RedJade_Queen

I’ve confessed a couple of times on here that I consume alcohol quite a bit. There’s even a blog post where I talk about my alcoholism—why I reach for the bottle, and how people reveal their true selves under the influence. However, as of today, I’m four days sober. I haven’t touched the bottle at all. For some, that might not seem like much, but for people who rely on substances, even 24 hours can be grueling because of withdrawal symptoms. I’m still experiencing them today, on the fourth day.

This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to achieve sobriety. Last year, I managed to go 104 days sober before I jumped off the wagon. I can’t even say I fell off—I chose to jump off. Since then, my drinking habits have gotten worse. How? I got into more cocktail mixing. It benefits how I make drinks for others, but the reason I’m trying to achieve sobriety again is because of my health conditions. Not caused by booze, but by the autoimmune disease I’ve been managing since my early 20s. Alcohol has more adverse effects on me than on someone without an autoimmune condition.

Since mine involves the thyroid, I need to be mindful of my drinking habits. I’ve listened to fitness influencers mention my condition while being totally unaware of what they’re talking about. Metabolism is just a sliver of what the thyroid does. The real function is hormone regulation throughout the body—and hormones do almost everything people don’t realize is important. Without thyroid hormones, the movement and absorption of essential vitamins like B12 and minerals are disrupted. Even if you eat well, your body may not absorb anything, leading to deficiencies. That’s why heart palpitations, fatigue, brain fog, mood swings, depression, anxiety, lack of rest, and slower recovery occur. Untreated, it can be fatal. Nails become brittle, hair thins, skin issues arise, swelling increases, and inflammation builds up.

Autoimmune disease is basically the body attacking itself. I’ve talked about this before. Alcohol disrupts my medication and prevents B12 transfer, making it harder for my body to function properly. So, if I want to lean out or build muscle again, I have to control my drinking. When I don’t, my body doesn’t recover. I’ve injured myself many times because my body couldn’t heal from labor-intensive jobs and weightlifting. Poor sleep makes everything worse. When I was at my best physically, it was during my longest period of sobriety.

I always tell people my daily habits and diet are tailored to me alone. My goal is to manage how I feel day to day—better sleep, less fatigue, more calm, less stress, and more enjoyment in my activities. I’ve always been active, regardless of body mass. Even at my largest, I could run three miles and lift heavy daily. My job required lifting and moving around 50 pounds for eight-hour shifts, five days a week, often with overtime. Then I’d go home and run three miles to de-stress. I also attended school and walked around campus, often without eating enough to sustain my activity level.

Many people work sedentary jobs, but that’s never been me. I can’t relate to health issues caused by sitting all day. My job, however, did wear down my lungs and joints. I have inflammation in most major joints. Both knees were messed up, but I’m glad I no longer need knee braces or compression sleeves. I can squat and move fluidly again. I’m also relieved my elbows and rotator cuff no longer hurt—rotator cuff tendinitis is agony. I chalk up my active lifestyle to my neurodivergence; I can’t sit still for long. But to stay on topic, I’m pursuing sobriety again because the health impacts are too much now that I’m older.

I couldn’t care less about body or weight standards, or the obsession in the U.S. with protein intake—it’s propaganda, regardless of what people think. Sure, consuming more protein helps you lean up, but not for the reasons people believe. Calories are always involved. When you overconsume protein, your body converts it into glucose, which requires more energy (calories) to process than carbohydrates. That’s why eating more protein naturally creates a calorie deficit, eventually tapping into fat stores for energy. I generally lean up more easily in winter—staying warm requires calories. I just don’t like hot weather, so I take any chance to jab at summer.

Back to nutrients: people often overlook other macronutrients like fiber and micronutrients. Regions that eat more plant-based diets tend to have fewer deficiencies and better longevity. Lentils are my favorite legume for fiber and protein. Many foods combine both if you pay attention to macronutrients. I enjoy meat, but overconsuming animal-based foods affects me negatively. You can’t get all essential minerals and vitamins from animals, and I need more of certain nutrients because of my autoimmune condition. Plant foods help reduce my chronic inflammation. Yes, organ meats have nutrients, but red meat increases cholesterol and cardiovascular risks. My best self wasn’t just sober—it was when I ate a mostly plant-based diet with minimal red meat. I prefer fatty fish like salmon, eel, and raw tuna because I love sashimi. I rarely eat chicken unless with friends. I eat eggs, but mostly in garden omelets loaded with bell peppers, onions, and spinach. Spinach is incredibly filling. I love miso—it’s an excellent probiotic food.

The Crow Girl got me hooked on the spot, and oh my gosh, it was delicious to watch. Before I get into it, I’m aware I’m a year late in watching this series. It was released in 2025, and now the second season is over the rainbow soon. I don’t know why I didn’t watch it last year, but I binged it during the smoldering hot weekend. There weren’t a lot of episodes, but it was an easy watch.

First of all, I’m thankful that it wasn’t too graphic about anything. Because of the context of this story, it’s best to only be told and not shown. Let me state this: characters talking about it is action. We don’t need to be shown everything, especially certain topics brought up in this series that are absolutely horrifying. So, not showing made the story unfold much more easily without overdoing it. However, the core of my post is not about the overall story itself; it’s about two characters in this story.

I’m a lesbian, so this is about the growing sapphic connection between Jeanette and Sophia.

Spoiler warnings.  

I will be revealing key details from the show, especially the ending.

So… you are forewarned.

Sophia — we learn that she works in the mental health field, dealing with trauma patients and assessing the mental state of perpetrators. That’s a hard job. We also learn through dialogue exchanges with Jeanette that Sophia admits to dating both men and women. However, she doesn’t want a committed relationship and prefers married men or married people because it’s less complicated for her.

Most of the time, I viewed Sophia as being annoyed with the man she’s sleeping with and allowing into her home. I was thinking, “Why did you give him the keys?” It really looked like she didn’t expect to see him that evening, which is in the first episode.

In many scenes, she just wants him to leave her alone based on her facial expressions and dialogue, especially her disdain for bathtub sex later in the series. She really didn’t want to sit with him in the bathroom. And she absolutely looked annoyed when he showed up while Jeanette was hanging out with her at her home. I knew that look — “Why in the hell did you have to show up?” kind of look. It’s the awkward looks and not saying the quiet parts out loud. “Bro, she didn’t want you there.”

I laughed a bit because Sophia is not subtle about wanting Jeanette in her life. That was more of an indicator to me that she wanted Jeanette in her orbit and that she was done with the dude. But I noticed Sophia has an issue with ending that situationship.

Now, as for Jeanette — she’s married to a struggling artist, with whom she shares a son. Her household is chaotic most of the time, something Jeanette’s work partner Lou admits every time he casually walks into the home, into the kitchen, and eats toast with the family. He doesn’t have a family of his own, but he enjoys the mess in her home. I can understand why he would say that, because regardless of what people think, a messy or chaotic home is being lived in. So, Jeanette’s home represents being lived in. It also represents how hard it is to be a police officer who works a lot, is married to someone who’s an artist, makes time for his work, deals with their son, and manages the house.

They don’t have enough money to cover certain expenses, such as the car. So, Jeanette’s father, a retired police officer, gives them money to fix things, but not without backhanding Jeanette’s husband about not having a job that provides consistent income. It’s shown that they haven’t been physically intimate for a long time, and it doesn’t go well because her husband doesn’t want to.

A lot of the time, Jeanette shows signs of exhaustion as well as feeling the bridge dividing further in her marriage. She has moments in the series where she wants someone to talk to about her job — especially about the expanding case she’s working on, where new bodies show up, and the story thickens with the intricate webbing of corrupted rich men. Also, she never paid attention to her husband’s work, but she supported his pursuit. She never had the time to learn about his work — something he actually wanted her to do but didn’t receive.

So, Jeanette and Sophia end up meeting each other because of their aligned interests in the case of the dead teenage boys, the big names involved in horrible things, and the mysterious girl named Victoria. They kind of work together, but not really, despite what the synopsis online says. They’re more like emotional anchors for each other than partners solving the case. It’s more about moments of expressing each other’s horrible days than solving murders. Which is interesting,  because Jeanette and Sophia are kind of the Hannibal Lecter and Will scenario, but made canon. They do become physically intimate at the end of the season.

Sophia, who we learn is actually Victoria, isn’t killing innocent people; she’s killing those directly involved in funding the illegal fighting rings. She killed her father after he killed her daughter, Madeline. So, she’s a vigilante more than anything else — but she kills them. The bodies laid out in direct places like a trail for the police to follow. And we learn they were already dead and stuffed in a freezer with a bunch of other bodies and pigs. She’s trying to expose what’s going on under the radar.

But let’s really dive into Jeanette and Sophia’s relationship in the story.

The Organic Intimacy Between Jeanette & Sophia

The dynamic between Sophia and Jeanette in The Crow Girl isn’t the traditional romance setup, and I’m glad it isn’t. I’m thrilled. Why? Because I don’t believe in the concept anyway, but I’ll explain why as I write along. However, in this story, their connection is something far more organic, which is something I always look for in character dynamics. 

What Sophia and Jeanette have is more intimate and psychologically layered. What people call “traditional romance” is often just performative ritual: the expected gestures, the scripted beats, the socially approved choreography of affection. What happens between Sophia and Jeanette is the opposite. Their connection grows from emotional intimacy first, and only then moves into physical closeness afterward, which is what I witnessed in the last episode.

Sophia, who is really Victoria, carries two psyches inside her from her past trauma. Interestingly, Sophia has a patient with the same issue of a fractured psyche that comes out as two distinct personalities. Margaret and Angela.

Thinking back, that’s pretty dang good foreshadowing. But back to the two psyches, Sophia and Victoria.  Both of them gravitate toward Jeanette. 

“Both psyches want Jeanette, but Victoria is the one who wants to hold onto Jeanette and comfort her physically.” 

Sophia is the mask, the socially acceptable version of Victoria. I see it as the more curated version that became a doctor and tried to move on, in a way, as well as trying to help others. But blocked out her past in the process. Victoria is the core self: the vigilante shaped by trauma, rage, and moral absolutism. What makes their relationship compelling is that Jeanette responds to both versions without fully realizing it. She waits for Sophia’s texts, shows up at any hour, and leans into the connection even though it's unfamiliar territory for her.  Therefore, when Sophia chooses to kiss Jeanette, she receives Sophia’s kiss as the fruit of the already well-established emotional groundwork that has already been laid out in every episode. From the organic dialogue exchanges, to visiting each other at random hours, Sophia bringing Jeanette coffee and a snack, to them listening to each other, and grounding each other in their own way. Even Sophia, in her moments say the right things to give Jeanette relief about her distant marriage that’s falling apart. Since Sophia is in the mental health field, she says it honestly. Not all marriages have lasted that long without issues arising. That’s not exactly what she said. I’m just paraphrasing.

