#gentlecare

When I was in the sixth grade, my way back home had been marked by an incident.

A rushing bicycle had hit my petrified feet, I already had been going through a pretty rough day, so getting almost knocked out by a cycle, in the middle of the road for all to see, was a painfully embarrassing experience.

And as I got home, I saw every adult in my house, hecticly running around in panic because my little sister had hit her head very hard and almost had a concussion.

Since my mood was already down, as my mother saw my dejected and angry face, she said to me, 'even when your little sister is this hurt, you don't care at all, do you?'

and to that, I cried, frustrated.

I was misunderstood. But this has been my long going narrative.

'I'm misunderstood, nobody understands me.'

In some context, it is true.

But that moment, was not that.

In that moment of context, she was unaware of what had happened to me, and I solemnly never told her, myself.

You see, we are like subjects,

Sometimes, people understand us by observing us, sometimes by experiencing us, sometimes by putting themselves in our shoes, sometimes by hearing us express ourselves. And that moment was very much about me expressing myself, but I didn't.

There are times where us being misunderstood, are not out of someone's deaf ears and blind eyes.

Sometimes, it's us, not advocating for our inner most self, expressing the inner most truth of ourselves.

Of course, many times I've been unfairly perceived, but I must realize there were many misunderstandings of myself, out of my own quiet endurance.

Sometimes you need to speak.

If I had said, 'actually I had a pretty rough day, I am feeling pain and embarrassment, its not that I'm a bad sister, its just I too am needing some form of comfort.'

Then, that speck of experience wouldn't have been added to my 'being misunderstood ' jar.

Being understood is blissful. Being misunderstood is hard.

But realize when, you can, infact, make yourself understood, and go for it!

Speak up, express, explain, cry, shout, react, respond, whatever you truly feel.

Show them, let them hear it.

It's alright.

No shame in that. ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

With kind concern,

The most mind-boggling topic of all humanity, ethics.

You say aloud yours, and the man next to you who has his own, very different than yours, will take it as his loss.

The same goes for us as well, another man's own evolved ethics that matches nowhere to what we have, we deem it a threat.

We want to, of course, be ethical or feel as one.

But ethics comes with many shapes and forms, although the core will forever remain all the same.

I think troubles are like swords thrown our ways. It hurts to have them inflicted on us, and for us many, the swords stays stale and still.

Rotting with rust, as our pain finds no way to articulate itself pleasantly.

A good example I will give you is my very own personal experience.

I was very much hurt by people's betrayal, a tendency of theirs to not be sincere with me and I was young, a lovely years of teen where parents felt like my worst enemies to ever vent to, and having no reliable outlet to release my hurt, I grew bitter.

The sword of betrayal lived with me like a haunting reminder, I kept it around, with a mindset that went kinda like this,

'I will never trust anyone, trust is for fools, and I will be damned if I ever become one.'

And I would meet in my journey many people, some were yes, awful and some were pleasant, some were like the me who has already experienced awful people, and some were newcomers of life who had not met with evil menace in human forms.

But you know what I did before?

That sword, that mark of betrayal that reminded me day and night, how once I was stabbed deviously by someone too smart.

I thought that sword was there to do the same to another.

I thought, tricking people, being deceptive myself, was a way to empower myself.

So that long digging sword on my back, I used it for complacent sadism and hurt many.

Many who were just like me from years before trauma, young and hopeful.

I thought, naive people should learn, and I was doing them a favor by being deceitful and capricious for no reason.

But it took me long years to learn that the sword was not meant to do that.

It was there, to fight.

Fight against deception.

Fight against another deceptive chaos about to swallow another's hope.

You get talked behind your back?

And that hurt you very much, you couldn't eat or sleep, constantly paranoid about every people you meet.

And that sword, sticks with you.

Until you realize what use you can make of it.

For me,

I realized what to do with my swords, a long years after.

What I was hurt from, I vowed I never would do it to another.

And that, my friend gave those swords digging my heart and soul, purpose.

So, when you meet someone whose ethics are a lot different than you, maybe, just maybe, their cause was different than yours?

It's not an ethic tournament where a trophy is awaiting after death, neither it is our god forsaken chance to hear, goodboy, goodgirl from a godly parental figure.

It's just, you know?

A way for those weapons with your blood on it, to get cleaned by saving another.

I imagine so many weapons, ignited solely to harm out of malice, dreaming of a purpose that doesn't taste rusty and stale.

And some of those weapons are on our backs, hearts and minds.

To show a sword that it could swung itself not just to harm but to protect, shows the edged weapon, a side that it had never seen before.

And I myself get furious when I hear,

'Take responsibility for your own morale. What others do is on them.'

