toldbytendo

[toldbytendo]

𝑆𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑖𝑑. 🇵🇸🇸🇩🇨🇩🇵🇰🇺🇦💔

14,000 babies. That’s what the UN says. Fourteen thousand. Starving, because they are unable to get the aid they need. And somehow, people still find it in themselves to defend this, to open their fucking mouths to utter the phrase “Israel has a right to defend itself after being attacked” like the occupation of Palestine hasn’t been state-sanctioned violence dressed up as geopolitics for literal decades. Like apartheid isn’t happening in plain sight. Like this isn’t a literal fucking genocide, ethnic cleansing unfolding right before our very eyes.

Meanwhile, in Sudan, entire communities are being ethnically cleansed. In Congo, children are being mutilated and enslaved for the West’s fucking lithium batteries. India and Pakistan are burning under religious fascism and border-obsessed nationalism while the world scrolls on. This isn’t a one-off. This isn’t a glitch in the system. This is the system. Built by colonialism. Fed by white supremacy. Held up by imperialism. Protected by the lie of democracy.

And the UK? Oh, the UK. A fucking third world country wearing a Gucci belt. One of the dirtiest players on the world stage. Selling arms. Funding wars. Licking the boots of empire while they distract the nation with manufactured culture wars. You want to know what fascism looks like? Look no further.

Our Supreme Court just ruled that trans women aren’t “biological women”, whatever that’s supposed to fucking mean — not based on science, not based on fact, but based on hatred. Blatant transphobia paraded around as “protecting women’s rights”, as if a man has ever needed to “pretend to be a woman” to commit violence against women. As if cis men don’t assault and kill women daily, in their own skin, no disguise needed.

Trans women are more likely to be sexually assaulted. More likely to be murdered. And now police officers, are being given the right to search people on suspicion of being trans. What does that even mean? What does that even look like? Does anyone at all even realise what kind of dystopian violence that invites? How that hurts every single woman, trans or not?

This isn’t about safety. It never was. It’s about control. It’s about fragmentation. Divide and conquer. The oldest colonial play in the book. While the poor fight the poor, the powerful keep pillaging, keep killing, keep rewriting laws to strip us of rights, dignity, identity.

And the worst part? The unbelievable part? Is how easily people eat it up. How fast they fall in line. As if they’ve never picked up a book. As if history isn’t right there, repeating itself with a darker twist. As if all this pain, all this suffering, is just background noise.

Capitalism is cannibalising the world. Fascism is not just knocking on the door — it’s in the fucking living room. Genocide is being livestreamed. And the biggest crisis is that nobody seems to care.

I feel politically disillusioned in ways I can’t even articulate anymore. It’s not just anger—it’s disgust. It’s grief. If this is what humanity is, I want out. Count me out. Remove me from the equation. Because I cannot, for the life of me, understand how anyone reads “14,000 babies” and just… continues. Defend it. Justify it.

This species is so cruel, so stupid, so committed to repeating history, they won’t even read a fucking book. I have never felt so ashamed to be part of this species. So humiliated to be human. So completely done.

God, if there’s any mercy left in this cursed timeline—send the asteroid. End scene. Because I’m tired of pretending we deserve this planet.

[toldbytendo]

MOD «TALKS BY AGE» | Children

Add 14 new social interactions to the game to make kids’ lives more dynamic and engaging. Children can now talk about funny or deeply important (at least to them) topics — from arguing over nothing and inventing a secret language to telling scary legends or discussing the monster under the bed. They can also ask to get a pet or build a treehouse. These two specific interactions trigger not only a moodlet but also a custom notification that reflects the adult’s reaction — whether they agree or skillfully dodge the topic.

ALL PARTS OF THE TALKS BY AGE MOD:

Seniors

MOD FEATURES:

53 Buffs

14 Interaction

26 Notification

INTERACTION:

Ask to Buy a Pet!

Tell a Scary Legend!

Tell a Dinosaur Joke!

To fight over nothing!

Ask about High School!

Ask to Build a Treehouse!

Invent a Secret Language!

Argue about Who’s Faster!

Lie About Parents Saying No!

Ask who Iinvented the First Word!

