So, I had this coffee catch-up with an old friend the other day, something that’s become a rarity given the craziness of our mid-30s life. Between sips of overly expensive lattes and updates on life, work, and the endless juggle, and a story of a tragedy she was into, suddenly she dropped a line that honestly felt like a mic drop moment: “I own myself.”
It wasn’t said with arrogance or as some dismissive wave to the complexities of life. No, it was a statement of acceptance, of responsibility, and oddly, of freedom. And man, did it stick with me.
Today, I stumbled upon something in TikTok that hit me hard, “the degree to which a person can grow is directly proportional to the amount of truth they can accept about themselves without running away.” It got me thinking about all the mess I’ve waded through and the person I’m slowly becoming.
I gotta be honest; my history’s got more shades than a spilled paint can – the kind that makes you ask, “What on earth was I thinking?” It’s a mix of choices I wouldn’t exactly brag about, and for a good chunk of time, I believed I was a lost cause.
Kinda felt like if life was a game, I’d somehow managed to botch it up so bad, there was no hitting reset. Just stuck on the ‘game over’ screen, you know?
It’s all about that one line that totally knocked the wind out of me: “You can’t run forever.”
Let me set the scene. It was just another one of those evenings where you can feel the chill biting through your jacket, making you wish you were home with a hot cup of something strong. But there I was, outside, trying to shake off the kind of mistake that clings to you tighter than your shadow.
So, this old friend of mine, comes out of nowhere, with his “Hey!”
I replied, totally thrown off. “What are you doing here?”
He just shrugged, that old familiar grin spreading across their face. But then, the smile faded as they looked at me, really looked at me. “You know, you can’t run forever,” he said, all traces of joking gone.
Someone once said, “I’m so happy leaving this place behind.”
That got me thinking, especially when you’re trying to figure out if the problem was you or the place you were in. It’s like the situation itself is making you question everything. How bad does a place have to be for you to feel joy in leaving it? Yet, it seems that escaping a toxic environment brings relief, peace, and, most importantly, new hope that turning over a new leaf is a solution.
Leaving a toxic place is akin to shedding a heavy cloak that’s been weighing you down. You might not even realize how heavy it was until you feel the lightness of its absence. Toxic environments have a way of making you feel small, powerless, and lost. They cloud your judgment, dim your light, and stifle your voice until you’re left questioning your worth, your abilities, and sometimes, your very essence.
The decision to walk away is not an admission of defeat but a bold step towards reclaiming your power and peace. It’s an acknowledgment that some situations are beyond repair, not because you haven’t tried hard enough, but because they are fundamentally flawed. The realization that you deserve better is a profound one. It opens your eyes to the possibility of a life where you’re not constantly on edge, where your happiness isn’t contingent on the whims or moods of others.
In the heart of Indonesia’s bustling democracy lies a simmering question: Does fear, fueled by the prospect of political power concentration within a single family, drive us towards greater caution? As the nation stands at the crossroads of electing a presidential candidate with deep familial ties to the incumbent power, this question transcends mere political curiosity, touching the very pulse of democratic vitality.
The fear of political dynasties is not unfounded. History is replete with examples where the concentration of power within elite families led to erosion of democratic practices, suppression of dissent, and a widening gap between the ruling class and the common populace. In Indonesia, the specter of such a future evokes deep-seated anxiety among those who cherish democratic ideals.
choro 