When people do bad and I hear such words where they suggest I change myself instead of them.

I get angry.

But sometimes it works.

People who talk rubbish about you?

Ofcourse I would love to punish their talkative little mouths.

But that is exhausting.

If I shut a trash talking mouth, 15 others will show up and I have only two hands.

So, what I take from here, this very cause, is never to talk bad about anyone.

People think they are smarter because they can one up you in life?

I simply harness humility, even when my nose itches to boast all long sometimes.

People deceive you, betray you, put you in circumstances that ruins your faith in humanity.

Well, tough thing to recover from, I know.

But as long as you do not deceive, betray or make another's life difficult.

Trust me, you have won.

Won yourself, your own trust.

All the pain of yours, from experience knitted in personal fabric, designed for you, alone is a cause,

And that cause can go two ways,

It can ignite you into becoming the very catalyst that stirred you misery.

Or it can ignite you into wielding ethics of your own, evolved from your own personal fabric of life.

I am sure you have been through something unpleasant that you wish you could erase from your memories, or never forget as to not lose the edge that remembering it brings.

But all in all,

You have a weapon, on your back, or maybe on your head or heart, soul, or spirit.

Wherever it is.

I hope, you give those weapons, a purpose.

A purpose that it can be proud of.

It's sad to imagine that in the end, all you get in return for all those trauma is, to be of service for another.

But I soothe that sadness by imagining my ownself in people I help.

In chances where I could have joined in on gossip, just for the sake of entertainment or for the moment where I can fit in by being a yes woman to a group of people less than admirable.

When I don't do that.

The topic of gossip and trash talk, in that very person, I see a glimpse of myself who was once talked about.

And somehow, I see a kind gratitude in that past version of me.

As though saying, thank you.

Because I remember when I was that talked about person, I wished, I always wished that someone, even just one single person would remain quiet or maybe have the decency to say aloud, 'no, thats not true. She's not that kind of person.'

So now when I become that very wished person of my needs,

I feel saved.

Saved by myself.

That is why my fellow friends, I say, save yourself.

By being what you needed.

Get ahold of your cause, and your ethics will bloom.

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ signed,

Serinuma.

In the middle of the forest, there stood a manor, with ivy cradling its every corner, whose mistress had two lovely granddaughters whom she cherished deeply.

But stern was the woman, for she believed discipline to be the utmost sign of respect.

And such she would demand, from the two lovely young ladies under her care.

There would be always brilliant rewards awaiting to those who fulfilled her expectations. 

Sometimes it would be the most enchanted fairytale book that came alive each flip of the pages, and sometimes it would be the most marvelously crafted hats that would not ever be bullied by any push of winds.

This time, the woman had brought in, as a tempting reward for best behaviors, an alive doll.

She had the most beautiful face, with cheeks red as roses, hair like the threads of gold, with curls enviable and striking.

Both the little ladies would marvel at the sight of the new reward.

'Splendid. I shall have her!'

Both would think in sync.

'Indeed, she is.

Isn't she, my dear granddaughters.

But, she is alive, therefore, your want will not be enough to have her.

She must agree to the hands that approach.

If not, you both shall never have her, even if you painstakingly wish to.'

Listening to such foreign restrains that involved waiting for consent from the things they wanted, the two girls would wear odd expressions in confusion.

But nevertheless, they both would agree.

From then forth, the constant courting would begin, each night before bed and every morning, they both would greet the doll resting in the marbled cupboards. 

'Hello there, you are so beautiful. 

And I wish you well, have a good day and good night!'

But the doll would not sway nor wink in delight, she would remain frozen in place, with no amusement in her eyes.

Realizing something more must be said, the little girls would begin professing the most depthful affection. 

'I love you the most, and I will take care of you till I can nolonger play.'

But the doll wouldn't reciprocate. 

Staring off at the porcelain walls, and the giant picture frame where the manor stood proud in the sun.

Seeing such unmoved heart of the doll, the little girls would run to their grandmother, for they knew, although strict she was, her heart was wiser than all the books decorating their untouched shelves. 

'Grandmother! 

Oh, look how stubborn the doll is,

She cares none about us, no matter how much we confess, she refuses to agree.

Oh, what shall we do??'

Hearing her chirping little girls, the mistress would then suggest them patience,

'Why must you hurry?

For alive she is, but none of her, ages like you two.

She is to stay forever a doll with ingrained want to be a playmate, but none of you will forever want to play.

So, let her be.

This to her means eternity. 

And your childhood, a season.

So let her be...

She shall choose whom she deems worthy enough to be forgotten by.'

The little girls hearing such words, have distinct responses different from the other.

'Oh, that is why we must hurry!