What interests me is how Jeanette really wants an opportunity to see Sophia when she can. That’s the part that sapphics need to pay attention to because that is human behavior. Jeanette was naturally drawn to wanting to be around Sophia. Even after getting home with her husband from dinner out, the moment she got a text from Sophia, she went out the door, using work as an excuse. Oh my gosh, Jeanette using her job as an excuse to leave at random hours is brilliant. So, that’s not random. 

Now, what’s most striking is how Victoria seeks Jeanette out more often than Sophia does. Yes. Sophia and Victoria are the same person, but read me out. I’m splitting them into different people. Sophia the mask. Victoria, the hidden core self. Victoria is the one who reaches for Jeanette when she’s drunk, overwhelmed, or unraveling. It was shown to us in the final flashback scenes before the season ended that it was Victoria in control and not inherently Sophia. But don’t read me wrong about this: Sophia wants Jeanette just as much as Victoria, but there are different emotional drivers behind it. Victoria is the one who wants to hold Jeanette, physically comfort her, and be close to her in moments of vulnerability. The final scene, where Sophia shifts into Victoria, makes it clear that both identities want Jeanette, but Victoria wants her most. Victoria doesn’t just desire Jeanette; she needs her. She needs the grounding, the softness, the emotional steadiness Jeanette offers without hesitation. 

This is how I view it. Sophia kissing Jeanette is expressing her desire. Victoria, holding Jeanette, is expressing a need. That distinction matters. Victoria is the one who needs comfort the most: the softness, the grounding, and the physical closeness, which is why that final scene of showing Victoria holding Jeanette, instead of Sophia, is more impactful and important to acknowledge. 

Jeanette and Sophia, aka Victoria’s connection, isn’t about performance. It’s about two women meeting each other in their broken places, drawn together by emotional gravity rather than romantic ritual. Funny enough, with the rituals in this series. Victoria is ritualistic in dealing with her grief. She creates a nest for the people she cares about, dead or alive.

And her putting the mask on in the childhood memory flashback was another foreshadowing of Sophia being the mask of Victoria. But the growing connection between Jeanette and Sophia, aka Victoria, is the kind of intimacy that sapphic audiences latch onto. It’s what I’m drawn to. Not because it’s flashy, but because it feels more real, raw, and built from the quiet moments where one psyche reaches for another and finds comfort.

Conclusion

Sophia and Jeanette’s intimacy works because it grows quietly and naturally, shaped by emotional need rather than performance. Their connection isn’t about romance in the traditional sense of storytelling; it’s about two women finding steadiness in each other during the darkest parts of their lives. Jeanette responds to Sophia’s vulnerability long before she understands who Sophia really is, and Victoria’s presence only deepens that pull. By the time they become physically close, it feels like the inevitable result of all the late‑night visits, shared exhaustion, and unspoken comfort they’ve already given each other. Their dynamic lingers because it’s built on emotional gravity, not a performative template. Just two fractured selves meeting in a way that feels honest and unavoidable.

There’s a consistent trend I keep seeing: people are terrified of being replaced. Not by other humans, not by shifting markets, but by AI. And every time I see someone panic about it, I can’t help thinking — hun, the only people who want to replace humans are the ultra‑wealthy. The 1% who benefit from cutting labor costs, speeding up production, and squeezing profit out of every possible corner.

Everyone else — the 99% — will consume both AI‑generated content and human‑made content without a second thought. People already do this with everything else: ebooks and print books, digital art and traditional art, indie films and blockbuster movies, fanfiction and published novels. Most consumers don’t care about the purity of the medium. They care about whether the story resonates, whether the art moves them, or if the content fits their mood.

So why do people keep blaming AI?

Because blaming AI is easier than blaming capitalism.

If someone says “AI is replacing us,” they get sympathy and a clear villain. If they say “capitalism is replacing us,” they have to confront the fact that the same system they rely on to make money is the one harming them. That’s uncomfortable. It forces people to acknowledge that the creative economy was already brutal long before AI showed up.

And here’s the part nobody wants to admit: A lot of creators aren’t just afraid of losing the act of creating. They’re afraid of losing the chance at upward class mobility.

People want the fruit, the prestige, the best‑selling novel, the movie adaptation, the award, the recognition, the financial stability that comes from being one of the “chosen” few. They want to climb the ladder. And they want to be part of the creative elite. That's a mouthful to spew out. But tell me if this is not true. Let's be honest about this.

AI threatens the pathway to all that I mentioned — not the ability to create.

That’s why the fear feels so intense. It’s not just about art. It’s about class.

The truth is that the creative industry has always been shaped by capitalism. Most actors aren’t wealthy. Most musicians aren’t wealthy. And definitely most writers aren’t wealthy. Success has always been inconsistent, unpredictable, and tied to systems that reward profit over passion. AI didn’t create that reality — it just exposed it.

Meanwhile, the 99% will continue consuming whatever they enjoy, whether it’s human‑made or AI‑generated. They’re not trying to replace anyone. They’re just living their lives.

The replacement pressure comes from the top, not the bottom.

So when people say they’re afraid of AI, what they’re really afraid of is losing their shot at climbing the class ladder through creativity. They’re afraid of losing the dream of being chosen. And they’re definitely afraid of losing the illusion of a fair path upward.

But blaming AI won’t fix the system. Blaming won’t change the economics of art. And it won’t make the creative industry any less brutal.

If anything, it distracts from the real issue: We live in a system where creators have always had to fight for space, recognition, and the means to survival.

And that’s why I keep writing. Not because I expect prestige or to bear fruit. But because the act of creating is the part I can control, and the part that still matters, no matter how the world changes.

There’s something I want to touch base on regarding the philosophies I’ve learned from my dreams. The most prominent one, which I used in one of my stories, had to do with being in an oceanside sanctuary, standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down at the sharks in the water. A woman stood beside me, telling me to take the leap. She wanted me to jump off the cliff and into the ocean with the sharks, then swim to a small piece of land about a quarter mile out from the mainland.

Even though it was a dream, I was afraid. The uncertainty of what might happen ate away at me. But it’s interesting to think about how much fear I held, when all that was asked of me was to trust the woman who said everything would be fine. And she was right. I dove deep into the ocean, swam with the sharks, and made it to the island. It was fun, too, because I got to race the woman who urged me to take that leap of faith. Did I win the race? No. She’s an oceanic nymph — water is her nature. But I still had fun.

Plenty of times, I’ve had dreams where I had to overcome fear and trust the process. It wasn’t about winning or losing; it was about gaining lessons from the experience. Sometimes I had to walk into the darkness even though my gut churned with alertness from the uncertainty of what lay ahead. My muscles tense, my heart races, and even though there’s fear in so much, life still demands action. Even if I fall on my face. Even if I lose more than I put in. I still take action.

If I think about doing something for a long time and never take action, then whatever uncertainty presents itself becomes my excuse to justify not doing anything. Even future writers go through this. They think about writing that one story, that one book, but when uncertainty shows up, they close up and create fear within themselves. People fear wasting time and energy pursuing something with no guarantee of bearing fruit. Let me tell you something fundamentally important about reality: there is no certainty it will bear fruit. The whole point is the process of doing it and seeing it through. Life is about expending a massive amount of energy and time.

I am very good at expending my time and energy on things that bear absolutely no fruit and have run me into the negatives on all fronts, even financially. Do I regret it? No. It doesn’t feel good, but it’s better than not doing anything at all. I dove into relationships and invested energy, time, and money into them, and some lasted longer than expected. My longest relationship was six years; before that, four years. When I decided I wanted to finally write and finish a novel, within six months I wrote two novels and self‑published them. Was it successful? No. But I did get more readers and buyers than expected. I wrote a third novel and a novella, and then a fourth novel. I wrote several other incomplete manuscripts, and my biggest hurdle is completing them. I still write and self‑publish regardless of success. And I’ve admitted to people that I don’t feel excitement or accomplishment from finishing a novel — I just feel relieved. It’s the writing process I enjoy. I like piecing together events. I like building the world and its inhabitants. I enjoy coming up with dialogue exchanges between characters.

I’m in the negative on how much I’ve spent on writing. I haven’t borne any fruit from my work. And I still love writing. I still enjoy creating novels, and I’m not afraid to self‑publish them. I’m not even worried about them failing. Almost everything I’ve created in life has failed in some way. Most life paths I’ve chosen, I’ve failed and fallen on my face. I’ve tried new things because they interested me, and I wanted to pursue them. So I did. I took action. I took that leap. And it wasn’t successful by any means, but I learned a lot, and I enjoyed the process.

Writing long‑form posts on here takes up time, energy, and even money, because I’m using a laptop and internet service to be here. I understand people have fears about AI replacing writers and artists, and they use that as a reason not to bother pursuing their craft. The truth is this: if someone uses AI as an excuse not to write a book or create artwork, it means they never truly wanted to take the steps in the first place. They’re using a changing world to justify not taking any steps at all.

It’s the same timidness some women have about approaching another woman and shooting their shot by simply talking to the person who catches their eye.

I don’t feel any fear about AI. I’m going to be honest: there is a consumer base that wants fast‑produced junk content, and there are consumers who want human‑made content created with time and care. So for writers who write fiction, there will always be a demand for human authors — and now there’s a new demand for AI‑generated writing. Why does a market like that exist? Because some people don’t mind it. They like it, and they consume it. Consumer trends have shifted to include people who just want a story to relax to, even if it was quickly generated and churned out.

The only thing I find threatening is people using an unregulated tool. We need regulations on these tools. People don’t grasp how our current economic system wants to make money by any means necessary. This system is not built for all creators to succeed and make a living solely off creating art or writing novels. It’s like assuming most actors are wealthy because they were in a popular TV show or successful film, or assuming most mainstream musicians are wealthy. Everything relies on consistent work — work that sells, work that consistently pays.

I mentioned my friend who went into debt paying for one of her plays to be shown. No money was made back. She had to work and pay that debt off over time. Does she regret it? No. She was sad she had to miss her own play because her job schedule didn’t allow her to take time off to see it.

Can you imagine paying for something, going into debt to make it happen… and then not being able to attend it? Crazy, right? But that’s what happens. You spend a lot of time, energy, and money on things because it’s better than living with the regret of not doing it. It’s the same with entering another relationship after so many others have failed, and dealing with the heartbreak that comes with it. It’s the choice of taking that leap even though it could lead to hitting a rock.

That’s how my dreams taught me the philosophy of taking action despite all the fears and uncertainties I have.

Demisexuality lens on viewing love and romance...

Love is an ambiguous term — and I mean that. It’s an umbrella concept with many layers. It isn’t a single emotion but a multitude of them happening at once. We label different types of love based on context, yet none are definitive, because love is a combination of bodily and emotional responses.

Feeling calm and safe can be associated with love. Enjoying the moment can be considered love. However, based on personal biases and perspectives, so much gets attached to the umbrella term “love.” Attraction can be labeled as love. There’s conditional and unconditional love, transactional love, and even performative and non‑performative love. Dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins can be mistaken for love. Comfort can be mistaken for love. Nurturing can be mistaken for love, even though, for some, caring for others without expectation is instinctive. This is why love has no fixed definition or placement.

