chinnyea

pieces of escape

[chinnyea]

Chinnyea

Writing is both an escape and a reminder.

Hi! I’m Chinnyea, a young amateur writer who writes pieces of feelings, reflection, and exploration. I dive into the world of emotions, where I turn experiences into layered narratives.

I write to explore the fantasizing idea of escaping. In this blog, pieces of different write-ups are posted — from the highest point of joy to the lowest point of life.

Words are my greatest weapon to unlock escape, but they are also reminders of inevitable moments covered with bitterness.

[chinnyea]

[chinnyea]

bato-bato sa langit, ang tamaan wag magalit 🙂‍↕️

with all the things happening in this shitty, fanatic country, there is only one thing that remains painfully clear — politicians care NOT for you, but for themselves.

so kung hindi ka pa galit, bakit? why do you still cling to these politicians’ promises as if they genuinely care about filipinos? as if they are actually doing their jobs while earning millions through dirty schemes and corruption? various pieces of evidence are already right in front of you, yet you continue to ignore them just to protect your loyalty. is that really loyalty, or just an excuse to preserve your pride and ego? nakakahiya kayo. pinaglalaban niyo yang mga pulitikong mas mataas pa ang tingin sa sarili kaysa sa batas, kaya heto tayong lahat — walang progreso at walang maayos na sistema.

when it comes to your “idols,” suddenly it’s okay to bend the law. sila yan, e. but when it comes to hardworking politicians who REALLY do care about our country’s future, todo puna kahit wala namang kapuna-puna? sila nalang ang nagtatanggol sa inyo, but you still choose to believe na wala silang kwenta? kapag sinabihan kayo, ano-anong pinagsasasabi niyo dahil ayaw niyong nakakaririnig ng katotohanan. what a shame to be this close-minded. hanggang kailan kayo mananatiling mga mangmang? you are one of the reasons why our country continues to suffer from corruption and all this bullshit. hanggang kailan kayo magbubulag-bulagan? hahayaan niyo nalang bang manatili tayong bansa ng karumihan?

at kayo namang mga pulitikong ginagawang tanga ang mga pilipino, until when will you keep pretending to be innocent? sabay-sabay nag-live during the shooting incident with hashtags pa, really? hanggang saan aabot yang kasamaan niyo just to protect your vice president and co-senators na kauri niyo? mahirap bang ipaglaban ang mga pilipino? isn’t it your duty to fight for us? you are the perfect example of two-faced people. kapag nakaharap sa media, kunwari concerned. kapag nakatalikod na, all you truly care about is your wealth, power, and personal interests.

so to you, Mr. Dela Rosa, Mr. Padilla, Mr. Cayetano, and other DDS senators, do not fool us with your tactics. millions of filipinos are suffering, pero kung ano-anong bagay ang pinagtutuunan niyo ng pansin para lang pagtakpan yang Bato na yan at ipaglaban si Sara Duterte pati na ang tatay niyang karton? productive senators like Kiko, Bam, and Risa getting removed from their respective committees shows how threatened and self-centered you are. sino ba talaga ang pinoprotektahan niyo — mga pilipino o ang mga sarili niyo? to Mr. President, magparamdam naman po kayo sa mga pilipino. pati ba naman presensya niyo, kailangan pang ipagmakaawa?

to all the corrupt politicians, just so you know, mananaig din ang katotohanan. mananagot din ang dapat managot. karma’s a bitch 🙂‍↕️

[chinnyea]

The Quiet Spark of Becoming

At some point in our lives, many of us have felt out of balance. We lose our spark, feel left behind, and grow desperate for validation. It’s as if we’re losing even without competition. We wake each day with the urge to prove something, to show we’re not falling behind — and that alone is exhausting. It’s draining to validate yourself over and over, knowing deep down that you’re losing pieces of yourself in every aspect. It’s tiring to act unaffected. It’s tiring to argue with your own thoughts. And perhaps the hardest part is facing it without knowing the root, the cause, or why it even began. Worse still, you don’t know how to deal with it because, again, you never wished for it. You have no companion to go through it with — not even your best friends — but yourself.

Yet self-acceptance and self-actualization overpower the weight of exhaustion that fills our system. They remind us that validation is not borrowed but built, not granted but grown. When we learn to accept, our minds suddenly recognize the quiet truth that worth is not a race but a rhythm. Life is not just about championships and victories — it’s about living it to the fullest, breathing fresh air without constant worries about tomorrow. Acceptance allows us to breathe differently, not in shallow gasps of comparison, but in steady inhales of presence. It stops us from chasing the illusion of “enough” and guides us toward the realization that we already carry more than we think, that we are already doing more than we believe ourselves capable of.