Promise to be Best Friends Forever!

Make a Plan to Run Away from Home!

Talk about the Monster Under the Bed!

Come up with a Funny Nickname for the Teacher!

DOWNLOAD | Free 02.06.2025

[toldbytendo]

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my post my love! I hate that you can resonate with the sentiments expressed in this post though—further proof that we are in the literal trenches when it comes to dating in this ghetto 2025. 😑

Being a lover girl is HARD. The bar is in hell and I fear for the generations to come because it looks like it’s only getting worse from here.

What I will say is that I love that you agree decentering men is a must, and it truly is, protect your peace, protect your PH balance, protect your heart from the inconsistency and objectification of men because it is not worth it! 💓🥴

𝐼𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑.

Let me tell you something about inconsistency: it’s loud. It doesn’t matter how sweet his words are when he’s trying to keep you hooked, or how charming he is when he’s in the mood to entertain you. If his actions don’t match up, the inconsistency screams louder than anything he could ever say.

And babes, it’s confusing as hell. One minute, he’s all in—texting, calling, giving you attention—and the next, he’s distant, nonchalant, acting like you imagined the whole vibe. It’s like you’re stuck in this emotional limbo, trying to figure out if he’s genuinely into you or just enjoying the convenience of having you around.

Let me use my own little situation as a case study. There’s this guy—let’s call him 𝑀𝑟. 𝐶𝛰𝐷 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒 (you know the one). He’s nice, yeah, but let’s be real, it’s all very surface level. One day, he’s throwing compliments and banter, making me laugh like I’m the main character in his world. And the next? Crickets. Or worse, the barest hint of effort, like a breadcrumb trail I’m supposed to be grateful for.

I won’t lie to you—it’s been messing with my head too. 𝑀𝑟. 𝐶𝛰𝐷 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒 (we love a nickname) has truly been a case study in confusion.

We started talking not long ago, and for a moment, it felt good—like maybe this was something that could actually grow into more. He admitted he liked me, said all the right things, but before I could even settle into that feeling, it all started shifting. And now? It’s like I’m left trying to figure out what I could’ve possibly done to cause this shift when we’ve barely even started.

And that’s what makes situationships like this so debilitating—they start fast and furious, like the beginning of a rom-com, but before you can even catch your breath, you’re left wondering what went wrong. The confusion feels magnified because everything happened so quickly, and the fall-off feels both sudden and humiliating. At what point, in these brief interactions, did it fall apart? Why admit you like me only to act like this?

And let’s not even talk about the shame. Whew, the shame. You start to feel embarrassed—not just by his behaviour but by your own feelings. How could I let myself catch feelings for this? For someone so inconsistent? For someone who couldn’t even bother to nurture what we had started? You begin questioning your judgment, replaying every interaction in your mind, wondering if you somehow misread everything. Spoiler alert: you didn’t.

Because here’s the thing: his failure to pursue you the way you deserve isn’t a reflection of your worth. It’s a reflection of his inability to meet you at your level. It’s not about you being “too much” or “too demanding.” If anything, it’s about him being not enough—and I mean that in every sense of the word.

Men like this are quick to cater to your physical needs, but when it comes to the emotional work? They ghost, breadcrumb, or worse, keep you in this limbo where you’re left questioning everything. They’re good at keeping you on a leash, just enough to keep you interested, but not enough to give you what you deserve. And honestly? That’s manipulative. That’s cruel.

So let me tell you what I’m reminding myself: the right man won’t leave you questioning. He won’t leave you doubting your worth or replaying every text in your head. He’ll show up—not just in the beginning, but consistently, because he knows the only way to truly know if you’re his person is to take the time to understand you, to nurture your emotional needs, to make you feel safe. He won’t punish you with silence. He won’t make you feel like you’re asking for too much. He’ll match your energy, meet you halfway, and then some.

And if he can’t? That’s not your problem to fix. Protect your peace. Block him if you need to. Mourn what could’ve been, but don’t waste another second chasing someone who couldn’t bother to choose you properly.

I’m learning that these situationships, as irritating and exhausting as they are, are also lessons. They teach you about your boundaries, your worth, and what you absolutely will not tolerate. They show you the kind of love and partnership you don’t want, which makes the kind you do want so much clearer.