I’m not simplifying a complex experience. People often try to simplify things because they want the world to feel less complicated, but existence is far more intricate than anyone can explain. Look out into nature; the connections between species are complex. It’s easy to misinterpret what we see because of deeply entrenched internal biases. We process the world differently, shaped not only by awareness and experience but also by biological responses.

As a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian, I view love through a different lens than an allosexual person. The difference lies in the wiring — the “ignitor” that sparks sexual and romantic attraction to women. I’ll use women as my example because that’s my lived experience.

An allosexual lesbian often feels attraction at first sight. They can imagine being sexually or romantically involved without first forming an emotional connection. They build that bond later — the emotional connection that leads to commitment.

For me, as a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian, it’s the opposite. I need an emotional bond first — to know someone deeply — before I can feel sexual or romantic attraction. I describe it as my apertures opening and my focus narrowing onto her; everyone else fades into the background. When that bond forms, her beauty intensifies in my eyes. Because my attraction is rooted in emotional connection, I rarely feel tempted by others unless I’m emotionally neglected — and even then, I end the relationship. Once the bond breaks, the physical desire disappears.

Demisexuality falls under the asexual umbrella because we process attraction differently. I don’t feel an urge to pursue anyone unless I consciously choose to. Dating can be exhausting, so I have to summon the willpower to connect.

Most allosexual lesbians mistake my quietness for disinterest. That’s why mainstream lesbian advice doesn’t always apply — I’m aware of my demi side, and of others who experience attraction differently. When a woman takes her time to build a bond, it shows she wants to invest her energy in me. I deeply value that. It means she isn’t playing games; she’s serious about connection.

Most of the time, even though I appear more masculine-presenting, people don’t realize I’m a lesbian—or they’re simply clueless about my sexuality because I don’t pursue anyone romantically or sexually. I’m generally relaxed and just want to talk and connect with women. 

So, how does this affect how I view love and romance? I don’t get caught up in media portrayals of either. Even mythology offers poor examples—most mainstream mythological figures are cautionary tales, written by men projecting their own desires. Many myths were rewritten over time to reflect cultural shifts, but even in ancient Greek mythology, women were rarely seen as autonomous beings. They were often spirited away by gods against their will, expected to fulfill roles assigned by their gender.

These stories are steeped in patriarchal bias, and they continue to be read through biased lenses. The modern obsession with romance and companionship is a relatively new phenomenon. Marriage for love is modern; historically, marriage was a business transaction or an obligation. Daughters were sold into marriage—sometimes to settle debts, sometimes to elevate a family’s social standing. A girl’s worth was tied to her marriage prospects, and survival often depended on having a husband who treated her kindly.

We also have to acknowledge lavender marriages—arrangements where wealthy men and women maintained appearances while seeking fulfillment outside the marriage. These unions were driven by social and economic obligations, navigated strategically and often sadly.

I’ve written before that, as a lesbian, those patriarchal obligations no longer apply. Sapphics often end relationships more frequently, not out of instability but because we’re free from the social expectation to remain in dysfunction. We’re more aware of unhealthy dynamics and more willing to break the framework that keeps people trapped. That awareness shifts the focus from quantity to quality.

How long a couple has been together doesn’t tell me much—it only reveals the circumstances that keep them there. Often, it’s comfort or shared history. Maintaining a long partnership takes effort, especially in a society that undervalues diverse forms of relationships. Being a lesbian places us at the bottom of the social hierarchy, even economically.

Still, there’s a kind of freedom in that. I don’t feel pressured to stay in a relationship just to avoid being seen as a failure. Heterosexual relationships often carry social consequences and expectations; mine don’t.

I have to admit, it’s nice not to feel pressured to stay in a relationship just because society views ending one as a failure. Heterosexual relationships often come with social consequences, expectations, and standards to uphold. If I exist today and pursue connections with women in my own way, that means people in the past did too. Not everyone acted on sexual impulses or physical desires; many pursued relationships differently.

Monogamy hasn’t always been the default. In certain eras, companionships shifted more freely. Cultural and religious dogma eventually imposed rules that distorted what was natural versus what was taught. Asexual people exist today, so it’s reasonable to believe that, historically, some individuals didn’t form romantic or sexual connections but still built emotional bonds within their communities. Bonds were once more valued than romantic attachment.

As a demisexual/demiromantic person, I deeply value emotional bonds — my wiring is tuned to that. It shapes how I see and experience the world. Hormones and emotions influence how we process life, and what we’re taught affects how we engage with others. Fear shapes how we move forward. I notice the false narratives people tell themselves, often driven by fear, because fear clouds judgment.

Being in a romantic or sexual relationship, especially with another woman, quiets those alert signals that warn of danger. That’s why companionship with a woman can bring euphoria — a sense of complete relaxation and ease, especially in the honeymoon phase.

Relationships between women can form quickly when allowed to flow freely. I don’t see women as complicated; that perception usually reflects someone’s emotional or mental state. Many people want things to be easy, but ease doesn’t foster growth or resilience. Still, those who prefer simplicity — let them be.

Growing older as a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian has reshaped how I view relationships that don’t work out. It’s helped me understand compatibility and see rejection as a blessing in disguise. It hurts, but it’s good — it filters out those who aren’t meant for me. Even when infidelity reveals someone’s true colors, I find gratitude. The woman who tempted my partner spared me future pain.

Betrayal hurts deeply, especially during the process of separation and rebuilding life. Yet I see it as a blessing — a chance to move on and open space for someone new. Staying attached to someone who isn’t meant to stay is the hardest thing to release, but it’s okay for relationships to end.

Knowing there are countless women in the world is comforting. Social media, for all its flaws, reminds me of that — it shows endless possibilities for connection. Letting go of fear and misconceptions has been freeing. It’s a blessing to realize that endings make room for new beginnings.

I’ve noticed over the years that it’s a lot more difficult to find Yuri anime—mostly because they aren’t labeled under “Yuri” even though they are. Plenty have gone under the radar because of the lack of labeling. So, I have to rely on online forums to see what’s going under the radar.

Last year, I watched There’s No Freaking Way I’ll Be Your Lover! Unless… and oh my gosh, I never thought I’d be watching a Yuri version of polyamory. The thing about Yuri is that the characters are rich in complex emotions. I related a lot to the main character, Renako Amaori, since she’s an introvert with special interests that aren’t well received—gaming, manga, anime, and cosplay. She’s also neurodivergent. Renako gradually develops close relationships with each girl in her high school friend group, having a history of loneliness before. She masks and hides her true self from the other girls so she can finally have friends and not feel lonely anymore. I think a lot of people can relate to that—because I sure do.

Mai Oduka is the only rich girl in the group who consistently pursues Renako, not only romantically but physically as well.

However, Renako has a crush on Ajisai Sena, which she hasn’t acknowledged to herself throughout the series because she doesn’t want to pursue romantic relationships—she just wants close friends. So, most of the episodes revolve around Renako proving to Mai that friendship is just as important, or even more important, than romantic relationships. Mai tries to prove the opposite.

The concept of trying to prove things to each other is fun to watch—one day they hang out as friends, and another day they date like romantic partners. Viewers often take Mai the wrong way because her character is built around always getting what she wants. She uses that privilege a lot to get her way, crosses boundaries too much, and pays the price for it. We can’t tell the actual sexuality of each character because it’s not stated directly—it’s shown through the story and dialogue exchanges. I laughed a bit when I realized Mai has demisexual traits. She never showed romantic or sexual interest in anyone until she talked to and got to know Renako. Renako treated Mai like a person, not based on her socioeconomic status. They developed an emotional bond, which prompted Mai to pursue Renako romantically and sexually.

Basically, without getting any more into it—because I’d like people to watch it and maybe read the manga—it’s best to experience it firsthand instead of taking my word for it. It taps into deeper, complex emotions about girlhood relationships and the shame we feel when we don’t fit the mold.

Another Yuri anime I watched earlier this year was Roll Over and Die. This one is a darker-themed story about Flum Apricot, who is sold into slavery by one of the hero’s party members. She was part of the hero’s party. Long story short, she’s sold to a black-market slaver who brands her with a slave mark on her cheek and locks her in a cell to die with other unsellable slaves. For entertainment, ghouls are set free in the jail cell with Flum and others. One of them is Milkit—a girl with marks all over her face, covered in bandages. To raise the stakes, a cursed sword is placed in the cell. However, anyone who picks it up bursts into flames and melts. Flum, being attacked by ghouls, has no choice but to go for the sword. It turns out she can wield cursed items, and she kills all the ghouls and the slaver. That scene was very satisfying to watch. Milkit is the only other survivor, and Flum takes her into her care and protection.

The story is really good in terms of world-building, and Flum develops a romantic relationship with Milkit as the episodes progress. Flum does everything possible to make Milkit happy and feel safe. So, even though there’s a dark undertone to the anime, it has a warm-heartedness that comes from the growing bond between Flum and Milkit.

Then there’s This Monster Wants to Eat Me. When I tell you this anime stomps hard on Twilight and does it so much better, I mean it. I’m not joking. This anime sets the tone for a love triangle—but in the most terrifying and delicious way possible. Our main girl is Hinako, who is deeply depressed because, as a child, she survived a devastating accident that killed her mother, father, and brother. She wears long sleeves year-round to cover the burn scars on her body. Hinako attracts a lot of yokai and malicious spirits who want to eat her. Her body rings the dinner bell, and we don’t understand why at first. Then we meet Shiori, a mermaid glamorizing around in human form to meet Hinako. Shiori claims that she alone should be the one to eat Hinako, but she convinces Hinako that she needs to “sweeten up” more. So, they make a pact—Hinako will not allow herself to be eaten by any other monster except Shiori.

Later, we learn that Hinako’s childhood friend, Miko, is a Kitsune and just as powerful as Shiori. Miko has been killing off all the other monsters that wanted to eat Hinako. She’s the one who protected Hinako after the accident. Because of that accident, Hinako’s scent changed, attracting all the yokai to her.

As the story progresses, we learn how willing Miko is to stay by Hinako’s side to protect her from other monsters. Because she herself also yearns to eat Hinako due to the unknown scent, every time it becomes too much to handle, Miko bites off one of her tails and eats it to satisfy her craving for Hinako’s flesh. However, doing that weakens Miko, making it harder for her to travel long distances in human form. As the story moves along, we learn more about Shiori and the true story of what happened to Hinako—and why her scent became so delicious to other yokai. I highly recommend this anime because it just hits the spot.

“All my life, I’ve dreamt in myth — the earth cracking open to birth gods, beasts, and philosophies.”

