#introspective thoughts

[mercurial-thrills]

Why does reading help us become better fiction writers?

It's common information at this point: reading more often helps us become better writers. This is information that I, and others, have discussed plenty.

The real question I have is, why is it that reading helps us become better fiction writers? Is it because we get to pick up the little idiosyncrasies of our favourite authors? Is it because we're constantly exposed to the proper formatting of how a novel should be? Is it because it helps us understand how good stories are structured?

If it happens to be the third option, does this mean any sort of story can provide us with a better idea of how good stories are structured?

We can find stories everywhere. It's found in movies, theatre, TV shows, and video games. Even music! From the storytelling in a song like "Girls Like Girls" by Hayley Kiyoko, to the associated music video, it demonstrates a story. That's only the first example that came to my mind.

if all of them are structured in similar ways, does this mean that as fiction writers, we can become better by absorbing all sorts of media? 'Cause I might start living like that's true, and have less guilt in the hours I've put into certain lore-driven video games.

In conclusion, maybe it's not the books that make us better fiction writers. Maybe it's the stories that we see in nearly every media we consume. ♥

[panther-os]

I think I've staked my identity on being a Writer (TM) for so long but actually, I'm a Storyteller. And I think that's okay, maybe it's even beautiful. Because humans are made of stories but they don't all need to be written down. I can hold them all in my heart and share the ones that want to be shared without chastising myself for not meeting an imaginary deadline or a self-constructed monthly word quota. It's okay. The writing of stories isn't the creating of them, and the creating is the part of me that's important. That's the part I want to nurture, and it's the part I no longer need to feel guilty about indulging when the writing has evaded me.

[somewheredreamingsworld]

I have this deep fear of assertive people.

There’s something about them that triggers and intimidates me.

Something about them makes me feel uneasy.

Is it their truth?

Their fire?

I don’t know.

Maybe it’s because I was told to dim the passion in my eyes.

Maybe it’s because I was taught to quiet it down.

Or maybe… it’s because I see myself in them.

Maybe it’s because I was forced to obey — to submit — in the name of power.

But should power be something that gets abused by the strongest?

Should it leave the softest of us feeling fragile… helpless?

[non-conventionnel]

“Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.” ― C.G. Jung

[xoxo-ares]

How To Survive Being a Godless Child

Being born is cruel. The act of being born is done without one’s consent. Where you were only moments before, for nine months, in a different world with a different God. A God that brought you into a new existence, and promptly kicked you out after a mere nine months. You small, scared, pathetic little thing. You cry out into the cold air; met with smiles and blessings that you cannot see or hear. Some of you made it out, others didn’t. Lucky you. Your world was quite different than this one; smaller than the one you have been dropped into now. It was a different life, one without thought. It was warm and fulfilling. You grew and kicked and your God fed you. Did you feel your God’s presence? You wouldn’t know now. When you were cast out, did you wonder why? Could you have begged for mercy to be let back into the world you had known since you existed? Obviously not, you are a helpless baby, covered in blood that is not yours but was yours once, crying in a voice given to you by someone you do not know, you are someone separated from your creator in a way that can never be reversed. You are a godless child. Welcome to your new life.

You are now alone, alone in the way that one can never fathom. No one could explain why you were removed from the only life you had ever known. You cry, and it is all that can be done. No human skin can feel as warm and safe as the world you knew before, but don’t worry, you’ll get accustomed to it soon. Very quickly you’ll forget where you came from, and before you know it, the ache you felt within you, longing for a way back home, will be gone.

Perhaps that ache never goes, perhaps we never stop yearning for the safety we once had. Perhaps that’s why we turn to a new God. 

I hear about this God, the invisible presence that seems to guide everyone else. It’s like hearing about a distant relatives’ overachieving child; the stories never stop coming. “I prayed to God to help me with an exam, and I passed!” “I was really struggling, but God helped me see past it. I feel so much better and at peace now.” They boast, and for a moment I envy them. It always happens around me, not to me. They seem so whole, their lives touched by something that brought them so much meaning. And here I am, still searching. Still wondering where my answer is.  

Sometimes when I am alone, I think about God. Not in the way they tell you to. I don’t get on my knees, nor do I join my hands, I don’t close my eyes either; but I think about God. In those quiet moments, when I feel the light breeze on my skin from my half open window, warmth of the light seeping through the blinds, the ticking of a clock older than me, I feel it. My lungs grasp for air and my heart aches, I feel an absence. The quiet in the room is not peaceful, it is loud. The breeze on my skin is unnerving. I feel the absence of God. It scares me. It drives me crazy. Why can’t I feel what everyone else feels? Am I not good enough? What makes them worthy of God’s presence? Is it the bruises on their knees or the way their lips remember prayers with words I do not understand? I can’t help but feel left out.