To my girlies who are in the trenches right now, I see you. I feel you. And I’m here to tell you this: something that is meant for you will never make you question your value. It will never leave you chasing crumbs or doubting yourself. You are worth so much more than inconsistency. Don’t ever let someone make you feel otherwise.

To the girlies who are still here, let’s talk about decentering men. Honestly, I count myself very fortunate because, as much as I am a wholehearted, heart-on-my-sleeve, hand-on-the-Bible lover girl, 𝑀𝑟. 𝐶𝛰𝐷 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒 came along at the perfect time. Crazy, right? The woman I was a year ago would have been sat in her room, headphones in, sad girl playlist on repeat, dissecting every moment and wondering what she’d done wrong. But the woman I am now? She knows better. She has grown, she has confidence, she has pride—and, most importantly, she respects herself far too much to let a man like that have her bent out of shape.

And the key to that?

Decentering men. Men are not, and should not be, the centre of my universe. They’re just not worth it.

Yes, I still hope and pray that one day I’ll have my white picket fence, my loving and supportive man who treasures me and lets me love him just as much and just as loudly. But until that day comes, I’ve fully shifted the energy I used to pour into romantic relationships and redirected it into myself. And chai, it has been the most surreal and healing part of my journey so far.

So, if you take nothing else from this—and honestly, it would be rude to ignore my brilliant advice and case study, but let’s say you do—take this: as women, especially in the context of dating, relationships, and marriage, we’re conditioned to believe that self-sacrifice is inherent to love. That it’s nurturing and feminine to put his needs, his goals, his feelings above our own. But let me ask you this—do you honestly think that man would sacrifice even a fraction as much as you’ve sacrificed for him?

I mean any aspect. Would he sacrifice his precious gameplay, his nights with the boys, his “money moves” for you the way you’ve sacrificed your time for him? And babes, let’s not forget—time is the most valuable thing you have. It’s finite. It’s irreplaceable. And it’s time you could be using to build yourself into a version of you that you never thought possible.

So, decentre them. Reclaim your time, your energy, your peace. Stop sacrificing your growth for a man who wouldn’t even set down his controller for you. It’s not worth it. And once you start pouring that love and effort into yourself instead? Whew, you’ll see exactly why it never was.

[toldbytendo]

Baby nursery 🧸🤍

[toldbytendo]

dreamy baby girl nursery 🦢🤍

[toldbytendo]

𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑆𝑜𝑙𝑖𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑆𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒: 𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑧𝑦’𝑠 𝑀𝑐𝐷𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑑’𝑠 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑙

I have eaten McDonald’s since the genocide began. I have ordered Domino’s since the genocide began. I have used CeraVe since the genocide began. I am writing this post from an iPhone 12, a device made from cobalt likely mined by Congolese children. I am complicit. We all are. That is not in question. That is not up for debate. There is no moral high ground here.

But there is a difference—an enormous, fundamental, grotesque difference—between the inconvenience of consumer guilt and the deliberate, fully conscious, fully calculated decision to align yourself with the direct benefactors of a genocide for personal financial gain.

Stormzy made that decision. And it’s vile.

I can acknowledge my complicity and still recognise the gulf that exists between being trapped in a system and actively upholding it. Between occasionally failing a moral test and deliberately erasing your morality altogether for profit. Because what he did wasn’t passive. It wasn’t unthinking. It wasn’t some absentminded moment of hypocrisy. It was intentional.

Stormzy chose to sign a contract with McDonald’s.

Stormzy chose to create promotional content for McDonald’s.

Stormzy chose to withdraw, erase, and archive his public support for Palestine so that McDonald’s could justify paying him.

Stormzy chose to accept blood money.

And the most sickening part? He built his brand on justice.

This isn’t just about Palestine anymore. This is about the complete disintegration of the values he claimed to stand for. Because his brand—his entire persona—has been rooted in activism, in speaking truth to power, in standing against injustice. That is what made people believe in him. That is why he became more than just an artist, why he was uplifted as someone who wasn’t afraid to stand against the status quo.

