goodbye 2025!
Jan. 1st, 2026 09:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mydollNote: There are a thousand of grammar and syntax mistakes because I did not proofread it.
I recently deleted my Twitter account and I never felt more free.
It did leave a gaping hole called 'I love to type out my thoughts and have an audience of 0.01' (shout out to my favorite oomf ever: Dawn). After some pondering, I remembered I had a Dreamwidth account collecting dust by the hour and I can write whatever I want. Even if it's super bad! So, I'm here again and hoping to become better at blogging as I explore this new version of the Internet. The woes of spending most of your teens in a broken social media that gave you glitchy bursts of dopamine, am I right?
Anyway, I know I mainly used this account to write up meta and other fandom content but I hope to start carving out a space for more personal things. Outgrow my irrational social anxiety and start commenting on cool journals. Try to branch out to different versions of writing, ones that don't warrant watching an obscene number of interactions viewed by rosy glasses and a tin hat about to tip off.Please say you relate!
That said, this will be my starting point! Down below you will find my mostly embarrassing journey called 2025.
2025 was a difficult year.
I didn't realize how difficult it was until I began journal hopping and read what other people did. I know these posts are a glimpse into these people's lives, but my stomach dropped anyway. Because even if I wanted to, I had nothing to show. Nothing to write about. There were no significant life changes or/and no new adventures to show off.
Short conclusion without spiraling: I had simply survived. I lived through repetitive motions to reach point B ( re: the end of the year ).
You might be wondering, why write this post then? You said it yourself, you have nothing to write about.
While my point still stands, I will rephrase it. I have nothing interesting to write about. I can't describe you anything too fanciful like trips in beautiful cities or anything too emotive like the power of friendship. But even while I know that, I want to write. I want to write about my thoughts. Lay them out like a map with too many red scribbles and arrows. Try to make sense of the introspection I haphazardly conjured after I bailed a NYE party and cried once it hit midnight. So, here goes nothing.
'When did you realize you wanted to live in the real world?'
I won't go to into detail about my personal life, but I used to be good at socializing. When I was kid, I was so loud and painfully sincere. Everyone knew I was around because I always laughed a little too hard and craved affection as hard as a sweet. It all crashed down after a bad friendship, shifting what I knew about relationships. This melodramatic moment in my preteens -the straw that broke the camel's back- effectively made me a recluse and run into the Internet's embrace. After I stepped through the tempting threshold called fandom and online friendships, I was fully immersed. I started to be more involved in my online life than my real life. The neglect came in the form of flighty relationships and inability to be in the moment.
I never thought it was bad. I adjusted enough because everything was neatly compartmentalized. At least, that's what I thought until I went to college and opened the entry gate of the corporate world.
The issue about compartmentalizing is that it leaves little space for people. In the sense, my need to separate translated into my need for secrecy and control. Nobody could ever know too much. My friends, irl and online, could only witness specific instances of my life.They could only be part of what I permitted. In my case, all my hard moments would only surface after I did 30k mental exercises and I had rewired my feelings enough. No space for them to see or/and work through the messiness or the ugliness. Seeking them out is inherently vulnerable and embarrassing.
How unbearably lonely.
In the last years, I tried to work through this. To say the least, my attempts have been unsuccessful. I didn't understand the reason until now. Right after I cried on the rooftop and the sky was littered with fireworks.
I don't know how to live in the real world. My need to live comfortably, where nobody gets hurts or too involved or is too much, is a strong barrier. So strong even I lack the ability to break through it. I don't know how to be someone who actively seeks and faces the daunting reality with an unflinching gaze. How do I become someone who is so unlike me?
The answer is relatively obvious: I don't become that person. I become another type of person: someone who seeks and faces the daunting reality with a flinching gaze. Whose fists are shaking badly because the sheer force contains all of their fears and anxieties. Who will finally take a step back from the warm place called online world and try to be more present to catch what the world has to offer. Even if that means sacrificing the safety net that kept a snotty child safe for so many years.
'What or who made this realization happen?'
Strangely enough, this ache was planted in my college years. It blossomed when I got my corporate job.
I am still in that job, that's taking bits and pieces of me and throwing them back with new alterations. Every time I try to fit them in me, I always have to change alongside them. Unfortunately, the result is my being growing more and more miserable by the day.
Because, for the first time, it did not matter how much I could compartmentalize and present myself as someone who is overly mature for their age and refuses to engage in childish play. A glaring truth faces me with so much disdain, a disdain I had blissfully ignored until now: I am not valued. I won't be valued as long as I remain here. It doesn't matter how put together I present myself.
When your personal life is so barren, there is no perspective capable of battling that. No dual reality to rely on. The motivation gets punched out of you. The only lifeline is an unwarranted resilience, a byproduct of a petty rebellion against this growing thing called insecurity. If I were to lose my footing, it would only prove my job right.
I wondered how my coworkers could live with that. After some petty mind games of their own, I reached the conclusion: It was their desire to live and be with their people. To enjoy what 'real' life has to offer.
For the first time in a really long time, envy bubbled in the pit of my stomach. I have nobody who could I live the real life with. I have no motivation to pursue adventures. I have nothing.
After crying on the rooftop, I realized I do have something. It is myself. I'm a good fighter. I'm a decent writer.
-
2025 was difficult. Painfully so.
It taught me a lesson I've been hit with over and over, but never fully digested: Online life can't replace real life.
I hope this 2026 I will honor that.