As of this year, I came to the realization that I’ve been dreaming of the mythos all my life. When I was a child, I dreamt of the earth quaking and the ground cracking to bring up an egg. When the egg hatched, a rainbow‑furred dog emerged. Not just the rainbow‑furred dog emerged — in the same dream, but some time later, another earthquake happened, and another egg emerged from the earth. That egg hatched a black‑furred dog — a dog I feared. In a way, I learned later that I was dreaming of the cosmic eggs.

When I got older, I dreamt of a woman who could control winds. She created cyclones and twisters in my dream. She was indifferent but not cruel. In that dream with her, I had to journey to a mountain, and within that mountain was a giant whom I called Grandfather. I feared my grandfather because he was massive — the embodiment of authority — and older than humans themselves. It was a reason to feel that way.

In those dreams, I had to face many trials on that journey: storms, uncertainty, and looking into an obsidian mirror with no reflection. However, later on, my dreams changed. I dreamt of being in a paradise — a beach scene. On that beach, I met the divine being whom I later proclaimed in my story as Amphiss or Amphitrite. When I looked her up later on, with more internet information available, I discovered that Poseidon pursued a woman relentlessly to become his wife — and Amphitrite was the woman I saw in my dream. The mysterious woman who controlled the sea and created a sanctuary for oceanic creatures revealed to me her story and her personal philosophy of life.

She is the main character in my first dark fantasy romance, introduced as a side character throughout my series. Her philosophy is present — how she blesses the world in her own way. Despite not being someone of higher status, she contributes what she can to the world. Her philosophy is the element of water — how to be like water, even within a rigid world. Even without much physical strength, there’s a way to get by without brute force.

Then there’s Aphrodite. I chose her in my early stages as a witch. But did I truly choose her, or did she choose me? Her name is a mainstream figure in mythological fantasy, and out of all the members of the Greek pantheon, her name and character were the ones I focused on. Out of every goddess in the book, I chose her to impress — to show my creativity in dreams.

Now, I don’t think it was random.

Then there were Hel and Lilith. I always kind of referred to myself as a child of Lilith since I had the dream of being a priestess from a race of beings that were ostracized. But Hel — I realized recently — I dreamt about her a long time ago, after my marriage ended. It was the dream I titled The Lady with a Needle, where she bound my arm, attracting romantic relationships and the desire for them. I’ve always had a reverence for the wolf — and not just the wolf. I would dream of an owl, but that’s a different situation. Why is Hel forward in my life now? I’ve always had this way of using mortality to live life with more meaning rather than taking it for granted. I acknowledge permanence, and I always decree death as an embrace of an old friend rather than something to fear.

She came to mind officially because I played Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice earlier this year — finally, really. The entire game reminded me of an initiation process wrapped in a story of grief. What better way to learn the lessons of life and death than from Hel? In that game, Senua’s death was a transformation — not just the transformation, but the trials she had to go through, overcoming her fears as a warrior.

Hel is not the last being I dreamt of — there was Isis as well. Egypt had to enter the picture. I dreamt of her showing me how ruined statues and her name were being tarnished.

These are the things I think of, and I use them for my stories. I dreamt of Loki and Thor. Surprisingly, I never dreamt of Loki having so much aggression toward Thor. In my dreams, they were like brothers, which is why I wrote them that way. It was always Odin whom I saw as someone who divides and causes mayhem based on self‑serving desires. It’s no wonder Hel sat on the throne where all other spirits — those not eligible for Valhalla — were the ones she looked after. It’s why Zeus is written as a diabolical figure in comparison to the women in the pantheon. However, even Zeus feared someone — Nyx, the cosmic mother herself, the night, and her daughter, the day. I always laugh at that — night and day, mother and daughter.

I wrote about these figures and dreamt them without realizing who they were. But they were feeding me their philosophies. Philosophy is an important aspect — especially from those who were victims of hierarchy. Medusa, I wrote about as well. She was made into a monster. She may have been a gorgon by blood, but she was different from her sisters. She was the beauty that most people admire and snuff out. Not only was she transformed to look like her sisters, but she was also cursed to turn everyone into stone. That means she was cursed to isolation. These are things to think about because they tell a story of power and how worshipping someone higher is not the best route. Think for yourself, discern, and always be aware that even the more performative benevolence is just someone who will betray you and leave you behind to face things alone — and even punish.

I watched bits of a sapphic relationship of seven years unravel because one partner decided to cheat — and then didn’t dare to end the relationship. That roundabout avoidance, the dragging out of the inevitable, the refusal to take responsibility… It’s more common than people think.

And believe me, I understand why a woman would put herself through mental and emotional hell to keep a long relationship alive, even after trust has been shattered. I related to the woman who was cheated on — not because I was cheated on (I wouldn’t have known anyway), but because I understand attachment.

The inability to let go. The willingness to do anything to mend it. To fix it. To control it.

Those things I understand intimately.

But what I learned in my 30s — and what I’m solid in now at 40 — is that you cannot control another person. You can’t control their choices, their impulses, their wounds, or their betrayals. You can only control yourself.

That’s why boundaries matter. Boundaries aren’t about controlling someone else. They’re signifiers for you — markers that tell you when it’s time to let go, move on, and break the connection before it consumes you.

A lot of women mistake love for being chosen, or for the comfort of having someone beside them. And in sapphic relationships, especially, that comfort can feel rare. Our dating pool is not as large as the hetero world. For me — a demisexual, demiromantic lesbian — it’s even smaller. I joke that my options are the size of a puddle my foot can barely fit in.

In my 20s, I dated whoever was available. The women I ended up in long relationships with were the ones who had unique traits that drew me in. Looking back, I realize I was living a whole different life — one shaped by trial, error, and the lessons I didn’t yet know how to interpret.

Even older lesbians, especially boomer lesbians, have ended long relationships after building entire homes together. Some even got back together because their history was so intertwined. But the truth is this:

Sapphic relationships do not operate under the same obligations as hetero marriages.

Being a lesbian means I am free from patriarchal expectations. Hetero marriages historically run on:

economic dependence

social pressure

religious expectation

gendered duty

fear of stigma

Sapphic relationships don’t have those external “stay no matter what” structures. So when something stops working, women leave — not because they don’t value commitment, but because they refuse to be trapped.

But scarcity complicates things.

When the dating pool is small, people try to make incompatible relationships work. This is especially true for:

older lesbians

ND sapphics

sapphics in conservative areas

women with trauma who crave stability

women who fear they won’t find another partner

Hetero women often stay because of obligation. Sapphic women often stay because of scarcity and hope.

And that creates a unique emotional economy.

The Sting of Long Sapphic Relationships Ending

Four to seven years is a real investment — especially in sapphic culture, where relationships often become deeply intertwined with:

shared routines

shared healing

shared domestic life

shared pets

shared trauma recovery

shared identity formation

When a sapphic relationship ends, it’s not just losing a partner. It’s losing a home you built together.

That’s why the grief hits differently. I feel that in my bones. It’s why my two long relationships were so hard to heal from.

Sapphic Relationships End More Often — But Not Because They’re Weaker

People misunderstand this. Sapphic breakups aren’t a sign of instability. They’re a sign of freedom from patriarchal obligation.

Women leave when something stops working because they can. Because they’re not bound by the same social contracts that keep hetero marriages intact despite dysfunction.

This is a cultural truth almost no one articulates clearly.

My Puerto Rican Lens

I’m half Puerto Rican, and the stories I grew up hearing gave me a sharp understanding of how hetero marriages often function. I’ve seen firsthand how many of them are:

performative

obligatory

quietly fractured

full of infidelity

held together by social expectation rather than love

held together by fear

So I don’t get fooled by how things look on the outside, or by how many years a couple has been together.

Hetero marriages often stay together despite dysfunction. Sapphic relationships often end because women refuse to tolerate dysfunction.

Sapphic relationships don’t fail more often — they end more honestly. And the grief feels sharper because the love was deeper.

The Partner Who Cheats But Won’t Leave

This pattern shows up more often than people admit.

Not because sapphic women cheat more — they don’t. But because when they do, they often:

don’t want to be the villain

don’t want to destroy the life they built

don’t want to face the guilt

don’t want to confront the emotional fallout

don’t want to lose the person who feels like home

So instead of ending it cleanly, they drag it out. They avoid. They lie by omission. They hope the relationship will “fix itself.” They hope the other woman will leave first.

It’s cowardice, yes — but it’s also fear.

Fear of losing the one person who knows them deeply. Fear of losing the domestic world they built. Fear of facing the consequences of their own actions.

We have to learn to see that clearly.

Why She Couldn’t Let Go

People think staying after betrayal is weakness. It’s not.

It’s attachment trauma mixed with scarcity mixed with hope.

In sapphic relationships:

the dating pool is small

the emotional intensity is high

the shared life becomes deeply intertwined

the relationship often becomes the primary emotional anchor

Leaving feels like ripping out a root system.

So she stayed. She tried to mend it. She tried to control it. She even tried to rebuild trust that was already dead.

Not because she was naive. But because she was attached.

Attachment makes people do things that look irrational from the outside but feel necessary from the inside.

The Hell of Trying to Save Something Already Gone

That hell looks like:

bargaining

over-functioning

self-blame

hypervigilance

emotional contortion

trying to be “better”

trying to be “enough”

trying to fix what she didn’t break

It’s not about the cheating. It’s about the terror of losing the life she built. It’s about the fear she won’t find another connection like that. It’s about the grief of losing not just a partner, but a world.

My Own Lessons

I learned firsthand that I’m not exempt from being framed as unstable or monstrous. I learned that someone’s past patterns matter. I learned that love does not protect you from someone’s unresolved wounds.

My first 9-month relationship taught me that danger can hide in places you’re not yet equipped to see. My second taught me that even lesbians can be insecure with other lesbians, and that possessiveness and jealousy are unhealthy, no matter how small the dose is. My third, and longest, taught me that attachment can make you ignore what should have been obvious.

I don’t act like a victim. It happened. I learned. And I moved forward.

Anger doesn’t change anything. Desperation doesn’t gain anything. It only costs more to heal from.

What I Know Now

Sapphic relationships end honestly. They end when truth surfaces. It ends when attachment becomes a cage. And it definitely ends when scarcity tricks women into staying too long. When someone’s wounds spill over, it ends. And the hardest lesson, it ends when someone refuses to face themselves.

When the home you built together can no longer hold both of you, it has to end.

I’ve learned to pay attention to patterns. To boundaries. To attachment. And to the truth beneath the surface.

And most importantly — I’ve learned to walk away before I lose myself.

The topic of my alcoholism has been on my mind for a while now. First, I have to confess that I’m a high‑functioning alcoholic. I know it’s too straightforward to announce this in the beginning sentences of a blog, but in my own way, I’m putting myself on the chopping block as a very flawed person. Well… in society’s standards, a flaw. I view it as a means to breathe for a brief moment.

