Dec 24, 2025
little trip to Cologne.
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little trip to Cologne.
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There’s only one street in the whole city that could ever intersect us — and every time I walk down it, my pace slows without me meaning to, as if I’m trying to eavesdrop on the fading echo of your voice, because it’s the only way I can still feel you in my life.
I can’t just see you and act normal, because when I see you I remember what love feels like, and I just wished I could have kept you close to my chest and make everything all right.
and one day you’ll finally delete them off everything; because one day it finally gets better, and you won’t feel the need to do what they’ve never done for you: show up.
lately, I’ve been feeling confused about who I am, slipping into versions of myself shaped by doubt and negative thoughts. it left me feeling lost, as if I had wandered too far from my core. But then I paused: I looked around, at everything I’ve been building, at those unnoticed moments of progress and passion that have carried me this far. maybe growth does not always shout; maybe sometimes it hides gently beneath the surface, waiting for us to recognize it. even when life feels overwhelming, even when the smallest things feel heavy, it simply means that we are human. through all of it, I am still becoming someone stronger than before, and so are you, for you shall not give up. if no one else has said it today: I believe in you, and I am proud of you.
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The 1st of January is always a day off — a break between what has been and what will be. It’s a moment to breathe in the changes that the crisp January air brings and breathe out everything that needs to be left behind. We torture ourselves by creating a pitch-perfect image inspired by others, not even from within ourselves, and we start to forget how far we’ve come, how much we’ve fought. We need to allow ourselves to feel those ugly feelings we don’t want to acknowledge as part of who we are. Yet the 1st of January feels like a portal, a method of transformation, despite the fact that we still beat ourselves up when we make a small mistake. That’s why the 1st of January is a cheat code: a day to lie in bed and turn off every single thought possible, because those thoughts belong to the past.
This January 1st, I lay in bed next to the man I know I will end up with, and I was thinking — yet for the first time in a long time, I was thinking about possibilities. I was thinking about luck. I was thinking about all the things that will come. Of course, with a dreadful hangover, I woke up to order food and then went back to sleep, then woke up again to watch my series and play cards with him. We always do this now — play cards. There’s something comforting about having to get lucky to win; it almost imitates real life. All you need is a little bit of technique to fight off the bad luck, but that’s hard work.
I almost always lose at cards, which is funny, as I almost always lose in real life. Yet I don’t consider myself a loser, but a trier — and that’s the most important thing: to keep trying, even when the luck runs out. I was not born “unlucky”; I was born to learn how to create my own definition of luck. Just like in that moment — lying next to the love of my life, giggling about the past together and planning the new path ahead. For sure, I am pretty damn lucky with that.
we rush
we rush. we rush through our days and assign a “ to do list “ as if just being became a marathon for which we stopped training as we started to grow, neglecting the self with no prize worth winning — as we tell ourselves.
we rush. we rush to become the person we think would please the ego, that picture perfect version of ourselves; we hold it in the mirror and admire its idea, with no courage to acknowledge the self, a polished version that makes no mistake and we fall in love with who we could be, then punish ourselves for who we are.
we rush. we rush to drink our morning coffee, because we believe that being productive means being fulfilled, only to realise that we rush through our dinner as the evening settles for the day has already shamed us that every second we are falling behind — falling behind on a life we haven’t even started to live yet.
we rush. we rush underneath the warm skin of others, as ours may not be thick enough to cover all the moments we may live; and we rush to judge them as they reflect back at our insecurities which we don’t want to acknowledge, yet we feel them stinging through.
we rush. we rush to hold the ones we love, almost as our presence is eerie and unsure, distracted from the moment because that stillness feels like vulnerability, a vulnerability we are still yet to earn.
we rush. we rush to sit, to stand, to move, as if we are scared of motion itself as it is the proof that we’re here and life does not wait ahead of us, it just happens as it is: in the breaths that we skip over — in those moments we don’t let ourselves feel.
we rush. we rush toward a life we assume we must live, toward a version of ourselves we pray it’ll finally be enough, yet in all that rushing, we forget to just be, we forget what’s within.
we keep rushing, and maybe that’s the hardest take — the life we dream of is already here, waiting for us to slow down long enough to notice those moments we keep outrunning without being.
sometimes it’s the nostalgia that gets too much, the nostalgia of what could have been.