But now we see the limits of that morality. Now we see that the words meant nothing when the bag was big enough. Because if you can loudly, unequivocally stand with the oppressed—but only until McDonald’s offers you a cheque—then what were those words ever worth? If your support for Palestine disappears the moment you can profit off its erasure, then what does that say about your integrity?

If your stance against oppression does not extend to the most urgent, glaring, undeniable genocide of our time, then does it extend to the Congo? Sudan? Ethiopia? Or are those causes also disposable the moment a corporation comes knocking? If your moral compass can be swayed by a McDonald’s sponsorship, then it was never a compass to begin with. It was a branding strategy.

And that is what makes this so much worse. Because ordinary people—people with no net worth, no public platform, no wealth, no access to power—have tried. Have written letters to MPs. Have donated what little they could. Have spread awareness at the cost of their own mental health, their own peace, their own timelines being filled with horror and grief. Because they couldn’t bear to ignore it. Because the suffering of innocent people meant more to them than their personal comfort.

And yet, here is a multi-millionaire—a man with more financial security than most people will ever have in their lifetime—deciding that he still needs more.

For what?

Stormzy’s net worth is estimated to be around £26 million. That is generational wealth. That is more than enough money to live a life of ease, to invest, to secure stability for himself and his loved ones for decades to come. And yet, somehow, it still was not enough.

And what does that say? What does it reveal?

That the hunger for wealth is never satiated. That greed has no limit. That capitalism is a force so all-consuming, so deeply entrenched in the psychology of self-preservation, that even those who have spent years speaking out against its evils will still bend the knee when the price is high enough.

What Stormzy did is not an anomaly. It is a reflection of the very system he claimed to oppose.

And the reaction to this from so many Black people has been disappointing in ways I almost don’t have the words for. Because I have seen countless people reduce this to a race issue, as though the criticism against Stormzy is simply an attempt to tear down a Black man. As though his betrayal of his own professed values should somehow be excused because of the racial dynamics of the industry.

This is not about race. It is about power. It is about influence. Jeremy Corbyn—one of the most consistent voices of moral resilience in British politics—called on Stormzy to drop this collaboration. Not because Stormzy is a Black man. Not because he is an easy target. But because he has influence. And he has used that influence to do harm.

That being said, his Blackness is absolutely a factor—but not in the way his defenders seem to think. Because what does it say about Stormzy, as a Black man, that he was so willing to sell out in this way?

What does it say about his so-called integrity, about his professed values, that he—a man who has spoken at length about standing with the oppressed—did not see the struggle of the Palestinian people as worthy of that solidarity the moment it conflicted with his financial interests?

Because if oppression matters to you, it matters everywhere. If you believe in justice, you believe in it consistently. If you claim to stand with the oppressed, then you stand with them even when it is inconvenient. Even when it costs you something. Even when the alternative is lucrative.

Because that was his opportunity. That was his moment to choose principle over profit. To reject what is, undeniably, an incredible opportunity and reaffirm his support for the people of Palestine. To remind people that influence matters. And that he would not use his influence to funnel money into the hands of those funding genocide.

Instead, he made a different choice. One that cannot be excused. One that cannot be defended. One that lays bare what we always knew deep down but were reluctant to admit:

That celebrity activism is performative. That human beings will always choose self-preservation over integrity. That power will always reveal the truth about a person.

And the truth about Stormzy? Is that when faced with the opportunity to uphold his values, he chose greed instead.

And it’s impossible to ignore the timing of it all. In the UK, the cost of living crisis is so severe that nearly half of low-income households are skipping meals because they cannot afford food. Energy bills remain unmanageable for many. Families are drowning in rising rent prices. People—real, everyday people—are struggling to survive. And they are still choosing to boycott.

Ordinary people, who are living paycheque to paycheque, are making the conscious effort to reject companies like McDonald’s, Starbucks, and Coca-Cola because they cannot in good conscience continue to support those funding genocide. These are not wealthy individuals. These are people who will feel the absence of convenience, who will have fewer options, who will have to make adjustments to their already difficult lives in order to stand in solidarity with the oppressed.

And yet, a millionaire—a man whose financial stability is secured—could not bring himself to do the same.