Now, because I’m coming from a place where I understand addiction—since I use my vice to let myself be free from a lot of my filters for a brief time—I’m saying brief because alcohol doesn’t last as long, and you can become tolerant to it. This is me saying I’m using it to handle the turbulence of life because it grants me inner peace. I’m able to relax even though there’s chaos around. It’s why alcohol is called liquid courage—because it lowers inhibitions and numbs the prefrontal control systems. It dampens the amygdala’s fear response. And with everything going on today, there’s a lot to fear. We can’t deny that life is both benevolent and cruel, and I’ll leave it at that because I already talk about life in several other blog posts. However, this post is dedicated to what I used to write and talk about.

How do people develop a variety of addictions to endure life?  

Depending on the person, they choose something to hyper‑fixate on to deal with what they suppress eternally—thoughts, emotions that pile up in the body—and it can become destructive if not released in some way.

How I chose to release my built‑up emotions and thoughts is by writing them down. The best way is actually journaling more than writing fictional stories. However, my earlier stories are suffocating because of unleashing my emotions in them and molding them into a story. But that’s not all I had to do. I have so many deeply embedded emotions that have attached themselves to every cell and every space my body could hold that even writing, painting, and drawing were never enough. I had to break my body in different ways—working myself to the bone, pushing myself to run every day to breathe, lifting as heavily as I could to push my muscles beyond their capacity. I made myself become a machine, believing it was hollow. But I’m not hollow. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m filled with emotions, thoughts, and even dreams. I have needs and wants like everyone else in this world.

Life taught me very young to be hypervigilant.

I also learned very young that people never reveal their deepest truth.

I learned about performance—the many hats to change into, the many masks for different occasions.

I’ve written all about this before in other blogs. I’ve challenged people who think they know someone because of what they display. And I always countered that the majority of people only know the surface level of someone. Because it takes time and a lot of attention, and paying attention to the details to get to know someone on a deeper level. And to go even deeper, that has to be an invitation of the person allowing it to happen. They have to allow themselves to reveal those parts of themselves that people don’t see. When someone does, that means there's a level of trust that has been established. 

People who have watched me most of my life say I have the oddest interactions with people. And with people who are just passing by. I mentioned one in my most recent blog about a lady who approached me at the grocery store saying, “You look like you enjoy cooking.” And then, with a span of 5 minutes, she talks about her grief over losing her son. She was not the first, and she won’t be the last. I’ve had many more before her who have spilled their stories. And here I am, a storyteller, a writer of stories. But what does all this have to do with alcoholism? 

Well… me admitting that I have to use alcohol to breathe, to let down my guard for a while. To turn down the filters and all the defense mechanisms in my body is why I drink. I have a lot of emotions in my body that I can’t feel, but they are the tensions and the overstimulated nervous system that make me sick from the inside out. Since I’m so numb to feeling, the only time I feel it is when it's leaving metaphorical gashes and lacerations on my body in my dreams. That’s why I talked about my dream, The Lady with a Needle, and how my marriage left a huge open wound from forcing the connection. It’s why I had to dream of binding my arm that attracts and even desires a partnership with someone or a romantic relationship. I was so wounded, and if I didn’t make that choice, I would continue to injure myself metaphorically. And through that, I would be indirectly hurting anyone who would get close, because these are emotional and mental wounds that need to heal.

So, because I stopped using my body physically to brute my way out of my emotional turbulence and overflowing container of every suppressed thing, I focused on writing more, and somehow drinking became more prevalent. I do go to group therapy. I do allow myself to be a part of my spiritual community. I allow myself to have some meaningful or close friendships. But through learning about how I use alcohol to bring down all my filters and my masks, what comes up is me actually enjoying the process of things that bring me joy. I’m more willing to be vulnerable around the people closest to me, and I become more attentive and nurturing. I’m more open to people getting closer to me, even letting them touch me if they want. 

Now, here’s the darker aspect.

When someone has suppressed a lot of rage and more aggressive emotions, when those guardrails go down with substances, all that is hidden becomes revealed. I’ve known people who become violent to the point that they would seriously harm those around them, even endanger lives. I’ve also met people who can’t function as human beings without alcohol—or be kind human beings without it. I have a blood relative who can’t give condolences or comforting words without having alcohol running through their system.

But I want to talk about some moments in my adolescence that I take into account when people suppress themselves and rarely say what they want to say. How did I know one of my classmates and friends had a crush on me?

Being a teenager at the time, I didn’t think much of what girls do when they get drunk and say or even do things. I already knew she was bisexual and had hooked up with girls before. But I wasn’t aware of my sexuality back then, so it didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t into anyone romantically or sexually. Even though I had a friend‑with‑benefits kind of thing with a guy in high school, I felt nothing about it. He was only a means to pass the time. Only when I recount my dating history with guys do I sort of remember him and everything I allowed to happen in high school—but it’s like looking through a dust‑covered memory. I came out as a lesbian at twenty‑one, and so much of my life has revolved around women since then.

When she—the classmate and friend who had a crush on me—used to spend nights at my house, especially as we got older, she stole large bottles of beer from the gas station so we could drink at night while my parents were asleep. When she got drunk, she became a lot more daring with me physically, and I realized how much stronger she was. She could easily overpower me if she wanted, and that scared me a bit because if we were enemies, she could have done real damage. But luckily, she never crossed boundaries without my consent. She never wanted to hurt me, even though she had anger‑management issues and had hurt other people before.

I once had to get between her and another girl she was hitting with her lunch bag because that girl had spread horrible rumors about me around school. The moment the bag hit my face and hurt me, she stopped. But back to when she would be drunk at my house—when she got too much with me, if I didn’t like what she was doing, I told her, and she listened. She did as I asked. When she would lie next to me and just talk, which I took as drunk nonsense, she kept talking about her feelings for me. And that wasn’t the only time. She would drunkenly call me sometimes, saying the same things in a haze. I didn’t take anything she said seriously because even if it were true, I couldn’t do anything with it.

Later in life, another person in our circle revealed that she had a serious crush on me. As I got older and more solid in my sexuality, it made sense. I always thought the snacks she tried to give me were peace offerings. Among other things she did for me, it all started to make sense. But I couldn’t beat myself up about that because I couldn’t do anything with it back then. I couldn’t even do anything with it when I was older and in college because she became heavily involved in drugs and other things.

Most of the time, even in my twenties, I was trying to survive school and dealing with the trauma I experienced from years of bullying—and the teachers allowing it all to happen. So many other things were tied to my entire life. It’s no wonder that later on she was okay with other people harming me. I pretty much look back on everything as people wanting to take their pain out on me. So, it’s a blessing that none of those people are in my life anymore.

But the idea of people revealing themselves while tipsy or drunk stuck with me—even in my romantic relationships and dating life. My first girlfriend, when she was drunk, was a happy, flirty drunk. She was flirty sober, but she was extra flirtatious while drunk. However, she was also a lot more clingy and irrationally possessive when she was drunk. All her insecurities were louder when she was drunk and high. She needed something from me that I could not give her.

I had to admit a lot of things about that relationship that were hard to face in the mirror at the time—that I didn’t love her as a partner. I loved her as a friend. We worked well as friends, not as partners. I was still learning, anyway, about what love is and how sex doesn’t mean much without emotional intimacy. Chemistry and passion became exactly what they are—just another substance‑abuse problem, but with my own hormones. And someone like me, who is inclined to become addicted to things, developed several of them under the guise of partnership.

In my next relationship after that, when she used to get drunk, she was the woman I fell in love with—the one who wanted to come home to me and be near me, who loved the parts of me she enjoyed but ignored while she was sober. She was less scrutinizing because, when she was sober, she was more distant and tried to mold me into what she wanted me to be—something society would accept better. Someone to show off to the public.

She needed me to be someone or something I wasn’t, but it was only when she was drunk that she actually expressed a bit of truth. And the truth was, I was the wrong person for her. She loved some of my inner aspects but didn’t love the rest. We eventually had that discussion—that we loved the idea of each other. I loved the inner aspects she wouldn’t allow herself to be, and the version of her that was just her, allowing herself to exist freely for a short time. We had different ideas about the future. Six years—that was the hard lesson I learned with that partnership.

Through those life events, I realized that when people drink, the walls that keep up a façade thin or even come down, and they reveal their true selves for a short time. They can reveal how much they hate you; they can reveal how much they love you. They can even reveal how important you are to them. They reveal their fears and desires.

However, to me, it means nothing. I always say it: I can’t do anything with someone’s suppressed emotions, desires, and the truths they keep tightly sealed away for the world not to know or see. It actually makes me sad. So, the crushes all mean nothing to me, because I always say it—someone who is courageous enough to say what’s on their mind and go for what they want is someone who doesn’t want to be caged and wants to live life how they choose.

I don’t want to feel sad anymore knowing how people truly feel about me, but can’t live it or say it to me. I let them stay that way. And it gets placed somewhere to collect dust or eventually becomes destroyed.

So, in a way, when people drink around me, I pay more attention—to how they act, what they say, what they reveal. I collect that as data on whether they can be a part of my life or if I need to walk away or disappear like smoke. There’s really not much need for a truth serum; when someone takes a substance that brings down the façade, the truth will reveal itself. But it’s a matter of accepting what has been revealed and making choices from there.

Because how someone acts while drunk is the part of them they don’t show to the world. Well, not always—some people are who they are, whether drunk or sober.

Either way, I’m learning to notice what my body tries to say before I reach for the bottle. It doesn’t mean I’ll be able to achieve sobriety, but it gives me more clarity on why I choose to pick up the bottle, even though I know it has its physical consequences. At least when I bring the rim to my lips, I accept the outcome of that choice.

Take that as you will.

People talk about spirituality like it’s some fragile thing that disappears the moment the world gets hard. Or they assume it doesn't exist at all and just focus on the material world. They assume everyone who calls themselves a spiritualist will eventually fall under a dictator, a fascist, a cult leader, or whatever force is loudest during times of fear and uncertainty. Definitely, the world is living up to that word these days. A lot believe and act like spirituality is just another costume people wear until pressure exposes the truth.

But that’s not reality.

If everyone folded, rebels wouldn’t exist. Resistance movements wouldn’t exist either. Definitely, underground networks wouldn’t exist, for sure. People wouldn’t have risked their lives hiding survivors during fascist occupations. There wouldn’t be stories of ordinary humans doing extraordinary things in the shadows.

History itself proves that not everyone collapses.

There have always been outliers; the ones who stay rooted, who keep their humanity, and stay accountable even when the world is falling apart. The ones who don’t need recognition or status or aesthetics. They are the ones who act quietly, intentionally, and without needing to be seen.

These people weren’t spiritually weak. They also weren’t spiritually gullible. They definitely weren’t spiritually performative.

They were spiritually grounded.

And we cannot forget or deny it.

The ones who fall for fascists or dictators? They’re not “spiritualists.” They’re people with weak foundations who joined communities for what they could gain, not for what they could cultivate. They wanted belonging, validation, identity, power, or protection — not actual spiritual growth.

