jadesimplx

[jadesimplx]

It is painful to reflect on Los Angeles and California, especially on a day like today. My thoughts turn constantly to the homes lost, the pets and animals caught in the chaos, and the countless lives disrupted. Amidst these reflections, I find myself wondering: what of the Menendez brothers’ former home? Did it too succumb to the devastation? What will become of this storied city, one that has always embodied the allure of dreams and the promise of reinvention? What about the Cecil Hotel? All the homes lost?

Hollywood, with its iconic glamour, cannot emerge unchanged from the ashes of such profound destruction. The glittering facade, once so unshakable, now seems fragile against the relentless power of nature. The damage inflicted is not just physical but symbolic, a reminder of how fleeting and vulnerable even the brightest lights can be.

Though I am far from the United States, my heart aches for every living being enduring this tragedy. I send my thoughts, my prayers, and my unwavering hope to all who are struggling. May strength and resilience guide you in the days ahead, and may healing, however slow, find its way to all affected.

Visiting Los Angeles was my biggest dream since years, but am I still able to in the future? Lots of Love and Luck sent!

[jadesimplx]

I feel trapped in my own skin, suffocated by a body that feels alien to me. I hate my reflection — my face, my hair, my height. God, my height most of all. I’m 14 and just 5’2, and I can’t help but feel it’s some sort of cruel joke. Is that normal? I don’t know anymore. What I do know is that I feel utterly inadequate, as if I’ve been shortchanged in some essential way. I despise the way I look, the way I move, the way my voice sounds when it leaves my mouth. It grates on me, this sense of not measuring up, not being enough.

If someone offered me a fortune or a chance to grow taller, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. I would give anything to stand taller, to have people stop making me the punchline of their jokes. They talk about my height like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, always bringing it up, mocking me, making me feel smaller than I already do. And the worst part? I’ve started believing them. I can’t take myself seriously, so how could I expect anyone else to?

Everywhere I look, I see people towering over me — even kids younger than I am. It’s humiliating, this constant reminder of how small I am. I feel like I’m shrinking into myself, and I don’t know how to stop. My hands are so small, too, like they belong to someone much younger. Why are they like that? Why is everything about me like this?

People tell me I’m imagining things when I talk about my face being asymmetrical, but I know the truth. It’s there, in every glance at a mirror, every photo I can hardly bear to look at. My face feels wrong, uneven, ugly. I want so desperately to change, to be someone else, anyone else.

But I’m stuck with this body, this face, this voice I can’t stand to hear. It’s as if I’m caught in a prison of my own making, and I don’t know how to escape. All I want is to grow, to change, to feel like I belong in the world around me. But right now, that feels impossibly far away, like something I’ll never be able to reach.