With great power comes great responsibility. And time and time again, those with influence—the ones who could be making the most difference—choose instead to neglect, abuse, or ignore that responsibility when it suits them. They speak when it is easy. When it is palatable. When it is good for PR. And the moment it requires something of them, the moment it might cost them something, they fall silent. Or worse, they sell out.

It is beyond shameful. It is beyond disappointment. It is simply a reminder.

That we should never, ever place faith in celebrities as moral figures.

Because power will always reveal who they truly are. And who Stormzy is, when it really counts, is a man who chose genocide money over justice.

[toldbytendo]

The nursery for the spoiled child!

Thanks to @biancml FOR THE Brickwood Georgian Manor build and @pixelplayground for the amazing wallpapper she dropped today cause it inspired me so much!!!

[toldbytendo]

lost in the waves

2024/11/07

[toldbytendo]

[toldbytendo]

𝐴𝑛 𝐼𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑙 𝑇𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 𝑇𝑜 𝑆𝑙𝑢𝑡 𝑆𝘩𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑀𝑒…🤣

***DISCLAIMER: mentions of religion, sexuality, a lil preachy and 'testimony'-ish, *forgive me guys* lmao. ***

Before I even get into it, let me be ABSOLUTELY clear—I have NEVER and will NEVER believe that a woman’s sexuality makes her more or less worthy of God’s love. I don't measure or believe in ‘body count’. A woman's choices, or the way she expresses herself as a sexual being are completely her own. I fully support a woman’s rights to own her body, her pleasure, her autonomy, her experiences—even religious women. (I mean…they *we* gotta nut too right? 👀🫣 Being a woman of faith doesn’t mean you have to suppress your desires or feel guilt for them.

It doesn’t mean your body is dirty or shameful.

This is just about ME! ‼️

The lover girl in me has always felt a deep disconnect when intimacy isn’t built on an emotional connection. It’s not about society’s judgment, not about how I’ll be perceived—it’s just who I am. I feel more pleasure, more safety, more fulfillment when I’m not just sharing my body, but my mind, my emotions, my trust. When intimacy is rooted in something deeper than just attraction. As I’m writing this, I can totally acknowledge that those belief systems that I hold close are absolutely motivated and formulated by society and what they tell us about how we should want to navigate sexual experiences but it truly does align with my spirit—regrettably. That’s where the 'guilt' I speak of comes from—from feeling like I was betraying my own values, not simply from outside judgment or fear of being slut shamed.

And that’s why the conversation that inspired, more accurately *triggered* this slightly incoherent post hit so hard.

A so called "Man of God" yep. I'll wait...tried to slut shame me into oblivion today and...we're gonna talk about it.

He sat there, self-righteous and arrogant, telling me I ‘needed to change my ways.’ Asking me how many men I’d been with. Telling me what was *too much* (anything over 5 apparently 🙄😑 okay virgin mary). And when I told him how judgmental, dehumanising and degrading that was, when I told him exactly how he made me feel—he doubled down. "I didn’t mean to offend you, I’m just trying to help."

Help with what, exactly?

Because I already know my struggles. I already know the parts of me I’m trying to heal, the parts I feel a sense of shame about, the patterns I’m trying to break. I’ve spent so much time trying to unlearn the idea that my worth is tied to how desirable or untouched I am. I think a lot of women do, it’s hard not in a society that consistently slut-shames and punishes us for presenting ourselves as sexual beings in spite of being sexualised all the time?

It was like watching the Madonna-Whore complex come to life in real time. Watching how, in some men at least, a woman’s spirituality, her character, her worth will always be reduced to how much or how little she has been desired by men and acted according to her own autonomy. Freud was definitely onto something when he concocted that dichotomy. That's all imma say.

And don’t get it twisted—this wasn’t some divine moment of correction or guidance. This was misogynistic, patriarchal arrogance disguised as spirituality and faith, and I reject it.

I haven’t been radicalised.

I still fully believe that incels exist.

God knows they do.

I haven’t suddenly started believing that men like this don’t walk around with unchecked egos, weaponising God to justify their fragile masculinity and need to control women. I haven’t lost sight of the fact that

MEN. WILL. ALWAYS MEN.