It's almost like the more I reach out, the farther I get away from God. Inside the womb, I kicked and kicked, and before I knew it, I was severed from a bond that I had formed for the entirety of my life. Now here I am, using my legs to run this time, and the more I chase for God, the farther God gets away from me.

So, the next time I hear a prayer, I bite my lip and don’t say anything. When I hear them speak of their God’s love, I nod and smile. I ask enough questions, and I join my hands along with them as they chant their prayers. In fact, I go as far as memorizing some of them. I celebrate with them. What I don’t do, which might come surprising to some who know me closely, is speak my mind. I don’t tell them how absurd their prayers sound. I don’t question the logic of their religious texts, or the stories they tell me. I don’t go to a place of worship and yell “Your God is not real. He never was.” If He was real, He’d let me know, wouldn’t He? Our Father, who art in heaven, what do You do when I call out Your name? Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven, is your will to let us fight amongst ourselves, let some starve for our rightful daily bread that we ask in our prayers every day?

I’ll envy those who say their prayers were answered. But nothing—and I mean nothing, compares to how much my heart weeps for those who call out to their absent Father. Those who scream into the nothingness till their voice goes hoarse, those who become a shell of who they were, and were to be, lost in prayers unanswered but hopes never lost.

To be human, is to be a child of a broken home. To be human is to call out for a father who will never return. To be human is to long for a home you don’t remember, or even know if it exists.

I am nothing if not human, and like many, I have grown tired. I am tired of asking questions whose answers I know won’t come. I can’t bring myself to poke holes in someone else’s fabric of faith, everyone’s pattern different, yet they produce the same design. I will continue to participate in something I know I’ll never have, an imposter among the believers. I come from a mother, and the only home I remember is here, on earth. Perhaps if I was born in a different circumstance my heart would be full, or maybe I wouldn’t know this ache to begin with. The more time passes, the less I feel it. On some days it’s almost gone. But other times, when the breeze hits my skin just right, or the clock ticks a second too slow; I hold my breath, almost instinctively, but then I ask myself,

“Who am I waiting for?”

[nixydery]

Recently, I've gotten into the korean boy band known as BTS. I know, I'm extremely late to the party. Regardless, I have only been an army for a couple of months but I can truly say that BTS has changed my life. More specifically, BTS has made me so much more comfortable in my gender identity.

Hey, I'm a transgender man, and I am no stranger to gender dysphoria and the pressures that come with trying to conform to gender roles in order to pass. I have been through the hyper-feminine phase and the hyper-masculine one. Even though the hyper-masc phase felt better than the former, it still wasn't me. I didn't like being this nonchalant tough guy. That's the exact opposite of who I am. I was making myself miserable. The consequence of trying to overcorrect and ending up in the same position I was when I started. I still wasn't being my true self.

And then I got into BTS.

BTS is not your regular boy band. They're so, so, so much more.

BTS' version of masculinity is nothing like what we have in the west. I assume this is why so many dudes trash on BTS, the tannies are everything that they hate.

BTS wears makeup. BTS sings and dances. Their songs aren't just the standard hookup sex song- they sing about self love, yearning, mental health, growing up...

BTS wears whatever they want. Even if the clothing is considered feminine.

BTS cry. They express themselves. None of that suppression bullshit. They outwardly show affection to one another and aren't afraid to love. They love SO much.

I often see their masculinity described as "gentle" and I could not agree more.

BTS are kind, caring, vulnerable, and so emotionally intelligent.

Some people think these are weak traits, but BTS have shown me that these "feminine" traits actually enhance not only your masculinity- but your entire being.

That is why they are so loved. They are gentle, loving, caring, sweet, and selfless. Which makes them seem confident, charismatic, strong, and protective.

BTS is everything a man should be.

The man that I want to be.

BTS taught me that it's okay. It's okay to just be yourself. You're not less of a man if you do partake in activities considered "feminine."

Seeing them express themselves however they want, even if it's not considered masculine, and still be loved and adored for it was life changing.

And like I said, these qualities actually elevate you as a person! You become someone everyone wants to be around. A beacon of hope, someone's sunshine, a symbol of happiness.

I not only want to be a gentleman, but I also just want to be a good person.

I can be a good man as well as a good person. And this post is probably silly, but I think it's cool that BTS inspires so many people. Inspired me.

I think more guys should get into BTS. I truly think they should be every man's role model.

I would love to hear from other army fanboys and from those armys who are also transgender!

[velvet-script]

A Quiet Observation

Sometimes, it's in the smallest of moments that I find the most beauty. A half-read book, the sound of rain against the window, or the simple act of watching a candle flicker. It's these quiet moments that help me remember to breathe. In a world so fast-paced, I find solace in slowing down and letting the world unfold at it's own pace.