May I come back with posts about new trips I took with clumsy feet and a plethora of new things I learned about. May I come back to writing when I feel my heart light, not only when it feels like drowning lead.
I recently deleted my Twitter account and I never felt more free.
It did leave a gaping hole called 'I love to type out my thoughts and have an audience of 0.01' (shout out to my favorite oomf ever: Dawn). After some pondering, I remembered I had a Dreamwidth account collecting dust by the hour and I can write whatever I want. Even if it's super bad! So, I'm here again and hoping to become better at blogging as I explore this new version of the Internet. The woes of spending most of your teens in a broken social media that gave you glitchy bursts of dopamine, am I right?
Anyway, I know I mainly used this account to write up meta and other fandom content but I hope to start carving out a space for more personal things. Outgrow my irrational social anxiety and start commenting on cool journals. Try to branch out to different versions of writing, ones that don't warrant watching an obscene number of interactions viewed by rosy glasses and a tin hat about to tip off.
That said, this will be my starting point! Down below you will find my mostly embarrassing journey called 2025.
2025 was a difficult year.
I didn't realize how difficult it was until I began journal hopping and read what other people did. I know these posts are a glimpse into these people's lives, but my stomach dropped anyway. Because even if I wanted to, I had nothing to show. Nothing to write about. There were no significant life changes or/and no new adventures to show off.
Short conclusion without spiraling: I had simply survived. I lived through repetitive motions to reach point B ( re: the end of the year ).
You might be wondering, why write this post then? You said it yourself, you have nothing to write about.
While my point still stands, I will rephrase it. I have nothing interesting to write about. I can't describe you anything too fanciful like trips in beautiful cities or anything too emotive like the power of friendship. But even while I know that, I want to write. I want to write about my thoughts. Lay them out like a map with too many red scribbles and arrows. Try to make sense of the introspection I haphazardly conjured after I bailed a NYE party and cried once it hit midnight. So, here goes nothing.
'When did you realize you wanted to live in the real world?'
I won't go to into detail about my personal life, but I used to be good at socializing. When I was kid, I was so loud and painfully sincere. Everyone knew I was around because I always laughed a little too hard and craved affection as hard as a sweet. It all crashed down after a bad friendship, shifting what I knew about relationships. This melodramatic moment in my preteens -the straw that broke the camel's back- effectively made me a recluse and run into the Internet's embrace. After I stepped through the tempting threshold called fandom and online friendships, I was fully immersed. I started to be more involved in my online life than my real life. The neglect came in the form of flighty relationships and inability to be in the moment.
I never thought it was bad. I adjusted enough because everything was neatly compartmentalized. At least, that's what I thought until I went to college and opened the entry gate of the corporate world.
The issue about compartmentalizing is that it leaves little space for people. In the sense, my need to separate translated into my need for secrecy and control. Nobody could ever know too much. My friends, irl and online, could only witness specific instances of my life.They could only be part of what I permitted. In my case, all my hard moments would only surface after I did 30k mental exercises and I had rewired my feelings enough. No space for them to see or/and work through the messiness or the ugliness. Seeking them out is inherently vulnerable and embarrassing.
How unbearably lonely.
In the last years, I tried to work through this. To say the least, my attempts have been unsuccessful. I didn't understand the reason until now. Right after I cried on the rooftop and the sky was littered with fireworks.
I don't know how to live in the real world. My need to live comfortably, where nobody gets hurts or too involved or is too much, is a strong barrier. So strong even I lack the ability to break through it. I don't know how to be someone who actively seeks and faces the daunting reality with an unflinching gaze. How do I become someone who is so unlike me?
The answer is relatively obvious: I don't become that person. I become another type of person: someone who seeks and faces the daunting reality with a flinching gaze. Whose fists are shaking badly because the sheer force contains all of their fears and anxieties. Who will finally take a step back from the warm place called online world and try to be more present to catch what the world has to offer. Even if that means sacrificing the safety net that kept a snotty child safe for so many years.
'What or who made this realization happen?'
Strangely enough, this ache was planted in my college years. It blossomed when I got my corporate job.
I am still in that job, that's taking bits and pieces of me and throwing them back with new alterations. Every time I try to fit them in me, I always have to change alongside them. Unfortunately, the result is my being growing more and more miserable by the day.
Because, for the first time, it did not matter how much I could compartmentalize and present myself as someone who is overly mature for their age and refuses to engage in childish play. A glaring truth faces me with so much disdain, a disdain I had blissfully ignored until now: I am not valued. I won't be valued as long as I remain here. It doesn't matter how put together I present myself.
When your personal life is so barren, there is no perspective capable of battling that. No dual reality to rely on. The motivation gets punched out of you. The only lifeline is an unwarranted resilience, a byproduct of a petty rebellion against this growing thing called insecurity. If I were to lose my footing, it would only prove my job right.
I wondered how my coworkers could live with that. After some petty mind games of their own, I reached the conclusion: It was their desire to live and be with their people. To enjoy what 'real' life has to offer.
For the first time in a really long time, envy bubbled in the pit of my stomach. I have nobody who could I live the real life with. I have no motivation to pursue adventures. I have nothing.
After crying on the rooftop, I realized I do have something. It is myself. I'm a good fighter. I'm a decent writer.
-
2025 was difficult. Painfully so.
It taught me a lesson I've been hit with over and over, but never fully digested: Online life can't replace real life.
I hope this 2026 I will honor that.
May I come back with posts about new trips I took with clumsy feet and a plethora of new things I learned about. May I come back to writing when I feel my heart light, not only when it feels like drowning lead.