What I did do, though, was choose to use this experience to get closer to God—when my instinct, my initial reaction, was to assume that maybe God was speaking His shame into me through this clown 🤡.

And I just refuse to believe that God would come to me through shame.

I don’t know what to call this feeling, but I know it wasn’t Him. I don’t know if this was a test, a lesson, or just a random moment of life reminding me how people (incels) move, but I know that the God I’m choosing to know, the God I accept in my heart, would never come to me in this manner.

So no, I don’t believe this was some divine intervention, some sign of God’s disappointment in me. I don’t believe He sent someone to make me feel ‘disgusting’, to pull me back into the same shame I’ve been trying to heal from. I don’t believe this was His voice.

Because the God I am getting to know? The God I am slowly learning to run to?

He is love.

He is grace.

He is kindness.

This wasn’t that. This wasn’t Him.

I don’t know what it was. I just know that it tried to drag me backwards. I know that it made me want to sit in guilt I have no business feeling to spiral, to run to bad habits, to look for comfort in places that have never really given me peace.

And for a second, I almost did. I almost let this moment convince me that I wasn’t worthy of God’s love. I almost let it make me feel too dirty, too far gone, too undeserving.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I did something I’ve never done before— I took a breath, and I ran to God instead (and blocked, if you learn nothing else about me from this, know that my trigger fingers will ALWAYS block). 🚫

I don’t know what this moment was supposed to teach me, but maybe it’s this:

That the past will always try to come back.

That POINTLESS shame will always try to find a way in.

That some people will always think they have the right to determine my worth. I think the fuck not.

But I get to choose. I get to decide who I listen to. I get to fight for the version of me that I am trying to become, whether she's a sexual being who owns her body and autonomy completely or someone much more sexually reserved, that's my choice and mine alone. ❤️

And today, I chose to fight the bullshit. I choose to break the cycle. I choose to believe that my Father—my girl dad—does not play about me. 🙏🏾

So no, I will not let this conversation define me. I will not let misogynistic losers win. I will not let silly guilt formed by patriarchy and the weight of my past pull me away from the future I am building and the woman I want to be.

Because I know who I am. And more importantly, I know whose I am.

Also, let’s not forget—I’m a hot girl who gets men and I refuse to let some lanky incel—Mr. Gets No Bitches, Looks Like He Snuck Onto Earth—CLOWN slut-shame me under the guise of faith and Godliness. 😂🤭🤭

Anyway, if you made it this far, thanks for reading. I don’t usually post about this kind of stuff, but I think I needed to write this out—for me, just to get the feelings out.

And for anyone else who might be going through something similar—you’re not alone. This journey of faith, spirituality or even just *growth* is hard, confusing, and full of setbacks. But moments like this?

They strengthen your conviction.

I’m not here to preach, I’m not here to tell anyone what to do or 'spread the word' (notice the lack of scripture?) If my transparency confronts you, challenges you, or even just reminds you of your worth, then I hope it helps in some way. Even if it doesn’t lead you to God, because it’s literally not by force, this is for those who DO believe.

And if you do? Just know this—God does not measure your worth the way men do (as if they even have the right). And, He never will. ❤️

[toldbytendo]

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𝑀𝑒𝑛 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼’𝑚 𝑇𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑃𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑇𝘩𝑒𝑦’𝑟𝑒 𝑁𝑜𝑡 🙃

I saw a tiktok the other day of a woman saying she had to sacrifice her self-expression just to date men, and I have never resonated with a notion so deeply in my entire life. Because—and I say this knowing that if I ever dared utter these words outside my little Tumblr safe haven, I’d be CANCELLED—men are genuinely so boring. Like, I don’t know how else to explain it. I find them so incredibly uninteresting, so lacking in depth, and honestly? Just extremely negative.

And I’d like to use my most recent case study in: What I Do Not Want in a Man (cue entry: 𝑀𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑑 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒).

