Tag Archives: blogging

Listen to me

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18

My authentic self

In a world that profits from your self-doubt, being yourself is an act of quiet courage.

We live in a time where filters blur our faces and trends chase us like shadows, whispering that we need to shrink, adjust, conform, or polish ourselves into something more “acceptable.” The pressure is loud, relentless, and often subtle. Smile more. Speak softer. Be bolder. Be quieter. Be thinner. Be something—anything—other than what you naturally are.

But here’s the truth, tucked beneath the noise: there is power in being unapologetically you.

You weren’t made to be a carbon copy. You were made to be complex, layered, full of quirks and contradictions. You were made to laugh too loud, to dream too big, to feel too deeply. And somewhere, someone needs that exact kind of light—the kind only you give off.

Being yourself isn’t about perfection or having it all figured out. It’s about showing up as you are, even when the world wants you edited. It’s about choosing authenticity over approval. It’s about realizing you’re not here to fit in—you’re here to belong, and there’s a difference.

Belonging starts with self-acceptance. It blooms when you stop asking for permission to exist as yourself. It thrives when you embrace your messy parts, your soft heart, your fire, your quirky sense of humor, your quiet moments, and your loud passions.

You’ll find freedom there.

Because the truth is, no one else gets to be you. And that, in itself, is your superpower.

So if today feels too heavy, too fake, too much—breathe. Strip off the masks the world hands out and remember this: you are enough, just as you are. No edits. No apologies. No explanations.

Just be you. That’s more than enough.


Much love ❤️

Jennifer

Reflection

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9

There’s a quiet truth we all know, but rarely speak of: life is fleeting.

It doesn’t matter how long we live; in the grand timeline of existence, our presence is a flicker. A breath. A heartbeat. Days blend into weeks, and weeks melt into years. One moment we’re making plans for the future, and the next we’re looking back, wondering where all the time went.

We like to believe we have time. It’s one of the biggest lies we tell ourselves that we can delay the apology, the phone call, the dream, the change. But time doesn’t wait for us to be ready. It slips away in silence while we’re scrolling, worrying, and procrastinating. We don’t notice its passing until it has passed.

And the truth is, most of us don’t appreciate life until it begins slipping through our fingers, when we lose someone too soon, or face our own mortality in an unexpected diagnosis, or wake up one day realizing we’ve spent more time surviving than actually living.

We waste so much of our lives waiting for the “right time.” But here’s the secret: There is no perfect time. There’s only now, this moment, this breath, this fleeting second. That’s all we are ever truly promised.

So what does that mean for how we live?

It means we have to stop measuring life by the length of our to-do lists and start measuring it by presence. We have to stop treating time like a renewable resource. Because, unlike money or opportunities, once time is spent, we can’t earn it back.

Because time is not just passing, it’s shaping us. Every choice we make, every moment we give or withhold, becomes the architecture of our lives. If we aren’t intentional, we may find ourselves living someone else’s version of a good life. One we never meant to choose.

So take the trip. Say the words. Chase the dream. Forgive. Let go. Begin again.

You don’t need more time — you need to remember that this time is already yours.

And it’s enough.

Because what makes life beautiful isn’t how long it lasts. It’s how deeply we live it while it does.

Light

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7

the walls whispered
what mouths would not
truth
a fragile thing
tucked beneath rugs
folded into corners of
smiles that never
reached the eyes

love came with conditions
laughter sharpened at the edges
we wore masks
even in the mirror
the house was warm
but hollow
a stage lit for peace
while the ceiling cracked
above quiet wars

still I grew
bent but growing
bruised but breathing
lies build walls
not homes

so I walked out
not with anger
but a quiet vow
to build with truth
to live where the air is honest
and nothing hides behind
the light

Undercurrent

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8

missing you is a tide
pulling at the edges of my days
a constant undercurrent
that I can not fight or flee
it’s in the quiet moments
when laughter fades
when the world feels too wide
and your absence
fills every empty space
I reach for you in memories
soft echoes of your voice
the warmth of your smile
the way you made time slow down
missing you is more than longing
it’s a presence that lingers
a shadow that walks beside me
reminding me what it means
to love and lose
and keep loving still

Dust of dreams

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25

sometimes I think 
there’s something eternal 
in the way your heartbeat moves
not loud like thunder
but more like a soft wind 
brushing through the forgotten corners 
of the cosmos
a rhythm older than language
older even than the first sigh 
that split silence from sound  
your chest rises like the tide
and I swear the stars lean in 
just to feel the shift
the dust of dreams
the quiet particles left behind 
by every hope you never spoke aloud
seems to lift as if your pulse 
were the voice of gravity itself
and I want to press my ear 
to that space just above your ribs
not to listen for answers
but for the hush between each beat
the place where the universe
waits to be reminded 
that it is still becoming 
something beautiful

Dandelion Dreams

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13

they begin in silence
small suns tethered to the earth
by stems too thin to carry
the weight of wanting
we find them
in cracks of sidewalks
in the untamed corners of fields
where wild things learn
the language of the wind
I pluck one
soft as a whisper
and close my eyes because
dreams need darkness to take root
a single breath
and the seeds scatter
each a wish
each a maybe
each a map
without a destination
no one sees where they land
that’s the magic
that’s the risk
but the wind keeps them moving
and that’s enough to believe
that even weightless things
can find their way home

Scattered

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17

and everything she was
scattered into stars
not with fire
but with the softness 
of breath leaving lungs
with the final exhale of something 
that loved too deeply
she was not meant to stay contained
she spilled beyond the borders of names
beyond the limits of flesh and time
she came undone in light
now she lives in the hush 
between moonrise and sleep
in the way the night leans in to listen
she flickers
not missing
but woven through everything
a fragment in every shimmer
a whisper in the stillness
she is the story the sky tries to remember
each time it burns