Photo source: Pinterest

Self-actualization teaches us that becoming is more than just proving. It is the deafening silence of realizing that value is not scaled by who has seen us, and our progress does not diminish when it fails to receive the recognition we crave. It is the moment we reflect that no one knows us as deeply as we know ourselves, no one sees us as clearly as we see ourselves. It is time we recognize our talents and capabilities without overthinking whether they are enough, whether they are seen, whether they are worthy. Because at the end of the day, no one will trust us but ourselves. Even when everyone looks down on us, even when they perceive us as weak, we remain the number one witness to our growth.

Photo source: Pinterest

And in self-recognition, loneliness softens. The arguments become dialogues of earned validation and messages of proud appreciation. Sometimes, loneliness allows us to discover that solitude is not emptiness but space — space to grow, to listen, and to rebuild. Our spark returns not as a blaze demanding attention, but as a steady flame that cannot be dimmed despite strong winds, a light that brightens the path forward.

"The caterpillar does not become a butterfly by telling everybody it has wings. It actually buries itself in darkness and grows those wings." - Joybell C.

[chinnyea]

Pieces of a Shattered Lantern

Photo source: Pinterest

They said, home is where love resides. Yet for someone like me, it was a place made of resentment, pain, and sorrow. A dark place where staying felt like a wound with continuous bleeding. There was no light. Maybe, there’s a little love — but that love was only made to be broken. In this place, it’s either you forgive or you lose. You forgive someone for their infidelity, or you lose them for your loved one’s genuine peace of mind. And I chose to forgive, but it meant collecting wounds every time they throw heavy words, every time they fight, and every time they feel like ending it. It does not end — it continuously kills me inside. As the day goes by, it makes me question —  how much heartache do I still need to endure? 

Home started to feel like it’s not when someone in my family chose to do something that would dim the light of our house. It was easy for them to promise in front of the altar, but so hard to live by those vows. They committed an unforgivable mistake on someone I truly cherish. And that made me wonder, was that the first time they did it, or the first time we knew about it? Thinking about their 5 years of stay in Dubai made me question their faithfulness. Until now, there’s a doubt in my heart when they say that they did not meet with anyone there. Ironic, right? They had the guts to do their infidelity where their loved one is, so how can they persuade me that they did not do it when they’re free, where my loved one cannot see? 

The night was a symphony of joy until I heard the painful cries of someone I always want to protect. A sound I never thought would linger in my bad memories. Seeing them crying beside someone guilty was not something I was ready to see, and I never will be. Every day, the sun rose faithfully — but for me, each awakening is a battle I cannot win over. It was hard to find a reason and a motivation to continue living when my mind was stuck with giving up. Pain and frustration mixed whenever I heard loud banging on the wall in the middle of the night. I felt nothing but empathy for me, and to my beloved family. Among all the people in this world, I never expected that my own source of blood would be the one to give me a taste of betrayal. 

Their infidelity became the reason for me to experience the most traumatic things in my life. My loved one was losing their light and harming themselves for something out of their control, someone I cherish was building anger issues, and me being more distant with my own bloodline. Every dinner was full of tears — I learned to eat by myself inside my room to avoid hearing their exchange of heavy and painful words. I got traumatized. Whenever I hear loud things, everything comes back. I get nervous, I break down, hoping for everything to stop. There was no evening I did not cry. When it’s the only time I could rest my mind, their yells made me pray harder to God. For every suffering to end, for every tear to stop, and for every word to be sweet. 

As the cold and gloomy nights continue, the thought of ending everything prolonged in my mind. I was only 13 years old, but I had already lost myself. I lost my heart. My light dimmed. Though no doctor diagnosed it, the shadows of depression traced themselves across every corner of my life. I thought, “If I end everything, I will never cry again every night, I will never look at them without pain, and I will never hear my loved one’s cries.” But it’s hard to do it. It’s hard to do something that will also leave a painful mark in their heart. So, I did all the best I could to stay, to be one of the reasons why my loved one still fights. Even when it’s hard to swallow my food every dinner, even when it’s hard to bear everything alone, even when it’s hard to look at their faces, I still cherish the life God has given me. 

I’m not mad at someone who did all these, but I’m mad at myself for not getting mad at them. I was deeply crushed and disappointed. I was once the jolly and cheerful daughter of the family. But because of their single mistake, my light went off. My heart shattered. I became distant, silent, and unreadable. I was the angry daughter. I felt like every person I meet will betray me, fool me, and hurt me. And hurt, from that experience, was different. I was not hurt in a way that would easily fade — I was hurt in a way that I thought I would never heal. I was very hurt that I could not even see the goodness of every morning. And it hurts to be disappointed with them, it hurts to be uncomfortable around them, and it hurts to have their blood. They may be a good family, but they will never be a perfect partner.