[acceptingmyowncompany]

Because Who Can I Talk To...

This post has so much potential to be cringe a year from now. Shit even months from now. I need it out of my head though

A friend of mine joked about setting me up with her friend. We met but I didnt really make a move. Too shy. She's cute though. Nice, smart, witty. It became a bit that I thought was still funny despite nothing really coming of it.

We eventually followed each other on instagram, which is good but my friend isn't riffing the bit anymore. A mutual of ours is communicating with me more often than before. Energy is weird but I'm not trying to look into it. Come to find out she likes me and I can't help but feel like thats why my friend stopped riffing the bit and advocating for me/us.

Despite that, the girl and I are kind of... idk playing tennis. Maybe fishing?! Idk the proper analogy. We are posting things kind of trying to bait the other person into interacting with it. I shouldn't say we... EYE, 100% am and she did at least once. Eventually a real conversation starts between us and it's like... legit awesome. Like she's so cool, and we've been thru some similar shit and look at the world in a similar way. I make points and she responds basically finishing my thoughts. Im like wooow we have so much in common. It excites me in a way that I haven't been excited in a LONG time. I think I'm crushing on her now... I can't wait for her to come into town.

She comes into town and I get no sleep the night before. I'm running on fumes. I have no energy to talk to her, to be charming or funny. I'm just listening and yawning a lot. I got her cookies... didnt even present them forreal. She was here for a week and that was the only day I saw her. At this point I'm FUCKING SICK. It's another display of how my friend is no longer trying to help out because she didnt try to set me up with some hangouts. Doubts about her interest because if she was hoping to see me, again you'd think the friend would hit me about plans or invite me over. I dont take initiative. Don't want to be too thirsty. I hold my L and get kinda sad because I like the feeling. I like talking to her, but it's over...

Until... the day after she gets back home, she messages me randomly about One Piece. I'm hype af. She thanks me for cookies, I apologize for zombie. We're talking again. And talking a lot. We are in constant communication. We message everyday. It's not a constant flow but it's fairly steady. We go like this for like a month and some. She's my favorite notification. I look forward to her responses and suddenly they stop. Not all together. The frequency though. A few messages a day to one a day. Now the response coming a full day or two later. Which would be completely fine if like... I didnt see she's been active mad times or when I see her message elsewhere. I'm not mad, but it makes me think.

We aren't anything. She owes me nothing. I like talking to her. Do I like her? I don't have an answer. The level of bothered I am, would imply I do, but it could just be the engagement. The attention. The fact that she activates something in my brain that hasn't been safely activated in over a decade. I don't say this to minimize her impact. I genuinely think she's special. She told me some of her story and I just wanna protect her at all costs even though we're probably not that close. I think she's great but I also still don't know her. We have yet to find a comfortable real life flow. We have yet to establish any sort of chemistry. So it's like cool, yeah we can text and send paragraphs to each other, but can we hold a conversation. Can we go back and forth without prep time?! Until we can properly test those waters, on the phone or IRL then I can't fully say I like her. Just that I like messaging her.

The problem is... does she like me?! Does she like messaging me?! Did her life get busier?! Am I boring?! I don't know how she feels about it. I try to sneak in things in the convo to like indicate I think highly of her, but I get no read on that the other way around. My friend no longer asks about it, or riffs the bit. No convo about us. Its triggering. I was often left on unopened while my friend was texting the girl I liked right in front of me. Her excuse was "oh me and him aren't having deep convo so it's easy to message back. me and you are having more in-depth convo so it requires more thought out answers." The truth was, she was fucking him and they were both hiding it from me and thus TRAUMATIZED. She can do what she wants. She can have a guy in MD, or a guy in her DMs. Again, we aren't anything, but I'd hate to get my hopes up again, just to be being placed on the back burner while she's got other stuff going on. Shits embarrassing. It's easy to feel like a loser and shit.

And so I am at an impasse. I can't be emotional about this. I can't ask for more messages, but I do want more. I want to explore what we could be, even if it's just friends. Just so I can like know its just friends. I want to talk on the phone or play a game where we can use out voices to connect instead of seining one big message a day. How can I do that?! I want to let her know I think she's dope, and I have but she's just kinda been whatever about it. Maybe thats my answer I should probably take that as an answer. I'M JUST TIRED OF HAVING TO PLAY IT COOL. I want to talk about it with somebody that can help me. I wanna be excited about the potential. I wanna laugh with her and learn more about her. I want her to know I think she's cool and I wanna talk about the future together. I wanna do things to connect with her and show her I think she's cool. But then im overbearing. I'm thirsty. I'm doing too much. Scare her away. if she's got another dude she's talking to, im humiliating myself.