And when fear comes, along with all its uncertainties, when the world shakes, people who joined for ego collapse with it. People who joined for aesthetics collapse as well. People who joined for attention will definitely collapse in utter ruin. And the people who joined for status will learn the lesson when it collapses entirely.

Capitalism feeds this collapse. It teaches people to treat spirituality like a brand, a look, a lifestyle, a way to be seen. It encourages people to enter subcultures for the image, not the practice. To adopt symbols without adopting responsibility. To mimic the surface without touching the depth of its foundation. Its meaning.

But real spiritualists — animists, witches, Daoists, mystics, folk practitioners — have always been the ones who resist quietly. They are the ones who hide in plain sight. They are also the ones who protect others without needing applause. They refuse to surrender their moral compass even when everyone around them is losing theirs.

Spirituality didn’t disappear. The magick didn’t vanish. The integrity didn’t evaporate.

People just stopped recognizing it because they only see the performative version; the version capitalism rewards. It's the version the ego clings to, and it collapses under pressure.

But the real ones? They’re still here. They’ve always been here. Working in the shadows. Rooted. Steady. Unmoved by fear. Uninterested in power. Guided by something deeper than aesthetics or belonging.

Not everyone folds. Some people hold the line quietly, and the world survives because of them.

Take that as you will.

I’ve been thinking more about what I wrote earlier, especially about how food has always been used as a tool for control. And the more I sit with it, the more obvious it becomes that we never actually got rid of caste systems; not in the United States, not in the West, not anywhere. We just changed the mechanism.

Instead of forbidding certain people from eating certain foods, we created a new kind of gatekeeping: pricing.

In medieval Europe, caste determined what you were allowed to eat. Today, class determines what you can afford to eat. The logic never changed; only the language did.

We pretend we live in a society without caste, but walk into any grocery store and you’ll see the hierarchy laid out on shelves. Organic produce, grass‑fed meats, specialty ingredients, ethically sourced foods — all placed behind invisible velvet ropes. Not forbidden, just financially out of reach. It’s a modern version of the same old rule: some bodies get access, some don’t.

And when you start looking at the human beings behind these systems, not just the systems themselves, it becomes even clearer. People still use food as a way to signal status, purity, morality, and superiority. They still weaponize access. And worse, they still hide behind structures to avoid admitting their own desires — the desire for comfort, control, validation, or power. Some religions used it to send it up the ladder so as not to take any real accountability.

That’s why I say the caste system never disappeared. It just learned how to blend in better. It learned how to disguise itself as “market forces,” “personal choice,” and “lifestyle.” Some people even still use the word "station" when it comes to job titles and material gains. But underneath all that, it’s the same old hierarchy, built by human hands and maintained by human ego.

Food has always been political. It has also always been spiritual. It has always been a metaphorical mirror. And when you look into that mirror long enough, you stop blaming the structure and start seeing the people who benefit from it and the people who are harmed by it as well.

This is why my relationship with food had to be rebuilt through spirituality. Not because spirituality made me “better,” but because it helped me see clearly. It helped me step outside the illusion long enough to understand how deeply food is tied to power, desire, and identity.

We didn’t abolish caste. We just monetized it.

And once you see that, you can’t unsee it.

By the way, I’m a witch who leans toward animism, and I cultivate in Dao. So when I talk about systems, desire, and accountability, I’m speaking from a spiritual framework that sees intention behind everything.

Take that as you will.

Or maybe have a piece of cake.

My cakes are delicious enough to cause a rebellion.

I’ve been lingering on the topic of my spirituality and how it helped me have a better relationship with food. I have to discuss how making cooking my hobby helped me connect with people more.

Food is a universal language that most people can understand. Even your four-legged family member understands food. Food is life. It’s our way of enjoying the fruits of planet Earth. However, as I learned a bit more about our history with food, I began to understand how food became a tool for control for the power-hungry in life.

One of the major issues that happened was restricting certain foods to certain social classes. Before the socioeconomic hierarchy of today, there was the caste system. Based on whether you were born into a peasant family or an upper-class family, your food list was decided. I’m speaking more from Western European medieval history with food since that was my current interest for a while. My interests shift often, so you are warned about my habits.

Heavy red meats were for nobility and royalty, including chicken. If you were born a peasant, you could not eat chicken, and it was rarer to raise chickens for poultry because it was costly. It was strictly forbidden to be consumed by the peasant class, but you could eat the eggs the chickens produced. Chicken meat was for the upper class. In the modern era, meats associated with class have changed. Now, chicken is considered a peasant food. Shrimp used to be “poor man’s food,” and now it’s expensive to buy. That’s all influenced by the wealthy and capital C-ism.

Men who revere knights—you would have never become a knight because that was determined by the social class you were born into. And knights were not chivalrous either. Actually, they caused a lot of issues in society with their inappropriate behavior. So, not only was becoming a knight next to impossible unless royalty elevated your station in life, but they were not the romantic figures we see in TV shows or films. They were part of an upper class that had more access to a variety of foods, such as boar or stag, which peasants couldn’t eat either. You’ll notice I’m not mentioning harlots, shamans, and slaves. They had their own place in the caste system as well. They were the most dehumanized and could actually be killed by someone of a higher station with no repercussions.

Even the color of bread was assigned to every station. White bread was for nobility and royalty; black bread was for peasants and below. Peasants could eat fish, eggs, and whatever herbs or root vegetables were grown or harvested from the wild. And spices dictated how wealthy a house was—the spice box was its own decider of wealth.

You learn why alcohol was a part of the human diet back then—because of the contamination of water. Water spoils after a while, especially if it’s not filtered like today. It grows nasty things, which is why on naval ships and even pirate ships that were out at sea for long stretches of time, they had to mix rum with water and add citrus fruit and a bit of sugar to combat dehydration, scurvy, and contamination. Even in small villages back in the day, children drank a bit of light ale.

So, I saw the creation of wine, beer, and even hard alcohol as a means of survival—medicating the very things we don’t have to worry about as much today. Because we invented ways to filter out parasites and bacteria that would make us sick for a long time or even kill us, we don’t have to survive on drinking alcohol anymore. Now, it’s for social reasons.

Every grain harvest, the local priest was the first to eat the grain to test if it was contaminated, because there was a fungus that could cause mass hallucinations and make your fingers turn black. Scary things when you think about it.

Therefore, when I think about food today, it’s a blessing. It’s also a blessing to have access to other cultural foods. It’s amazing how many cultures have similar dishes but prepare them differently according to the spices used or other added ingredients that make them more flavorful.

Now, how did my spirituality help me develop a much stronger relationship with food again? Living in the U.S., surrounded by people policing each other’s looks—mainly their size, how muscular or lean, how curvy someone looks, or their weight on the scale—and demonizing certain foods, calorie-restrictive diets, and so on, all relate to orthorexia. It’s a newer focus on people who are hyper-focused on what they eat and who police each other’s standards of eating.

Even worse, they ignore registered nutritionists and the actual science entirely—the long-term studies and data showing how over-consuming animal-based products such as red meat can put you in the grave early and cause performance problems in other areas of life. Let’s call that “the other life’s pleasure.” Orthorexia isn’t classified as a mental illness yet, but it is considered an eating disorder. It’s on its way to describing the phenomenon of today, driven by societal expectations and bullying that happens when you don’t fit the mold—and really, that’s societal abuse.

No one wants to be categorized as an abuser, but when you police and shame someone, that is abuse. And that means you’re an abuser. I always talk about critiquing the human more than the system. The system is bad, obviously, and needs to change heavily, but it’s just a tool for the humans in power to use. The system favors the people who use it to abuse others. People constantly fall prey to systems of power that strip away their agency and, worse, get them to dehumanize and destroy other people to fall in line. For what, though? That just tells me the person who polices others hates themselves and wants other people to share the same agony of not eating a tasty meal.

Of course, I say, “You do you. I’m going to eat that bowl of Japanese ramen over there with miso.” I absolutely love miso ramen.

I love to cook, especially for people in my life.

But before I tell the story of cooking for my friend, I have to talk about an encounter beforehand—when I was at the grocery store buying ingredients for the week because I planned to grill a lot of food. I gathered a lot of manager’s special meat, corn on the cob, and cucumbers to blend with a romaine salad or just eat the cucumbers salted.

A lady stood beside my carriage in the meat section and automatically said, “You look like you enjoy cooking.”

That was an interesting statement to hear. I answered, “I love cooking.”

Within five minutes of discussing food hauls at different stores and me talking about buying up manager’s special meats so I could grill a spread for people, the lady mentioned it had been a year since her son passed away. She said it was just so sudden—how one day he was alive, and the next, he fell down a flight of steps, and that was it. That’s all it took, and a life was over.

I’m not the best at finding the right words to say to people during their time of grief, but I started with, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Then I talked about all the cousins I lost who were just a few years younger than me, all in their early thirties. One who came home one evening, fell asleep, and never woke up. It wasn’t accident-related—just a subtle and silent thing you’d never think actually happens to people.

I followed up with, “This is why I cook the tastiest food for people.” I can be mindful of allergies and preferences, but everyone who eats at my table is going to eat the tastiest food before they leave. They’ll leave remembering that good meal. Because life can end just like that—a snap of a finger.

How does that tie into my spirituality? Accepting mortality. Accepting the cycle of life and death. And accepting that tomorrow is never promised. It’s not a grim way to think with a mindset like that—it actually helps me enjoy every ounce of food that hits my tongue. It teaches me to appreciate more of the things we take for granted in life.

Power-hungry people throughout history have always controlled how we look at food, how we experience food, and our access to it. It deters women from enjoying food through beauty standards, body standards, and gender roles—all man-made fictional fantasies. They’re not real.

The average human being is LARPing in some way because someone with rigid biases came up with theories and ideas. No one likes to be told they’re live-action role-playing a human fictional narrative of life. I have to admit, I enjoy coming up with metaphors to describe human behaviors that are under the influence of socially constructed fictional narratives. New tools introduced into society gave more opportunities for power-seekers to abuse them against others. That’s a human problem.

A lot of people choose to follow narratives and the people who construct them because they don’t want to be left alone to figure things out for themselves. They don’t want to become leaders because leadership requires accountability and action. I see it happen with people around me—they gather in one room, not wanting to be alone in the room we all have to be in anyway. Then one says, “I don’t want to be the leader.”

However, I don’t follow anymore. There have been moments in life when I had to take the leadership role—to take action and accountability for the group to get things done. A leader also has to be comfortable standing alone in a room. As an artist and fiction writer, I’m used to being alone a good portion of the time. It’s how I reflect on everything and understand myself better.

Cooking, however, has brought me closer to the people in my life.

So, now the story of cooking for my friend. Recently, my best friend visited me for her birthday. She thought, Oh, we can go out to eat somewhere. I told her, I’m going to cook for you. I asked what she would like to celebrate. Of course, she loves seafood, so that’s what she wanted. We settled on surf and turf.

