Wings to fly,
To soar up high,
To feel the joy of open sky.
Wings to see what lies unseen,
Above the clouds, beyond the green.
Wings to lift, to dream, to try—
To give us hope,
And help us fly.

Wings to fly,
To soar up high,
To feel the joy of open sky.
Wings to see what lies unseen,
Above the clouds, beyond the green.
Wings to lift, to dream, to try—
To give us hope,
And help us fly.

Yesterday made me realize just how much your friendship means to me.
With you, I can truly be myself, yet I’m afraid of being swept away. I want to face things on my own, but knowing you’re always there behind me gives me strength.
BFF, if I could have only one friend in this world, I’d wish for it to be you.
Thank you, always.


A new day has broken—
A light of hope, a ray of confidence.
The sun rises at the edge of the horizon,
Spreading warmth to those who feel the cold.
A new day has begun,
A chance to create memories
And cherish moments of victory.
Rise up, shine—everything will be okay.
Breathe in, breathe out.

For the nth time this month, my social media accounts have been the target of hackers. Each time I logged in, I noticed subtle changes—tiny red flags that something wasn’t right.
Maybe, after all these years of being “computer literate,” I let my guard down. Or perhaps hackers have simply become more aggressive and creative.
For months, I found it strange that my location never matched where I actually was. I’d often brush it off, thinking, Did I forget to turn off my mock VPN location? But in the fast pace of life, with other priorities consuming my attention, I left an opening—one that opportunists were all too eager to exploit.
Clone, Worms, and Everything in Between
I couldn’t see the hacker’s device because they had cloned mine—mirroring my location and activity. But no crime is ever truly perfect.
One evening, I spotted an unfamiliar device linked to my account. That was the beginning of a grueling three-day journey to reclaim my digital security. After hours of investigating, resetting, and securing, my accounts are finally back under my control. For now, at least.
Reflection
Hackers don’t care who you are or what your account means to you. To them, it’s just a means to an end—an opportunity to exploit for their own gain.
It’s a psychological battle, one that breeds unease—the fear of losing access to precious memories, the photos documenting travels, moments, and milestones. For days, I was unsettled. But then, I reminded myself: I live in the real world.
The moments I treasure will always stay with me, no matter what happens online.
I will never let a hacker steal my peace of mind.
I am tired.
I need to breathe.
I need to gasp for air.
I am devastated—
Shattered dreams, false hope.
I need to gasp for air.
I am trapped.
I need to break this cycle.
I take a deep breath; I will face the sunrise,
A ray of hope,
A ray of strength.
Step by step, I shall rise.
Step by step, I shall rejuvenate.
I breathe slowly…
I will learn to hope again.

The rhythm has played for weeks,
You tease me to dance,
You coax me to swirl.
The beat has lingered for a while.
I resisted that familiar tune,
Avoided the symphony my soul longed for.
But the music, the beat, the rhythm
Engulf my being.
I resisted dancing the way we used to.
You held my hands,
You teased my spirit.
You whispered in flirtatious tones,
“Don’t hold back—dance with me.”
The rhythm grew louder,
The beat enticed.
My hips swayed,
My lips sang the melody I once knew.
That night, I held your hands.
In that moment, I let the music consume my soul.
That night, I swayed, that moment I surrender.


The Hero
In every story, there is a hero. She is the center of the tale, seemingly invincible, as if nothing could ever hurt her. But behind that brave facade lies a person who is deeply tired, silently gasping for breath. Her heart has been shattered into pieces countless times. Yet, just like in the movies, she always rises, fights, and pushes on until she claims victory. She takes care of everyone but herself.

Cub in us
My dear hero, it is okay to be shattered at times, to take off the mask of bravery, and to be courageously vulnerable.
It is okay to be tired, to ask for help, and to accept a lending hand.
Sometimes, my dear hero, it is perfectly fine to let someone else take care of you.
Allow the cub within us to reign every once in a while, within this lion heart of ours.

❤️
Moon shines , wind whispers you held my hands I felt your warmth .
Young hearts , sweet hearts , full of dreams ,you made my heart flutters.
Distance ,growth ,changes I saw you drift away
I loved you from a far .
Moon shines , star twinkles
Wind blows humming a tune of hope .
Trees dance as they interwine a melody of Love .
Sunshine , Moon shine , star twinkle
I loved you

Every so often, a spark of goodness crosses our path.
A quiet kindness that asks for nothing in return. Now and then, a gentle tenderness is given, wrapped in trust, without hesitation or demand, leaving you vulnerable in a way that reminds you—you are special.
Hold onto this, for once it slips past, it won’t return.
Goodness offered, kindness shared—but forever is fleeting.
Cherish it, even as it slips away.

Yes, I’ve arrived at that phase of life. My knees? Oh, they’ve made a dramatic exit, thanks to arthritis. The cartilage in both knees is gone, which means my favorite activities have vanished too—goodbye, running and yoga! And let me tell you, that goodbye hurt more than my joints.
Meanwhile, my hormones are acting like a fireworks display, constantly going off without warning. This means I can go from weeping over a commercial to snapping at someone for breathing wrong—all in the same hour. And let’s not even get started on the sugar cravings, courtesy of glucose levels playing hopscotch every day. My belly fat? It’s taken on a life of its own, and I swear it’s plotting something.
Here comes the vicious cycle: “I can’t exercise because my joints hurt, which means I gain weight, which makes my joints hurt even more.” Exhausting, right? Well, one day I decided: Enough. There has to be more to menopause than this chaos. I wanted the 51-year-old version of me to be healthier, stronger, and maybe even a little fiercer.
So, what did I do? I became a cougar 浪. Enter: the most handsome coach in the world. Picture this: piercing blue eyes, full of concern (or maybe just mild amusement). Our first conversation went something like this:
Coach (gazing at me, probably wondering if I’m serious): “What do you want to happen with your body?”
Me: “Uhm, well, I don’t want to be Barbie… but I’d love to be fit, wrangle this midline before it gives me a cardiac arrest, and be able to jog at 70.”
Now, my coach doesn’t mess around. He pushes me to break my limits but always respects my limitations. He doesn’t care that I’m 51. “The body follows where the mind leads,” he says, which sounds so inspiring until you’re gasping for air after 20 squats.
So here I am, a month in, lifting weights—30 kg, 6 sets of 3 reps, deadlifts, and squats. My knees are getting stronger, and I can almost hear them whispering, “Thank you.” My coach, still the ruthless gentleman, has slowly reintroduced the treadmill into my life, though I keep begging him to let me run on real terrain. His answer: “Soon. Not yet. Patience.”
Menopause and aging may throw curveballs, but they don’t have to steal the things we love. Two months from now, I’ll be back to my morning yoga or jogging short distances—mark my words.
This is healing. I love me, and that means I’m going to take care of me.
