#diarypages

“They told her to grow up.But she kept her teddy.The purple wall still remembers her dreams.The marks on her face?Not shame. Not dirt.Just echoes of a girl who never got hugged when she cried.”

Soft isn’t weakness.It’s survival with gentleness.It’s still cuddling a bear at 18 because no one else held her enough.I’m soft. I cry. I break.But I’m still standing.And I’ll never stop being soft enough to love fully.

🎨: watercolour sketchbook

📸: taken at 5:58 pm on a wooden desk, like a quiet memory

So long, my love, there’s no more tears                                                                to shed, no more dreams to wed, no fears                                                              to rend, so long my love we lost it all                                                                      the final call, the know-it-all 

complex/ I can’t help but sympathize                                                                      all the lies we tell to keep alive the spell                                                                  no more regrets, no more tears                                                                              the years keep eating, keep repeating                  

no more days of isolation                                                                                        away with phases of condemnation                                                                        you hold my gaze through the haze                                                                        long enough to say good-bye

Sorry for all the times I’ve tried                                                                                to hide this. Sorry for all the times                                                                            the kindness survived it wasn’t                                                                                meant to be a kite string                                                                                          

Around my waist and yours                                                                                      forlorn, adrift yet still attached                                                                                  cutting free feels like a heart                                                                                    exacting freedom can be pleasing

See? A piece from me I’m                                                                                        at peace with thee leaving                                                                                      the dream behind you hindsight                                                                              leaving is best for all, don’t call 

again, please, let me fall                                                                                          let me fall, let me fall.  

He deserves it

I usually don’t talk about this, but today I’m choosing my voice over silence.

A few months ago, I was on a bus sitting next to an older man probably in his late (50s or early 60s) -someone who had spoken to me kindly at first. He called me “molee” (little girl)(cuz I was barely 18 ...just done with my 12th grade). He asked about my day, acted like a harmless grandfather type. For a moment, I believed that.

Then he pretended to fall asleep… and slowly started inching closer.

At first it was his elbow brushing my hip. Then a little closer. And a little more. I kept thinking, maybe he’s really asleep, maybe I’m imagining it. I shifted my bag between us, but he kept finding ways to touch me again.

That was the moment I knew

he wasn’t sleeping.

He wasn’t innocent.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

So I did what every girl is taught to be afraid to do:

I hit him.

Hard.

Right in the stomach.

Hit him hard on his stomach with my elbow

Not loud, not dramatic -just a clean, sharp elbow disguised as “adjusting my bag.”

And suddenly, this man who was “sleeping” had the reflexes of a gymnast. He turned away instantly, no flinch, no surprise, no waking up. He knew he got caught.

And he distanced himself for the rest of the ride.

I walked away angry, but also proud.

Because I didn’t freeze.

I didn’t shrink.

I handled it myself.

And maybe that’s what being a woman in this world is -learning that kindness isn’t weakness, silence isn’t consent, and sometimes your safety depends on one well‑timed elbow.

I’m sharing this because girls like me shouldn't get freeze at the moment

My body is mine.