I got shrimp to put on skewers and steak, which I brined for a few hours before grilling. I boiled corn in advance to toss on the grill. I also marinated and prepared chicken breasts to cook on the grill and prepared pork ribs as well. If I go into too much detail on the cooking preparation, this blog post would be too long to get to the rest of the story.

Everything was prepared in its own way to explode with flavor. When my friend arrived, she was eating a feast. I also had her try one of my new cocktail concoctions, which paired perfectly with the meal. Because, of course, with learning to cook, I learned to make cocktails. And because I’m particular about the ingredients I use, without those ingredients, the cocktails I make will never taste the same with substitutions. It makes my drinks personal—something you can only truly experience with me, versus someone else trying to make it.

Because this drink was so personal, I came up with a name for it: “The Backhanded Buddha.” And I mean it—it needs the particular ingredients I use for it to be the official cocktail I make. It’s been over two weeks, and my best friend still texts me about that drink and how much she misses it. That and my quesadillas—because with the grilled chicken breasts, I made quesadillas for breakfast the next day. After drinking a couple of my cocktails the night before, the hearty breakfast was well received.

As the day went by and she planned to stay longer, we talked a lot while watching the World Cup. She mentioned wanting to get married again.

Suddenly, I just blurted out, “Meatballs.” The shock on her face after I said meatballs right after she said she wanted to get married again was priceless. But with how my mind was working, I said, “I’m going to make a meatball soup.” She looked at me like, What the hell are you talking about? Then I clarified, “A wedding soup. A meatball soup is considered a wedding soup. I’m going to make you a wedding soup to bring you luck with that.”

And sure enough, I spent the rest of the day making her the wedding soup—a mock version catered to her. The scent during its final stages was so enticing that she had to end a phone call because it smelled too good. She was already sipping another “Backhanded Buddha.” She absolutely enjoyed two full bowls of that soup, and I packed her leftovers for the next day to travel with.

To end her birthday, I let her pick out an ice cream cake. During her time with me, she ate and drank like a queen. Everything I made worked out beautifully, and everything tasted phenomenal. I fulfilled my vow to that lady I met in the grocery store—to make sure whoever eats my food has the best experience to remember.

People who choose not to enjoy food anymore, and not enjoy tasty food together with people who matter to them, make me sad to think about. Throughout cultures and history, we’ve always used food as a way of connecting with each other. It’s the universal language. They don’t want to be part of that connection. And I guess all I can say to that is, “You do you.” I’m eating that bowl of miso ramen.

If you made it to the end of this blog, thank you. May you continue to enjoy tasty food and never let anyone convince you otherwise. Best of luck.

For the past couple of years, I’ve been thinking about how convenience is a double‑edged sword. It’s good when you want something on the fly, and bad when it’s used to control the consumer. I enjoy a variety of media, and not being able to access or maintain access to that media is something to worry about. I do like collecting physical media when I can afford it, but I also appreciate the convenience of digital access — being able to watch, play, or read what I want on the go. Not all media is worth owning physically.

This year, I started looking into region‑free Blu‑ray/DVD players so I can buy media from different regions. Some TV series I enjoyed aren’t available here in the US, so I want to at least get the DVD versions — but they come with different region codes. That means I need a player to bypass that lock.

I’m one of those people who believe you have to fight for your options and not let anyone strip them away. Physical media is an option that needs to stay on the board. When a company sells you a license to access something, that’s not ownership. When the license expires, it’s removed from your library and taken off the platform. Because of that, I’m careful about what I purchase digitally. If I want to truly own something, I look for the physical copy and buy it. But like I said, I don’t want every physical copy of every TV series or film — just the ones I know I want on my shelf for the long term.

It’s the reason I started buying my mom’s favorite shows and films as physical copies instead of digital ones. Even though many Blu‑rays come with a digital code, the physical disc is still important. I’ll admit, I made the mistake of purchasing the digital‑only PS5 instead of the disc version. I could have bought physical copies of the games I liked. But honestly, consoles release every six to seven years — I don’t need to worry about that anymore. However, when it comes to anime, TV series, and films, that’s a different story. And for books I want to own physically instead of as e‑books, I buy them. I bought the library edition of The Legend of Korra, and to me, that was worth it — the paper is more durable and will last a long time.

I still have disc cases to carry around Blu‑rays and DVDs, but my laptops don’t come with disc drives anymore. I’d have to buy an external one. I could also buy a disc drive for my PS5, but I didn’t see the point since no major games released exclusively for the PS5. So I see the PS5 for what it is: a machine that runs some optimized games while mostly playing older titles designed for the PS4. Luckily, a lot of the licenses I bought were on sale. And I’m already 40 years old — I may have 40 more years ahead of me, so I don’t know if I’ll care or remember what was in my gaming library. It’s a horrible thing not to own a digital purchase, but that’s exactly why we need to keep fighting for physical media.

When people complain or spiral into fear, we have to address the excessive content we’re being served. I lived through the analog‑to‑tech convenience era. I never took well to social media, so this year I deleted most of my personal accounts. Mostly because there used to be mystery in life — not knowing what everyone else was doing. Who they’re dating, who they’re connected to, and where they’re traveling. I never saw the appeal of knowing what people are up to or letting people know what I’m up to. It takes a lot of time and effort to be on social media, posting pictures and generating a string of words to text to the ether. Don’t get me wrong — I’m here typing about the importance of options. I’m giving analog its praise because it gave life more meaning, purpose, and mystery. When I’m not on my phone, I’m taking in the environment and the people in it.

With physical media, you go through the options on your shelf. You look through every TV series and film and decide what you’re in the mood for. You open the box, turn on the TV and player, put the disc in, wait for it to read, and then navigate the title menu to hit play. And because it doesn’t require streaming, the video quality stays excellent — no pixel tearing or buffering. It starts and runs seamlessly. Unless the disc is damaged, you’re good. And unless there’s a blackout, you don’t have to worry about internet service. As long as my home has power, I can watch a movie or TV series without the internet. Physical versions of video games work the same way. These are things worth fighting for — things we shouldn’t let become obsolete.

Physical media also lets you share with others. I used to borrow shows and films from friends who owned a lot of physical media. It created a sense of togetherness we’re losing today. There’s something special about a friend lending you a book from their personal library. It gives the experience more meaning.

Those are experiences I want to see shine again. Too much convenience comes at a hefty cost — one I don’t want to pay. I’m grateful for streaming because I wouldn’t be able to watch so much foreign media or as much anime as I do today. I’m an anime junkie, and having access to streaming anime is amazing because buying physical copies is far more expensive than regular TV series. So when I find an anime I truly enjoy, I buy it. I can’t buy anime carelessly because of how expensive it is, so watching a lot helps me decide and exposes me to new stories. The one that tugged at my heartstrings, The Weakest Tamer Began a Journey, had me crying. Generally, I save my money for Yuri, but if I truly love something, I’ll put money aside to buy it.

Owning the copy will remind me of it for years to come.

Never give up your options.

med

Thought Exercises Under Capital C‑ism

I had to take my time to think about this blog post and how I would word it, talking about the behaviors of society under the capital C‑ism. I’ve asked myself many thought‑exercise questions, and the major question I ask more often enough, regarding pursuing certain endeavours: “Would I still do this or pursue this if the capital C‑ism didn’t exist anymore?”

I have to ask these questions to make important choices in my life. Because life requires action. And the right questions to ask will give me a better view of what my next step needs to be.

In a world obsessed with monetizing every passion, choosing creation for its own sake becomes an act of quiet rebellion.

Creation Over Prosperity

At my core, I’m not driven by the pursuit of wealth and prosperity. It’s actually quite the opposite. I give more than receiving in return. It’s difficult for me to come up with a price for my services in life. People around me have always displayed ambition towards prosperity and achieving things. However, my passion—that fire—always went towards creating. It took a long time to learn to complete things that I started. And sometimes, it’s still difficult to cultivate. Such as writing dark fantasy novels. I had to learn on my own and do the extra work of trial and error. Another friend of mine learned on her own, too. She learned to create scripts for plays. And none of these pursuits bore any fruit materialistically. Actually, it costs us. Sometimes, to fulfill a passion, it accumulates into debt. But the thing is, that debt doesn’t create any bitterness of not gaining anything in return. The work gets out there; that’s the importance of it. So, I would continue being a writer regardless of any economic structure in the world.

Lessons From Letting Go

However, I made the decision to let go of both of my YouTube Channels. I wouldn’t bother with them if capitalism didn’t exist anymore. That’s why I say to people, I couldn't care less if my channels got banned or lost all the videos that I created and all the VOD of my streams. It really just started with a challenge to get me out of my shell with speaking. I’m never comfortable with social media and speaking. So, the fact I did it for so long is a personal accomplishment, because it made me more loose in talking in real life.

Letting go wasn’t loss—it was liberation. The challenge taught me to speak, to decorate, to display joy without apology.

In the process, I learned a lot from the technical aspects of content creation, such as thumbnail creation and video editing, being a lot of fun. At the same time, it taught me more about lighting, colors, and decorating for visual appeasement, which was a benefit. Now, I display my hobbies and interests almost like a pro. Most people who visit me absolutely enjoy being in my space. That’s why I give that endeavour its thanks. It enriched my life in those ways. And it made me less insecure about showing off my hobbies and interests. All my gaming consoles are on display, and the games I collected for them, along with memorabilia associated with gaming. I think my unique display is my keychain collection. That’s the one that throws people into a loop. Those who remember that I collect keychains know to bring me a keychain every time they travel. So, it keeps expanding.

The Ethics of Content Creation

Now, I understand a lot of people pursue content creation and livestreaming because it can have its payoff if the channel becomes a hit. And it sort of gives a sense of agency over life. So, there’s a swarm of people creating channels in whatever niche. I think the worst niche is reactionary channels that watch other people's content. Especially, the more complex videos that the creator took time to make. It’s a lazy creation, and it’s unethical, because even if the reactionary content creator guides viewers to that other creator's content, it doesn’t really have the same impact. After all, those viewers already view their favorite person watching that content. And it’s not about the stack of views, it’s about retention. Viewers will not watch it through.

Capitalism doesn’t just sell products; it sells comfort, validation, and even identity. And when those things are packaged by the inexperienced, they become predatory.

And even I realized that a lot of people try to carve out a living by giving dating advice, which is capitalism at its finest. Because people giving advice have no long‑term experience in it. It’s not necessarily the age; it’s the amount of time and experience. It’s why I wrote that blog post about the 43‑year‑old baby lesbian giving advice to other baby lesbians. It’s the same as freshmen teaching other freshmen, posing as a senior lesson. The Capital C‑ism does that.

Demisexuality and Emotional Truth

Because I see baby lesbians doing it, I realize they are running, trying to carve out on gaining prosperity online, because of the loneliness epidemic and the desperation of other single lesbians or sapphics. That is unethical to utilize women's desperation to turn a profit with a problem that’s more systemic than anything else. And most of the advice given is predatory.

