability.

Even Mary Shelley saw it in her own unique way through the eyes of her character, Victor Frankenstein. The underbelly of his story is that he envied the womb. Because the womb creates life. He wanted to create life and defeat death in the process.All in all, it's the resentment of a power he can’t possess. The womb is like a universe that creates, and that can be taken as a threat to people who envy that. And the response is always the same: reduce her, use her, sacrifice her, and most of all, erase her.

Fatal Frame just makes the metaphor literal. The ghosts aren’t monsters. They’re the aftermath of a culture that refuses to carry its own weight. I mean, the history of Japan speaks louder than most countries, because they produce a lot of media. And the majority of their media pushes boundaries as if it's the only outlet to let it all out. I know that feeling as a writer who's also gay. The moment I let myself go, I wrote like a dam broke. But I've consumed a lot of Japanese media, and their culture, mannerisms, and everything else are in the work. It also shows heavily on how they treat women.

And I keep thinking about how many real women I’ve known who were treated the same way; expected to hold everything together, to absorb everyone’s pain, to be the quiet container for the things no one else wanted to face. And when they finally reached capacity, people acted shocked. As if the breaking wasn’t inevitable. As if the system wasn’t built on their breaking.

Maybe that’s why these games feel less like horror and more like real life, playing through metaphors of spirits and maidens. There's just too much familiarity to ignore it or sweep it under the rug.

The underbelly of Fatal Frame is a whole lineage of girls turned into vessels for other people’s unresolved lives. A whole mountain of grief that was never theirs to carry. And that's sad.

And the quiet, devastating truth that everything could have been different if someone had just looked at them — really looked — and said:

I see you. You’re not a container. You’re not a tool. You deserved to be held, too.

It's not the best title, but a discussion happened in my life with a boomer who grew up in poverty but retired with prosperity because she worked for one of the major corporations that allowed her to earn enough to live comfortably. However, when she talked about her childhood, I listened.

Her mother taught her to never stare at anything when walking in someone else's home. Never react. And I thought that was interesting. Not because I thought it was far-fetched, but it broadened my scope on how some people were trained.

My mother trained me to keep my mouth shut, not because I was amazed, but because I saw an issue and I wanted to point it out. I didn't grow up with much either, and gained a bit more later in life. However, because I had a habit of saying what I was thinking, I had to be trained to be silent.

Come to realize that's something related to neurodiversity that I want to be direct about things. So, I was trained to not be direct.

The point I'm making, someone from a far-off generation was trained to not look or react, and I think that's horrible. Mostly because looking at or acknowledging wealth inequality is a taboo topic that must be overturned.

People with ridiculously large homes, with spaces that look more like a performance than something lived in. Most homes in the United States are built cheaply with lower quality materials, but look like luxury; that's all a veneer with a high price tag, but it's a pile of cards or matchsticks that's ready to tumble over with issues.

Hardly any home in the US is worth putting money into because of how it's built to have issues, and I know both of my grandfathers would agree with me if they were still alive. Only because the design and materials used today are worse than ever before. Both my grandfathers built their own homes because they knew and worked in construction. Even the home my mother lives in is badly designed for a 23-year-old home. Which is built a bit better, but has a lot of expensive problems.

The thing is, homes I see are just someone performing status, whether they can afford it or not. A lot of the time, they can't afford it. I've walked into homes of all sizes here in the US, even one that a group of friends purchased, and all I saw while walking the floor plan and looking at every detail was how many corners were cut and how the previous owners could not afford the maintenance. It was, of course, a larger home. Built to say something. More like state a lie, but the truth is right there, because I don't get impressed by performance-based designs, and I see the broader cost. People only look at one price tag, but I don't. I look at the full list of numbers and the annual costs.

I come off as judgmental, but that's not really the case. I'm pointing out the obvious, the honesty of it that hardly anyone wants to say, because they see it as success and social climbing. They view it as amazing and, in some way, envy it. But all I see is a hassle wrapped in a pretty package, and it tells me what that person prioritizes in life.

Even the vehicle people drive tells me a lot about them.

I have this issue, I don't really see it as an issue, that hardly anything truly impresses me. I'm like a flatline monitor most of the time, and really, that's due to my wiring. I don't get that dopamine high people get. So, I don't understand it. And relief is more of the language I'm familiar with than the feeling of accomplishment. I just acknowledge it's done and move on. It's not as if I don't appreciate what I've done; I just acknowledge it. And to me, that's what I love about myself, because I don't get caught for too long in completing things, and I move forward. Mostly because the process is the real accomplishment, the ending carries no weight to me; it just means it's done. And I don't see anything wrong with that.

