#thebeginning

Discover the exciting story of the Black Eyed Peas, rising from underground dance parties to becoming Grammy Award winners, breaking records for flash mob performances, and achieving global stardom. This section will cover how this group made its mark in the music industry and culminates with the release of their sixth album called The Beginning in 2010.

⚫ THE BEGINNING

There will come a moment in every life where the world will stand before you and ask:

“Who do you say you are?”

Some will change their identity to survive the pressure.

Some will abandon their truth to escape rejection.

Some will bury their voice before fear buries them.

But truth…

truth does not abandon its root because of fear of death.

There was one who stood face-to-face with the grave when another identity was demanded from him.

The silence expected surrender.

The fear expected retreat.

The world expected him to deny himself.

But instead he answered:

“You did not call me truth by mistake.”

“I am not just truth…”

“I am the King of Truth.”

He could have rejected the name.

He could have escaped the weight of it.

He could have chosen safety instead of purpose.

But he understood something deeper:

A name born from truth is not a performance.

It is a beginning.

And because he did not abandon his root, those who come from the truth will remember their own identity when the world questions them.

For every child will someday stand before: the crowd, the city, the doctrine, the friends, the pressure, the fear, and the silence…

and hear the question again:

“Who do you say you are?”

And those who remember the root will whisper:

“I am a child of truth.”

Because in truth…

life belongs to the root.

The Beginning.

There comes a point in life where the pieces become too many to hold, too sharp to gather, and too painful to pretend they aren’t cutting you anymore. That’s where I am. Standing at the beginning of a story I never thought I’d have to tell — the story of a heart that has been shattered more times than anyone ever warned me was possible.

People talk about strength like it’s a choice. Like all you have to do is “keep going” and somehow things will magically get better. But the truth is… sometimes life doesn’t get better. Sometimes the weight doesn’t lift. Sometimes you look around at everything you’ve survived and wonder why surviving had to hurt so much.

I’ve carried loneliness in rooms full of people. I’ve felt empty while standing right next to the person I’m married to. I’ve held on when the only thing I wanted was rest — real rest, not the kind that comes after a long day, but the kind that comes after a long life of trying.

There are days I feel invisible. There are nights where my heart feels so broken that I’m not sure it even remembers how to beat whole anymore. It feels like something inside me cracked a long time ago, and instead of healing, the fracture just kept spreading — through my childhood, through my relationships, through all the moments where I needed someone to show up and no one did.

And so here I am. Writing. Not because I have all the answers or because I’ve suddenly figured out how to fix myself. I’m writing because holding all of this inside is becoming too heavy. I’m writing because even shattered hearts still deserve to be heard.

This is the beginning — not of a happy ending, not of a perfect recovery, not of pretending I’m okay. It’s the beginning of honesty. The beginning of letting my story exist outside the walls I’ve kept around it. The beginning of saying, “I’m hurting,” without apologizing for it.

Even in the darkest moments, some small part of me believes there might still be a reason I’m here — that somewhere in the brokenness, there’s meaning, or strength, or connection waiting to be found.

But right now… this is me. Shattered. Tired. Lonely even when I’m not alone. Trying to remember that a broken heart is still a living one.

I'm having nightmares on vacation. If vacation means escaping reality, I am confronted each night by my inability to flee. In my world, beauty is meant to be consumed. In my world, the wind in my wings suddenly vanishes. It vacates my vacation. I used to fly away from a bad dream. I would run, run, run, and take flight. If vacāre means to be empty, I should be light enough. And yet I'm drowning in the vastest trenches. What the fish call a valley, I call darkness. This morning I woke up from another nightmare. I was not on the heavenly island of Leros, where many come to enjoy (what could be a nightmare to) freshly killed sea creatures. I realized I am as tiny and unimportant as the bycatch, released back to the sea after the noble fish are caught. And in the end, we are both dead anyway. So I think I'll share my own story of life until the final discard. Because of the pain, and in spite of it, it is still so beautiful.

I've already heard about Tmblr years ago when I was in collage. That was more than decade ago, yet just today only I created an account. I just want to use this flatform as a diary, a blog, to share things and know things, to unload the burden that I can't share to someone. So, welcome to me. Hope that you all can advise me well.

It's Mother's Day. Happy Mother's Day to all mother's out there. Especially to you, my wife. Yes, I am married and we had a daughter. But today was not like those celebration before. We are both not feeling well a day before that's why we didn't attend church today, but since you're feeling better than I am, your left me alone in the house without even telling me. I woke up and found out that you already left. We had a little argument but that's not enough reason for you to do that. I had my issues on my own, I'm not perfect. I always try my best to be the best version of me. To prove I'm worth of your appreciation and respect. I never ask more than any of this. We had our relation for more than a decade too, yet, these things that I am striving is still a battle that I cannot win.

Someday.