I laughed at that woman’s content because what she was advising did not take into consideration other linked sexualities to the label of lesbian or sapphic. Like for instance, I’m a demisexual lesbian. That really means I have no sexual attraction to a woman unless an emotional bond is developed. If there is no emotional bond, I will never be interested in taking anything further than friendship.

In a world that prizes instant chemistry, being Demi feels like swimming against a current—but it’s a current that leads to depth.

Before I write any further, I'm so glad more women are coming forth who are Demi along the sexual orientation spectrum. Demisexuals and anyone along the asexual spectrum are negatively scrutinized because we don’t run on the typical notion of sexual attraction being the default of connections between people. And in my case, I have to have a connection to the inner contents of that book, rather than being enchanted by the cover. The cover is just decoration, and the inner world holds the value I look for in a sexual and romantic experience. I’m also Demiromantic. A lot of people who assume I’m a romantic are wrong. I’m just a nurturing person. And I was trained to take care of people.

Expression and Communication

Everything else, such as writing my emotions through poetry and my other written work, is me expressing what I can’t verbally say, because I have issues talking. My mind just moves too fast and thinks about too many things for me to even say what’s going on with me properly. Which is why I journal a lot and write stories and poetry. It’s the only means I can tell another what’s going on with me. Because trying to think what to say and speak exhausts me. Writing it is just easier. And because I word things symbolically and use metaphors, it gets taken as romantic. But it’s not. It is my emotions and issues that I can’t express verbally.

Healing, Boundaries and the Witch’s Dream

Since I can’t verbalize or contextualize what I’m feeling, I use even songs and images to let people know what I’m feeling. Otherwise, my facial expression and reactions in life will never display what I actually feel or what I’m going through. I always have to use metaphors while talking to describe what I’m feeling, so that the person can understand how bad it is. Otherwise, I don’t physically show any distress. So, with me expressing how complex I am, can you only imagine other women?

It’s why I had dreams of my romantic relationships having injuries on my left arm. 

Literally in my dream, my left arm had pinholes and open gashes of every woman I tried to connect with. Each failed one had devastating marks on my left forearm. I wrote about it in my dream journal. The title, “The Lady with a Needle.”

In that dream, a mysterious woman pierced a piercing needle through my left forearm and locked both ends with obsidian-like pearls. I didn’t understand the significance of that dream back then. Which I had after my marriage ended. Since I’m a witch who dreams in symbolism, I came to realize I dreamt of the desire for romantic relationships and partnerships being locked up in what my mind would understand. My ability to attract relationships and desire them was bound through that dream. A binding was placed on me by my wish for it. I thought it was a future relationship revealed through dreams. But in truth, it was a wish being granted. It was the choice to heal.

And am I still ok with that? Yes. Because the injuries on my arm were bad. An injured psyche or spirit only attracts more things that are unhealthy and dangerous, leading to more injuries. 

The dream wasn’t punishment; it was protection—a binding against repeating pain.

I used to be that girl who felt uncomfortable with setting boundaries and allowing women to touch me without my consent. I’m in my 40s, by the way. Back in my 20s, consent was never really up for discussion, or behaviors that are harmful. But with experience and gaining my voice and setting those boundaries, I do give that look if you misbehave—the outcome will not be in your favor.

Wisdom Beyond Expectation

Healing has its own timeframe. And with healing comes wisdom. And that wisdom helps me see the world with more clarity. Especially when it comes to dating and relationships. It’s why I value talking to women and getting to know women more on a deeper, fundamental level and not expecting any outcome. It’s how I’m able to say I’m not entitled to anyone. And I don’t expect anyone to want to connect with me, be friends with me, or even beyond that. I don’t even expect a glass of water from anyone; that’s how I’ve cultivated my mindset in engaging in life. And yet, I’m still offered a glass of water, regardless. Even given foods and given opportunities. I don’t even expect people to give me anything. And yet I was given something anyway.

In a world built on transactions, peace comes from release—not from gain.

A lot of people on social media have no real experiences beyond what’s at a freshman level in life. When you come out as a lesbian or sapphic who prefers dating women, the best route in life has always been to get comfortable chatting and connecting with other women. Also, understanding yourself as a woman within this messed‑up framework that devalued women and oppressed women for millennia. Get comfortable with not expecting, but just enjoying the process of getting to know another human being.

But these channels will continue to exist under the capital C‑ism. They will sell an online course. They will visit places, people paying to see them. It’s your time and money. But understand, they want your money so they can live their desires in this crazy world.

If you made it to the end of this blog, thank you.

Here's the entry from my dream journal from the dream I mentioned in this blog post.

"Lady with a Needle"

Dreams are so cryptic and yet sometimes easy to understand. Last night, I dreamt I was in an odd-looking hotel. I didn’t know where I was, but Dwayne, ‘The Rock’ Johnson, was walking around talking to me about a person staying at the hotel. Geez! Of all people to dream of.  He said she was cool, and everyone likes chillin’ with her.  Some other people heard the conversation and vouched for him, ‘like yeah, she’s awesome.’ 

After hearing them talk about her, I decided to check if the gossip was true. Unfortunately, the so-called woman wasn’t around, and I didn’t find anyone who’d fit the description. I searched each hotel corridor until the lobby became my final destination, and the will to keep looking for her died out. 

School chairs appeared in the space and were lined up against the wall, and seeing them in a hotel was strange. I sat in one and slumped back, resting my head on the wall.  People strolled in and out of the lobby until finally, it was empty, and I was alone.  There was something peaceful about the silent space. Suddenly, I noticed a woman sitting next to me as if she had appeared out of nowhere. She had long, wavy black hair, thickly covering most of her face.  She didn’t look at me, sitting so close to where her body heat combined with mine.  Her head tilted to the side, but I felt like I knew who she was even though she looked androgynous, just like me, curved, and had a toned physique, mainly wearing black. Usually, I look at girlie-girls, but I thought she was super appealing and mysterious. Then, I noticed the end of a piercing needle in her arm. 

I asked her if that was a needle, and she pulled it out of her skin. 

Oddly, I was OK with the act and the size of the long needle.  However, she grabbed my left arm, finally gazing at me to where I could see her dark eyes and calm face. I wasn’t scared of what she might do, so I didn’t struggle to take back my arm, and when she aimed the tip above my forearm, even still nothing bothered me about her. 

The needle’s prick stung as she nuzzled it into my arm until the tip exposed itself on the other side. Then she locked the ends with two shiny double black pearls, ensuring they would not be removed. It seemed like she claimed me with how the situation was going.

I was like, ‘Oh no, I can’t have another piercing right now. The holes from my past relationships are still healing.’ I showed the inch-wide wound on my wrist where my marriage failed to pierce correctly and wasn’t deep. I pointed out the minor pinholes that became scars from being almost entirely healed from other relationships. 

I tried to convince her to remove it since the pearl locks wouldn’t twist by my own hand. However, she only glared at me, and her eyes read, ‘I’m not taking it out. So, stop askin’!’ 

I kept looking at the piercing and how deep she penetrated with the long needle. My skin around the piercing was clean and didn’t hurt. Although, it felt weird having it at first, like any new relationship. Like most, it was something to get used to, especially having her in my life. She followed me around but was not close or clingy enough to bother my mood.  Sometimes, I didn’t even notice her there until my nightmares threatened me with ghoulish beasts. 

The monsters I faced in my dreams were intimidating, but I wasn’t scared. I’m already a strong-willed woman with many battle scars to show, yet she would leap out for my sake and intervene in the situation, even though I didn’t need her.  She was just there because she wanted to be. It was odd having someone go to that length for me, especially when I was still healing from all the past wounds.

***

I researched the dream, piece by piece, trying to figure out what my brain conjured. The mystery woman pierced my left arm, which meant relationships penetrated the boundaries of my nurturing and supportive qualities (Yin).  The right arm represents outgoing Yang energy, which explains why all my relationships would only mark my left arm. I tried figuring out the needle to this aspect, and the only thing I could find was that it represents the idea of focusing more on my desires and that I shouldn’t ignore it.

I’m going to be honest: they were written under different titles and were part of a series of intertwining stories around the history of a mother and daughter destined for darkness. Originally, when I wrote what is now called A Warrior of Two Sisters, it was in first person. However, I changed it to third because I switched characters, telling the story from their perspectives. Ali and Angelica were telling the story and how it unfolds.

There are remnants of that in the internal monologue I kept. I wrote most of my stories in first person, so switching to third was challenging — especially when I started writing The Mark of the Skull: A Cursed Pirate Queen, a story I began in childhood and updated with my adult mindset. The two main characters of that story were originally going to have a turbulent friendship, but once I figured out my sexuality, I changed it to friends-to-lovers, then to enemies-to-redemption.

The first novel I wrote and completed in three months, now called An Ocean’s Solitary Star, was really my learning curve in writing a long-form novel entirely in first person. And I completed it. That’s important: I finished it, and then I figured out how to edit it. I got a friend to help who had more experience with long-form writing than me, and I published it. That was almost ten years ago. I actually pulled in more readers than I expected. I got people who tore apart my work in the comment section, but I also had people who enjoyed it. They liked how I reimagined mythology in the work. Some enjoyed the main character. However, I eventually unpublished it — because I love my work but hated myself.

I hated myself deeply ten years ago.

Do I still hate myself today?

Not so much.

Perfectionism might kill me one day, but not today.

Horrible way to say it, but it’s true.

So, I left it unpublished for a long time. But I also created a second novel, A Warrior of Two Sisters, within three months, right after finishing and publishing the first novel. I let all of it linger. And I wrote a novella — In the Garden of Roses and Dragons: Eden’s Glenn — which was a very focused setting for a whole new world I was building, revolving around dragons. So within a year, I wrote two novels and a novella. I also started writing other stories that I never finished. One was called The Night Dreams of the Sun, which I pitched twenty pages of to my creative writing class, which I took for fun and educational purposes without a degree in mind. I just wanted to become a better writer, and I had the money and spare time to do it. My classmates absolutely enjoyed it. The ladies liked it, even though it was sapphic, but they liked how rich the characters were and how the scenes I wrote hooked attention. Even the sci-fi nerds got into it because I was writing along the lines of psychic abilities — my main character, telling the story, astral-travels.

It’s too bad I haven’t finished it. I would have to update it because I presented the idea of AI and cars gaining the technology to drive on their own, and the collection of data — because the love interest in the story creates the AI technology that actually works. So, yeah. I don’t know what to do with it. Eventually, I might figure it out. Besides, I would hope by then I’d have the means to travel and visit South Korea, since that’s one of the main settings, other than the state of New Jersey, where my main character is from. So, I have not finished it. But my classmates and instructor at the time enjoyed the concept and all the characters I created, which felt real — mostly because I used real personalities from my life and added them, and real experiences with people and their circumstances.

But my first two novels were deeply rooted in depression and my exploding sexuality that needed an outlet. So I used my stories to transform my trauma — which is probably why I’m still here today, just treading along. I unleashed it in the best way I could: through writing.

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.