My want is running out of time, and I am getting older! She must agree before i turn to a brooding and dull adult!'

'Poor she, to hold such convictions to be readily forgotten, goodness how courageous her little doll heart is, to still choose to play with children who is bound to forget her with age.

I thought her appearance was the most dear thing to witness, but her heart is even more precious.

I love her, oh, I do.

I will wait for as long as she wishes.

I shall even box my childhood spirit somewhere within my deep heart, and play with her, nomatter the age.'

One day, in the middle of thunderous november, one loud strike of lightening shook the entire resting cave of the little doll, and with a thud, the porcelain doll fell on her pretty head.

The eldest lady, among the two, is immediately made aware by the sound, she ran to the scene and found the little doll on the floor with her head kissing the hard ground.

As the instinct to hurry and reach for the fallen got overtaken by the halt of wit, that suggested the scene to be a perfect fit for a profitable deal to be made.

'Fair doll, if you shall accept me as your playmate, then I shall definitely help you.

I will place you once again, in the most mightiest of heights, from where all things are clear to sight.

So what say you? It is up to your next word of yes, I leave my help.' 

But the doll wouldn't say a word, and sadly lay down like an autumn leaf.

Impatient and angry, as the eldest granddaughter became, she yelled at the doll with incoherent affection, that was more of demand than softness.

'Oh, so that is how you wish to be?

Fine! You shall lie there all your enchanted life!

For all I care!'

As she rushes out the door, with angry marches loud enough to wake up the youngest.

Curious to see what on earth had evoked such early rage in her sister, the youngest one walked towards the scene. 

There she sees too, the sight of the fallen doll.

For she had been the calm one, compared to the other and had herself decided after her talk with the mistress that she was to wait with patience, 

for the doll had been worth it, she believed. 

So, such sad sight left her heart broken as her entire self rushed to help.

The doll spoke to the approaching messiah, 

'If you help me, that itself cannot make me promise you, a yes.

That you shall know, all before you act.

For I wish not to fool you or have you resent your deed.'

But the youngest, halts none of her hands and picks up the doll who had been on the cold ground for far too long,

'Silly you..

Of course I know that.

My help isn't a confession from which I expect out of you an answer.

It is but my emotion that I am having the chance to express, and that is, how much I wish for you to not suffer.'

The doll hearing such unfamiliar words from a girl far too young to be a sage, smiles a soft rose.

'Very well then,

I am grateful.

But I must ask, do you not find me endearing enough to bully and demand?'

Placing the doll in the most safest height, where a fall is not guaranteed, the youngest responds,

'Oh dear, what a silly little thing you ask.

For even the steward who arranges the manor, to the gardener who attends our roses, to the maid who pours us some tea, if they all should have fallen as you, I would have aided them just alike, I need not to love them, to help.

But you, I do love dearly.

And the most magnificent craft you are, that I indeed wish to make bonds with.

But dear, affection to you makes it easier to be even more kind. What kind of love are you thinking of when you ask?

Remember, such affection that revokes itself into a threat when such decency is applied to all, regardless of them being your beloved or not.

Is not where you need find comfort. '

With a newfound wisdom sparkling in her buttoned eyes, the doll agreed,

'Well said, I shall learn a thing or two from this.

I shall love and be loved better.

This may sound very soft of me, but i must ask you to be my playmate.

For the eldest is also very dear.

But I must confess, she scares me.

As you have said, the maids who brush off the counters and shelves to clean, touch me so gently, even though none of them love me. 

If I ever so slightly am near a threatening slide, that predicts a fall, they all mindfully with care keep me in a safe distance, mind you, they do not love me, and I do not as well.

But still, decent they are.....

But she, she proclaimed, she loved me dearly.

Yet, my fall mattered none, and she despite her affection withheld decency from me.

Such a person scares me.

And you, my youngest counterpart of a play,

I shall give you my thanks, for I know you are to be decent, no matter the absence or presence of love.

And for that, I ask of you to play with me until you grow old and mundane.'

˚.🎀༘⋆

To all readers,

Decency is a given,

Affection is earned.

When a professing soul, withholds decency, to have you say yes.

It is not a safe dynamic to get entangled in.

I hope you meet a soul that will remain decent, no matter the yes or no's.

From your dearest numan,

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One thing we keep seeing in conversations around animal care is how much pressure caregivers put on themselves to do more — more techniques, more learning, more constant attention.

But animals don’t respond to intensity.

They respond to consistency.

The same calm tone. The same safe space. The same predictable presence.

Healing often unfolds not through big moments, but through repeated, gentle ones that build trust over time.

We’ve been gathering reflections and practices around this slower, steadier approach to animal well-being.