Still Here, Still Breathing

Mood : 3/10

It’s late. 2:35 a.m. I should be asleep.

But here I am—heart heavy, mind restless, body tired but soul awake.

I turn on rain sounds, hoping it’ll drown out the noise inside me.
It doesn’t.
I'm lying here thinking about my life. About how people stay at a job for four years, five years, ten years.
And I just… can't imagine it.

Even now, barely reaching one year, my heart itches to quit.
Not because I'm lazy. Not because I want to escape responsibility.
But because deep down, I know—this isn't life.

I tried. For years, I tried.
To see meaning in corporate routines.
To fit myself into schedules, into titles, into meeting rooms filled with fluorescent lights.
But no matter how many times I tried to convince myself, there’s still a quiet ache inside me that says: This isn't it.

Some people can live on autopilot.
Clocking in, clocking out.
Smiling, replying emails, attending birthday celebrations in the office pantry like it's the highlight of the year.
And maybe for them, it’s enough. Maybe it’s real. Maybe it’s comfortable.

But I was not made for autopilot.
I was made to feel life.
To build dreams with my own two hands.
To wake up with purpose, not just alarm clocks.

The portfolio I’ve been working on lately... it’s strange. It gives me life.
It makes me dream again.
It reminds me that my existence isn't supposed to be reduced to tasks and deadlines I don’t believe in.

I’m not ungrateful. I’m not reckless.
I’m awake.

I want a small place of my own, even if it's tiny.
I want mornings that feel slow and filled with intention.
I want to move—start in Bandung, wander around Indonesia, and maybe, one day, move to Hanoi.
Not because I'm lost. But because I'm alive. Because I’m finally listening to the parts of me that refused to die quietly.

It's scary sometimes.
It's lonely sometimes.
But it’s real.

And if realness means walking away from a life that looks good on paper but feels empty in my heart...
then I’ll choose real. Every damn time.

Even if my hair isn’t perfect.
Even if my body isn't what I wish it was yet.
Even if my dreams still feel fragile some nights.

I will keep walking toward a life that feels like mine.
Soft. Loud. Calm. Messy. Rooted. Free.

Because loving yourself… truly loving yourself…
is not just about accepting your reflection.
It’s about refusing to live a life that makes you invisible to yourself.

And tonight...
I’m still here.
Still restless.
Still aching.
Still wishing.

Not fixed. Not fulfilled.
Just... existing.
Bare. Heavy.
And somehow, still breathing.