I basically wanna embrace that side of life. Intimacy and romance. Connection. I wanna show her my interest and feel her interest. The push and pull. It was cool when we were playing tennis. It was amazing to go back and forth. Idk what to do. I kinda wanna end the convo and she what'll happen. But what if I just hurt my own feelings. How do I pivot the convo we have right now?! I don't know. I've gone crazy and I hate it here lmao.

Anyways, this girls cool and pretty and I wanna get to known her better like talk more intimately and frequently but I don't know if I will or if she even cares to... but I just wish I could be blunt about this thought/feeling. Who know's what'll happen next.

[im-fine-apple]

Consideration

When you want to hide,

I act as if I didn’t see it

When you have no heart to receive,

I act as if I have no heart to give

When you want to run away,

I sit still

and watch

your back

[Korean version]

[mintytoastywrites]

I heard an owl last night.

2 a.m.

City lights.

Concrete all around.

Wet trees in sight.

No woods for miles.

And yet—there it was.

Hooting.

Clear, deliberate.

Not noise.

Message.

If that’s not divine, I don’t know what is.

Owls at this hour—what some call the witching hour—don’t just happen.

Not here.

Not like this.

Across cultures, times, and even scripture, owls show up when something is shifting.

In Psalm 102:6, the psalmist cries, “I am like an owl of the desert,” alone, afflicted, unheard. In Isaiah and Jeremiah, owls mark the ruins—cities judged, emptied, left to the wind.

But there’s another layer too:

In medieval Christian thought, the owl also came to represent Christ himself—rejected, unseen, yet able to see clearly in the dark.

The outcast.

The watcher.

The one who waits in silence and knows.

And I don’t think God is abandoning me.

I think He’s warning me—pulling me gently, but firmly, back from a line I was about to cross.

I’ve been wrestling with how to respond to the harassment I’ve been enduring.

I’ve told my parents.

I’ve told my landlord.

I’ve told you.

I’ve stepped back from the noise to try to clear my head.

But it’s like this... crawling, persistent urge for retribution keeps creeping back. It’s slow.

It’s quiet.

And it’s feeding off my indignation.

I can feel it—coiling around the parts of me that are still raw, still wounded, still full of righteous fire.

I started writing a document to bring clarity—to get it all out, put the truth down plainly.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped being a tool of clarity... and started becoming a weapon. A dark mirror of my own unrest.

Sunday, the storm rolled in—literally.

Thunder outside as I wrestled inside.

Monday and Tuesday came like grace.

Sunlight, peace, normalcy. I laughed. I worked. I let the document rest.

But Wednesday... the storm returned. Heavier. Louder. Sharper.

And I felt it again—that itch to act. To strike. I drafted messages. I stared at the “report” button. I dialed DoorDash support, heart pounding, full of purpose.

And when they answered, when the door opened for me to speak...

I hung up.

It felt wrong.

Not because I’m weak. But because in that moment, I saw myself. And I didn’t like what I saw.

I felt... no better than them.

The owl wasn’t just a sign. It was a mirror.

And what I saw staring back wasn’t just someone angry—it was someone being asked:

Will you serve your ego... or your soul?

[somewheredreamingsworld]

"At the end of it, you're still a mirror I have to face."

Somewhere dreaming

[universosinfinus]

¿Alguna vez te has enamorado? Claro que si, recuerdo haber deseado que cada cosa fuera perfecta, planificaba cosas con mucho ahínco, elaboraba regalos meticulosos y divertidos, y es lo mismo que hacían conmigo. Así que supongo que son esos mismos ojos los que deben mirarme cada día de mi vida. 2025, el año en que me propuse tener como meta principal de vida el enamorarme de mi profundamente.

[boybasher]

[poemwav]

– Jamie Oliveira | from "Erosion"

[r33l-3kk0-r3b0rn]

My Treatise on the Modern State of America

I'm slowly coming to the realization that the america I've been taught to believe in, and the America I've been told exists, has been dead for nearly a centuryI'd say America's golden age was between May 1865 and December 1899Because the Civil War ended in May 1865, and in 1900, we got involved in the Chinese boxer rebellion, which I feel was one of the earliest examples of us getting involved with the internal and external affairs of foreign states. Slowly corrupting our once proud and kind nationDuring that period, we had a noble cause, a just goal, and a righteous justification.We truly were a shining city on a hill, a bastion of democracy and freedom"E Pluribus Unum""Out of many, one"It was out motto, our truth, and out strengthThat isn't true anymore. It hasn't been for a long, long timeI mean, one of the things George Washington was against was partisan and bipolar politics. As they needlessly take away and subvert the power of the people by dividing themI know for almost certain that if the founding fathers saw the America we have today, they would most certainly feel shame, disgust, and disgraceI fear they may even regret or reconsider having rebelled from the British in the first place, knowing that places like Canada and Australia were able to peacefully separate from the British grip and remain mostly peaceful and kind nations