Dear Owls
A blog about a girl with a fondness for owls.
Sunday, 24 November 2024
Dear owls, how does one ask the right questions?
Saturday, 3 September 2022
The Path of Least Resistance
Dear owls,
Wasn't it scary? To stand in front of the world and sing? I understand now why people look up to confident people. They portray a part of them without fear of consequences.
What happened to my voice? How did it get silenced? What happened to my courage? When I roared, who roared back louder and scared me off? Slowly, I bring my roar back, and I begin to tell my story better and stronger.
When did I start writing emails better than I could write to the world about things that matter? So I stood in front of the mirror and asked myself, "what pisses you off, what makes you angry?" - it's the things that make us angry that matter the most to us. When you're angry, it's a good time to look at the topic that's causing you rage. Anger tells you what you care about.
I want to be famous, for all the right reasons. To make a difference in someone's life. But, as Jay Shetty says, "Purpose is for others, passion is for you," - so before making a difference in someone else's life, I'd like to find my tribe. I'd like to feel silly again. To speak my truth without fear. To feel invincible, as I once did before my story got lost in translation.
So, owls, I come back here to say, "thank you for being the only constant" - I've been journaling secretly because some things I don't want public, but for the most part of my life, it has been a pleasure to come back to this little writing home that I've created.
Yours with a surge of change,
Me.
Thursday, 11 August 2022
Dear owls, a comeback.
When I get too afraid to write...
Sunday, 26 January 2020
Dear owls, new place.
Dear Owls,
Tuesday, 20 August 2019
Dear Owls, an infinity of questions.
First and foremost, thank you for being a platform to understand myself and life. I'm proud of myself and my younger self for resting a nest on the internet, calling it home.
This blog may have started out as a dream that an opportunity would come by and I would get famous, but truthfully, this blog is more important than stardom and fame. This blog is my heart's home. It's a place I slip out of my tight shoes, put on a robe, tie up my hair and enter another planet. It's different having a place to tell your own stories, tell whichever stories you want. I'm very appreciative of the places I've gone, the people I've met, the childhood that lead me to this adult life.
I'm 22 right now. I feel 22. I feel great. Writing on my blog after such a long time feels like entering your childhood room after leaving your parent's house after moving out. It feels like you've gone through so much, but also that everything's still okay. A blog is so powerful. A place to tell my story. A place to read my past. A place to call my own. To decorate. In a world of Instagram, Twitter and the Kardashians, I've got a home here.
The other day I landed on my blog and realized the HTML coding edited out my playlist, it broke my heart. Got it back up. It reminded me of the whole "coding" phase. Gosh, it just feels refreshing to know I went through all these different moments. I'm in such a different place in my life right now and it doesn't necessarily mean I'm better or worse - it's just different and I am immensely blessed. Everything I am going through is a blessing. I am extremely connected to my inner voice. I can hear myself clearly. I understand what I need and what others around me want, without me having to ask them.
Growing up, I was a very confused little girl. I didn't know how to get where I wanted to be, but I always knew I was destined for great things. Right now, despite my chirpy tone, things aren't exactly in the best place they can be. I still feel blessed. I still genuinely feel happy.
I guess for a while, for now, that's all that matters.
Yours with an odd childhood reminiscing,
Me.
Tuesday, 30 October 2018
Dear Owls, a house.
My fingers tap at the keyboard with small talk. I've been fine. Thank you. And you?
I tap and tap, hoping that somewhere between the lines, a tear will escape the keys; an indicator of lifeforms. A hint that I can still feel something. A sign that my heart still beats. My heart still pounds, like my fingers at the letters. My eyes desperate to keep along. I worry that my body has outrun itself. My brain has reached galaxies my physical form cannot. And so, I unzip my skin and walk outside this body that has brought me nothing but heartache. I walk out and fly into the dusty, cosmic milky-way. I am now one with the universe. I watch myself dance with my mistakes, with my past and with everyone I have left behind also.
Where will I find my new home?
I giggle at my own jokes and write a million books; "To the humans on the planet I will not return to, do no make the same mistakes I have made. Do not hurt yourself over things that cannot get hurt themselves - do not swim with the sharks. Do not swim, in general. Swimming is boring. To the humans on the planet I will not return to... don't forget to feed the fish."
Where will I find my new home?
Perhaps I am the home... and what I really must look for, is a house.