Before I get into it, let’s establish something. I am a lover girl. Romance occupies my life in so many ways—not in a “I centre men” kind of way, because let’s be real, I absolutely do not—but just in that I love love. I love romance in every form. Romantic K-dramas? Obsessed. Disney movies with a love story? Sign me up. Romance novels, Bridgerton, Jane Austen adaptations (Persuasion had me in a chokehold), Queen Charlotte—if it has love in it, I want it. And not just romantic love, but all love. Platonic love, familial love, the love between friends, the love of a home-cooked meal, the love of a hobby that lights your soul on fire. Love is beautiful, and I have no shame in saying I want to experience it in all its forms.

**lover girls, let us gather here and cry**

Now, 𝑀𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑑 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒—the latest guest star on On This Month's Episode of 𝑀𝑒𝑛 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑑—for whatever reason, he really disliked this about me. I’m convinced. There was one conversation I remember so vividly where this man looked me in the eye (well, as much as you can over a screen) and said, “You know love isn’t real, right?”

Yeah.

Let’s pause here for a second. Imagine.

A man. In this economy. Telling me love isn’t real. I know, right?

Insane.

But wait—he doubled down. He followed it up with, “You never really know if people truly love you.” And then, he gave me a very personal and honestly traumatic story to support his stance.

Now, let’s be clear. I am not here to minimise what he confided in me. It was deep. It was sad. I can acknowledge that. But I also need to make my point here. Because let’s be real: the gaslighting and manipulation were top tier. Because how does one even argue against such a personal, tragic experience? You can’t. That’s the point. He laid it out like checkmate, like his trauma was supposed to be the universal law on love.

But it wasn’t that his opinion offended me. It was that he refused to accept my love of love. He was actively trying to break it down, like he wanted me to concede so badly that love isn’t real, or true, or possible. Like… why? Why was it so important for me to not believe in something that brings me joy? Why was it bothering him that I believe in love?

And the thing is, it’s not just 𝑀𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑑 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒. This is something I’ve observed in so many men. It’s the negativity, the cynicism, the absolute lack of joy or wonder in anything. It’s like they aren’t just boring—they fundamentally lack the ability to love things properly. Not just people, but life itself. It’s like nothing they do is done with real spark, or passion, or excitement.

And honestly? I think this is why men are so bad at actually learning women. I’m convinced. Because one thing I know about women—observations, personal experience, group chat data, everything—is that when a woman truly likes someone, she wants to know everything. She wants to know your ticks, your passions, what makes you angry, what makes you soft, what drives you, what you want out of life. It’s like 101 Dalmatians but with questions, and the thing is, that curiosity is what fuels the relationship. That attention to detail is what makes love exciting.

Meanwhile, men? They think “knowing you” means memorising your Starbucks order and remembering you have a dog. Ask them what you do for work, what your dream is, what brings you joy? Crickets. Because how can boring people fathom the sheer joy women experience in the little things? How can they possibly understand the absolute euphoria of buying yourself flowers, of rereading your favourite book, of knowing your skincare is working because your face is glowing? The sheer pleasure of being in bed by 9pm, freshly showered, your room smelling like vanilla and sandalwood, ice water in your Stanley mug, your favourite pyjamas on, your show queued up, or your current read open and ready?

Men don’t get that. Because men don’t let themselves enjoy things like that. And I’m not saying they don’t have hobbies or interests, but let’s be real—women are expected to tone it down a little bit. Our joy, our passions, our excitement about life? We have to shrink it so men don’t feel like they have to do anything.

And I think that’s what’s exhausting. That’s the part that feels so unrewarding. Because it’s not even a trade-off. It’s not like, “Okay, I’ll sacrifice this, so in return, I’ll get that.” There’s no 50/50, no 70/30. It’s just women needing to dim themselves, their light, their spark, their joy, just to let men exist.

Like, let me give you another example. A man, a big 25-year-old grown man, asked me out on a date. He lives in a different city, right? And he said he wanted to drive to see me and “take me out.”

Do you know what this man’s idea of a date was?

A drive-through.

I’ll pause.

I’ll let you scream.

I’ll let you kick your feet and wonder if I’m ugly

(I promise I’m not).

