Recently, I have been receiving so much light in the form of good deeds and happy moments (e.g., the recent Foo Fighters show, meeting my new friend, and my happiest birthday yet), and that generous amount of light makes me feel good.
But what’s better than receiving? It’s giving, especially the altruistic kind.
This is my 22nd Notes to Self.
Continue reading Notes to Self XXIIOf all the 14 Days of The Deranged Writer birthday blogging marathons I have done since the beginning of The Diary, the 2025 edition (this year) is the most memorable in terms of content quality. For 14 straight days, I wrote four acrostic poems (one of them is related and dedicated to The Undertaker), five music-related posts, one essay about a once-haunting day, one Notes to Self post, and only three Minute Warning posts. Only three. I have reached an incredible feat.
Speaking of Notes to Self, after blogging for two weeks straight, I realized something worthy of a Notes to Self post. It’s about freedom of expression, and the responsibilities that come with it.
Continue reading Notes to Self XXIWhat I truly dislike is when people tell me not to cry.
I’m quite aware that not every problem can be fixed, and everyone makes mistakes. But whether that problem can be fixed, or I end up crying over spilled milk, I should be allowed to shed tears. I learned a long time ago that I can’t just bottle up my sorrow and anger, and I need to express myself (not in a destructive way, of course) to feel catharsis, to feel better. To certain people, why am I not allowed to cry?
If I’m not allowed to cry in a place that I thought to be safe, fuck that shit. Maybe I should look for a safer space elsewhere. And if I can’t find another safe space, it’s a good thing I have The Diary.
One more day before my birthday.
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A part of 14 Days of The Deranged Writer (2025).
Header image: Hans of Pixabay. Edited in Adobe Photoshop 2025.
The Diary of The Deranged Writer 