The Plateau

And when I say that I want to sustain myself, I actually mean keeping myself in my social class—it’s the tension inside me that pulls me from side to side until I fall into my bed and sleep.

Yes, I tell people I’m motivated but then I realized that my ongoing success has been derived from fear. It wasn’t my hope that made me go the extra mile in almost everything I did. It wasn’t my pure love and passion for what I did.

Unfortunately, it was the consequences of not taking massive, immediate actions that fueled me and kept me pushing through.

The truth is, I can’t imagine myself living the life of a different social class. (Unless it’s higher than me in the hierarchy.)

You see, I’m not as greedy as I might sound. If anything, I actually refuse the concept of taking money from even my future spouse; I just love the idea of being able to make a great amount of money on my own.

But that love for money has almost destructed my aching soul. The glory of being financially independent that I instilled in my mind made me compromise my personal values and even endure abuse just so that I don’t lose my source of income.

But I no longer want to do that. I don’t deserve to become treated as less or be threatened to be treated as a “slave” if I don’t follow the rules of another person when they themself break all the rules they imposed on themself.

The moment you spot a narcissist, you have to switch to the “Yellow Rock” mentality, immediately.

And I can’t emphasize how significant that mentality is.

To those who don’t know, there are two main ways to deal with a narcissist: to become a gray rock (dull and boring all the time when you’re around them) or to become a yellow rock.

Becoming a yellow rock means that you don’t entertain the behavior of the narcissist but you still safeguard your authentic character from the consequences of becoming fully dull for a long period of time.

That narcissist can be someone you considered a friend, it can be a parent, it can be your boss—it can be anyone. Whoever that person is, don’t let them dim your light.

I’d say that I’ve been feeling my energy being sucked that I literally had to pause and reflect on the situation and how it’s been negatively affecting my mental health.

So today, I gathered all the courage in me to say that I’m ready to let go if that’s really the right decision for me. (Since I don’t want to stoop so low as they do.)

Sometimes you have to ditch the kritch before you itch to bitch.

I guess it says a lot about me if I openly admit that I either give something my all or I don’t even bother about it at all.

It’s not because I can’t allow room for shades of gray; it’s because I don’t want to gamble with my time on probabilities.

Probabilities make my biggest disappointments. If I’m not 100% sure that something is worth the time, I refuse to make time for it—and I don’t take others’ opinions as sound advice when it comes to this.

But once I find the right opportunity, I naturally tell myself, “Okay, you might as well go the extra mile with this since you’ve already decided to invest your most valuable asset [my time] in it.”

It’s not about shifting from A or B to A and B; it’s just about the fact that you won’t be a better judge in this than me.

There’s only so much time in a day with too many things on my plate. So if I choose to give something nothing at all, it’s because I care for myself. (And not because I’m inflexible or rigid.)

I may sound ratchet today, but sometimes people get mad when you don’t make time for something they want—not caring that you actually have a life to handle.

After all, my own personal vision for this journal is to document my thoughts in my early 20s so that when I’m in my early 30s, I can look back and see how far I could go—perhaps also how far my close circle could benefit from it or even just relate to it.

I’d say that I’ve been focusing on the overall design of my online journal—and for a reason.

I remember when I’d look in admiration at elite writers crushing confessional writing—specifically on top-tier platforms like The Atlantic. I always wanted to get into confessional writing from an informed lens. I knew that one cannot always rely on their personal knowledge; there has to be some research included.

Lord knows I was supposed to be preparing to go to New York University next year to obtain a master’s degree in cultural reporting and criticism—my golden gateway to kickstart my dream career in cultural and confessional writing.

It took me one morning to erase all of my dreams and have every goal I had come crashing to the floor.

Yes, I had to pivot. I had to let go. Sometimes you have to know when to let go and when to get back.

As days went by, I realized I still had to turn all of my negativity into something positive—something tangible that I could lay my hands on.

“Confessional writing,” I said to myself.

I consider the mere act of journaling a work of art. Because not everyone can dig so deep within and still have the courage to put pen to paper afterward.

I hope this journal will become fruitful in the end. I have big dreams like anybody else and until I can achieve what I’ve always dreamed of, I know I have to pivot.

Perhaps I wasn’t even destined to go to NYU after all—for better or worse. Perhaps I’m destined to do something that would make me happy. Who knows?

Depending on my mood, I would change the narrative I tell people about what I thought of my own mind. I’d say that when I thought in retrospect, I realized how polarized my perceptions are.

If my overthinking yielded amazing results, then it was because I had that magical sensation within me that could depict every possibility, omit the highly unlikely ones, and tweak the rest to suit my current circumstances based off of patterns that I could observe from previously repeated incidents.

But if I got down the rabbit hole and ended up stuck in there, it would be because my (insert some insults here) mind decided it was time to become utterly chaotic, to say the least.