But this is what I mean. The implied energy was, “I’m already driving all this way to see you, and since we aren’t close enough for me to actually treat you, let’s just keep it casual.” Because, spoiling, effort, love—that’s all reserved for later. You have to earn it first. And the worst part? Women are told to let men lead.

Girl…men will lead you straight to hell. Don’t do it.

I don’t care what society says about “femininity” or “softness.” I’m not dimming myself so a man can feel comfortable existing at his baseline. If he can’t match my energy—if he can’t love things, enjoy things, cherish things—he can go.

Because men will always start at the bare minimum and upgrade you later, like love is a subscription service where you have to unlock premium benefits. Meanwhile, women are expected to be soft and kind and understanding from the start.

This is what I mean when I say men are boring. And this is why I refuse to make myself smaller just to make them feel bigger.

[toldbytendo]

nothing to say other than to share my **adorable** sim, I don’t even know what to name her guys, I kinda just had a very cutesy shojou babe in mind and this is what my brain came up with… ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[toldbytendo]

Navy Blue Living Room

[toldbytendo]

This tendency of creating situations of panic in my head has been a habit - even if there is nothing worthy of attention, something from somewhere pops up and that serves as a fuel to create a sense of accomplishment. And then the cycle continues. Initially i thought it was the case as it was a busy period but then it continued. That's when i realised this is a vicious cycle and a sense of excitement and anxiety to complete the thing causing stress is fodder to my brain.

[toldbytendo]

𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐿𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑤: 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐶𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝐷𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

There’s a lesson in every heartbreak, and 𝑀𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑑 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒, you were the final one of this year. As much as I’d like to sit here and romanticise this situation, painting myself as the victim of an emotionally unavailable man, the truth is, I knew who you were from the start. I saw the cracks, I felt the distance, and I still chose to pour myself into you like a fool with a bucket of water and a sinking ship. And the most embarrassing part? I dimmed my light for you.

It’s not easy to admit that. To sit here and acknowledge that I, a woman so self-aware, so sure of the love I bring to the table, settled for scraps and told myself it was a feast. I lowered my standards. I silenced my needs. I became someone I didn’t even recognise at times, all to fit into a world where you could remain comfortable, unbothered, and avoidant. And that’s the part that stings the most—not the loss of you, but the loss of me in the process.

Let’s be honest, though. You had me. You had a woman who saw you in all your masculine, brooding glory and respected you deeply for it. I was there when you needed someone to listen, someone to care. I was patient when you stumbled and tried to meet me halfway. I gave and gave, pouring into you with the kind of love and loyalty you’ll likely never find in these cold, shallow streets again. And still, it wasn’t enough—not for you to grow, to rise, to meet me where I stood.

What’s even worse is knowing that you genuinely thought you were showing up for me. That in your heart, this was you trying. And maybe it was. But trying doesn’t mean succeeding, and care that doesn’t translate into action is worthless. A man who truly values a woman knows that love without effort is just a hollow gesture.

I’m not mad at you—not really. You’re a reflection of your own emotional limitations, not my worth. But I do pity you. Because one day, when the game isn’t as fun anymore, when the lobbies are empty, and you’re left alone with nothing but your thoughts, you’ll remember me. You’ll remember the loyalty, the care, the effort I gave freely, unconditionally, without you having to earn it. And you’ll feel the sting of knowing you let it slip through your fingers because you couldn’t meet me where I deserved to be met.

This isn’t just a reflection on you, though—it’s also a reflection on me. I’m embarrassed by the lengths I went to for someone who gave me so little in return. But I won’t chastise myself for it. I’m choosing to learn from it. To see it for what it was: a lesson in self-worth and boundaries. A lesson in knowing that the right man will never make me feel like I have to tone down my love or question my place in his life.

Yes, I’m hurt. I’m angry, disappointed even. But more than that, I’m relieved. Relieved to close this chapter and step into 2025 with clarity and purpose. Relieved to stop pouring from an empty cup and redirect that energy into myself. And while I’m not actively seeking love, I’m open to receiving it—when it’s real, when it’s intentional, when it’s mutual.

So here’s to you, 𝑀𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑑 𝑀𝑜𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑒. You fumbled a real one. And I hope, for your sake, that one day you’ll realise it.

[toldbytendo]

Night Swim.