By confessing that, I've learned to love myself for all the flaws others think I have and want to fix. But I get the satisfaction of not letting them bend me in any direction, trying to convince me otherwise.

My best quality in life is how stubborn I am on things that I solidify as unchangeable. It means I think for myself and decide from there. That's why when someone tells me that the house is so amazing, I have to decide that for myself. People can be nice people, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be amazed by what they acquire in life.

We all have preferences on what we want in life. So, why would I be amazed by things that don't pique my interest? And most of all, why wouldn't I want to point out the issues? Of course, I don't. I was trained to be silent. But most of the time, that's what I'm thinking. I'm not amazed, I'm analyzing and zeroing in on the issues and foreseeing their future problems.

Now, it's not as if I'm not somewhat impressed. I do... sometimes, but with people who decide to make things their own and put their hard-earned money into things that matter, especially into their homes. I've seen more character in simpler vehicles as well, where the owner fills their dash with rubber ducks or plushes. Or even stickers that indicated that they listened to metal music.

I think the point is, I kind of lost the point. I was talking with the boomer and thought about being trained to not think, feel, or say what I really want to say in life. But now, I do it more often. Or I just don't respond to people. Most of the time, I don't enter a conversation when people talk about other people having certain material things and being amazed by it. I roll my eyes often, only because some of the people who come into conversation have issues mentally and emotionally. And some are just doing horrible things to other people. I always think of never envying people who have things you desire, who do horrible deeds to others. Even talking about the things you own tells me a lot about what you prioritize in life.

People who talk about their partners, fur-friends, family, kids, friends in general, I understand they value personal connections more than material things. When someone talks about a certain brand of bags or anything material, I know they value material things over personal connections.

It's all about priorities. It's how I know members of my family, who don't value family, even though they speak of it often on family values and the importance of family, but they don't talk about anyone specific. That's because it's used as a tool to control.

However, the boomer I talked to, she values family. How do I know? She never stops talking about her granddaughters and kids. You wouldn't even know how much she has, or what she owns, because she hardly mentions it unless it comes up in passing from a direct conversation. And every choice she has made, it was with her children and grandchildren at the forefront of every choice.

We resonate in conversations because I'm the same way. At the forefront of my mind is people and connections, and I always put people in life first, more than material things. Material things come and go and break or disintegrate after a while, but memories with people and connections last until the end of a lifespan.

"The hands reaching for Senua aren’t just the dead — they’re the living who are spiritually drowning, reaching for anyone who has survived the descent."

The Hands

There’s a moment in Senua’s Saga where the hands reach for her; not just the dead, not just the lost, but something deeper. They rise from the dark like memories, accusations, and longing. And the first time I saw it, I didn’t just see the dead or monsters. I saw the living as well. I saw the spiritually starved. I saw the ones who cling to anyone who has survived what they couldn’t name. Those hands weren’t trying to reach to taunt her. They were reaching for a way out. She knows the way out.

The Dream Parallel

It reminded me of a dream I had years ago of me walking into the underworld, my siblings waiting for me in the dark. Their voices were sharp, blaming, taunting, telling me I wasn’t there for them. It wasn’t the dead confronting me. It was the living who felt dead inside. The ones who wanted me to carry what they couldn’t. The ones who reached for me because they believed I owed them pieces of me I never promised.

The Spiritual Descent

Some people descend and come back changed. Not enlightened, but forged. There’s a difference. Enlightenment floats. Forging scars through the darkness is something different entirely. When you’ve walked through something that strips you down to bone and rebuilds you from the inside, people feel it. They sense the gravity of it. The clarity of it. They sense the way you no longer flinch at shadows. And they reach for it, even if they don’t understand why.

The Weight of Leadership

Senua could have become someone loved and feared. Not because she wanted power, but because she understood fear and refused to be ruled by it. That’s the kind of person people follow instinctively; the ones who have already died once and know the way back. The ones who can walk through the dark without losing themselves. And they carry a truth that wasn’t given to them, but earned.

The Living Who Feel Like the Dead

Fear still shapes the world. It still governs, still manipulates, and still binds people to stories that were never theirs. And when people are drowning in that kind of fear, they reach for anyone who looks like they’ve touched the bottom and resurfaced. They reach with desperation. With projection. Hunger. Sometimes with love. And even blame. Sometimes all of it at once.

"The dead weren’t the only ones reaching for her. It was the living who had forgotten how to breathe for themselves.”