Either way, I was just overthinking—literally like anybody else.

Seeing how extreme I could go with my own self-talk served as proof to me that both talks are essentially invalid.

From that moment, I realized that unleashing the magical ability of my mind doesn't necessarily require me to possess any superpowers; I just need to acknowledge my own humanness and be kind to myself.

We all have our brain fallacies and we are all trying to become the best versions we can possibly be.

But there’s more to it than just possessing a quality of the elite. In essence, I love being silent in the most unexpected incidents. Got smeared by someone who decided to believe some kind of gibberish talk from a hater? Believe me, it’s not a big deal when you know you didn’t do any of what’s being circulated about you AND when you know you have nothing to lose. (Though I know the latter point is something that the cultures of the elite and hypergamy advocate against.)

I like to remain calm and collected in the worst situations as means of making these sorts of people uncomfortable. It makes them have a nagging urge to break the silence, seeking validation with anything they know I’ll like and compliment.

Because looking them in the eye while remaining silent—instead of being defensive—moves you up in the hierarchy. When you realize you’re now in a position of power—because after all, you know the truth—you boost your self-esteem to a totally different level.

And don’t think that people won’t end up discovering the truth. Because the truth is, people are nosy enough to start digging for that information themselves. So you better focus on yourself and your own self-improvement.

Soon enough, I promise you, you’ll watch people come back to you with ample regrets. And when that happens, my friend, stay silent and give them the nod of “Yes, I forgive. You can leave.”

Every time I travel back to my hometown, it’s like I’m traveling backward in space without traveling in time. I stumble upon people from my past who don’t even recognize my face anymore.

Though I want to blame myself for leaving seven years ago, I know that if I could possibly go back in time, I’d do all of it all over again.

But what if in my attempt to run away I ended up falling in an infinite loop where I’m always running in circles?

What if all my roads will always lead me back because of a specific reason—one that will always remain unbeknownst to me until I pursue it?

What if it’s someone’s answered prayer that I get back there for them to see me again? (Even if it’s for one last time.) If so, is this world just a 3D world anymore? Is it 4D? 5D? How do we know how deep the universe can be? There’s no limit to what we yet know nothing about.

And if we decide to dive so deep into all the fascinations of this universe, our souls will have to leave our bodies first.

Physically speaking, maybe I’m not traveling in space after all; maybe it’s just moving to another place.

Perhaps it’s just the kaleidoscope of memories I have in my head that makes the whole feeling so painfully cosmic, replete with an intricate deliberation of place, space, and time.

Back when I was my own version of "It Girl," weekends meant having fun with all of my self-care activities. 

And let's not forget having Jazz music playing in the background: something like The Best Thing For You by Soho Quartet—ah! So good!

Now when I think of it—since I don't seem to nail my weekends as I used to—I can infer that it was all about my attitude; the way I perceived the concept of "weekend." It was the day-to-day romanticization I practiced in my own life that made it so lovely back then. 

That's why, the moment I ceased to look through these same peachy lenses, everything became so bleak.

But to be 100 percent truthful, I had so many times when I enjoyed exuding the "main character" energy without romanticizing any area of my life. In essence, it was because I had the willpower to act like a "machine." 

After all, it makes sense that now I feel my weekends are dull; the attitude I hold onto at this moment isn't the best—perhaps the worst.

Everywhere I go, everyone is brainwashed. It’s as if no one cares about reality anymore.

When I decided to deactivate my socials a month ago, I knew I needed to declutter all the obsessions I ended up developing because of all these unrealistic lifestyles on the ‘Gram.

Strolling the streets by myself has never been more pleasant. It’s as if you’ve set your soul free from all the shackles of the century—a feeling that enabled me to pursue my love for writing without contaminating my pure intentions with my desire for some likes and shares.

I’d say that in the midst of everything I go through, this is a small win I should be proud of. I regained one part of me that had been lost for a decade or so. My insecurities and self-consciousness are no longer an issue for me.

I write because I love writing. I write because that’s how I push through until I break through. After all, I can’t win the final battle if I don’t focus on all the little rounds.

More often than not, what happens is that we're too exhausted to take the actions we know will make us feel better.

Good news is, it's not the end yet. I know it sounds cliché--been telling myself that as well.

But think about every single time you thought you were done for and you could somehow make it out safe and sound. In fact, if you've made it so far, it's solid proof that you can weather any upcoming storm, just as you could do it a million times before.

So hang on a little longer. You're not alone. You're worthy of love. Keep going, don't stop just yet! You'll reach your dreams in the end because someone as powerful as you are--who could survive so much--is sure to make a major comeback very soon.

I know it's been a long time since you last felt you're doing fine. I know how bleak your surrounding feels. But for today, I hope you can unplug yourself from this habitual sadness you're stuck in, inhale your gleam of hope, and exhale all your pains and aches away.