If their infidelity hurt me to the core, how much more pain did it bring to my loved one? To the one I truly cherish? How much more suffering did they need to endure? They were the home’s lantern — they brought light to the family. But that light busted, all because of someone that was supposed to be there beside them through thick and thin.

During times I thought I’ve already healed, talks about family proved it wrong. It keeps on coming back because it will never leave. The pain will never fade away. It may hide in my most beautiful and delighted moments, but it will peak through in my most vulnerable episodes, or even in my most random days. I cannot do anything but embrace it — embrace the reality that life will not always be in my favor. Life will always give you a taste of every feeling, of every emotion.

Their unfaithfulness is out of my control. I did not wish nor hope for it. Who would’ve? It’s like a burning fire with endless flames and ashes. A fire that will end, but will eventually light up again when triggered. Yet it taught me lessons in ways I never imagined. Mixed pieces of a shattered lantern is, and will always cut deep in my heart. They may shrink, but will never disappear. I may forgive them for what they had done, but I will never forget the pain they brought to our family.

What remains is not the glow of love, but the sharp edges of a memory. Ang hirap maghilom ng malalim na sugat.

[chinnyea]

Are Hot Desires Worth a Million Pennies? 

Where do men even find the audacity to objectify women? They have daughters, a wife, and a mother — yet, is shame no longer a thing? Does decency not exist in this patriarchal world? 

Politicians like Mr. Suntay are not merely slaves to money but slaves to perversity. How can a man — especially a “politician” — speak of his desires for an innocent woman inside a respected room? It is not only about voicing his dirty remarks, but about the very act of entertaining such shameful, perverted thoughts. Really, in Women’s Month?

 

It does not end there. How can the people inside that room have the guts to laugh at his vile desires, as if it were a funny story? As if it did not objectify women? As if it did not publicly humiliate his wife, his daughters, and his mother? Worse still, some of those who laughed were women. Was that laughter born of genuine amusement, or of misplaced respect? Let me remind you — holding a government position does not equate to respect. And whatever position you have, even if you’re just an ordinary man, should never tolerate a perverted mind.   

To Mr. Suntay, what you did was not just a humiliation to your family, but a strong proof of your good-for-nothing position. If you do not have anything good to say to the Filipino people, if you do not have anything good to do for the sake of our drowning country, then shut your corrupt tongue. You’re just making it shameful for Filipinos to live in a country where men like you turn power into a weapon of disrespect. 

Have an ounce of dignity. You’re disgusting. 

Another embarrassment to the Philippine government, by the way.

Photo by: GMA News

[chinnyea]

Echoing Whispers

‎starry night with drops of tears, ‎my heart’s aching and full of fears. ‎clouds as thick as the misery,  ‎shadows whisper anguish quietly. ‎ ‎the sky bruised with a torpor, ‎eyes sagging out of the clamor. ‎leaves of lethargy drift and fall, ‎my mind’s lost in twilight’s thrall. ‎ ‎yet, flowers of promise bloom amidst the storm. ‎here i am wishing for a life transformed ‎where tenderness breathes in every leaf, ‎and nights anchored in faith with liberating relief.  and still, the stars align above, constellations seeking love. ‎the moon glistening with silver grace, lighting brightly the marks of my trace.

Photo source: Pinterest

[chinnyea]

The Art of Carrying Memories

If we are talking about full-time presence, count me in. I don't have hands or feet, but I've already wandered around Tagaytay. Can you believe that? The cold air, the smell of tasty dishes, the skin of my owner, and even the dirt are all clinging onto me. But I could not be more thankful for it. Being on my owner's shoulder allowed me to appreciate the beauty of Taal, the horses in Picnic Groove, and even the happiness of the people around me! I would never have thought that the effort of carrying my owner's things would bring me to the magical place of memories and cold comfort.

Clinging onto my owner's shoulder gave me nothing but the fulfilling beauty of every place that we visited in Tagaytay. The quiet silence in the church, the laughter of the people, the soft breeze of the air, and the smoke from different dishes all cling to my leather skin. But, I'm not complaining! It was a unique experience that fed me with Tagaytay's magical feeling. Even the fog at night? My skin witnessed that! It's very fulfilling to feel the things, the events, and the people my owner cherishes, even just through my leather skin. What’s more is — even when I'm just quietly sitting on top of a luggage, I'm still able to gather fantastic memories that will forever linger on my skin. I may have dirt all around me, but it does not equate to the experience I had. Clinging peacefully on my owner's arm enabled me to witness various cultures and scenarios. Even without eyes, the power of being a bag is to visit and remember a place not through vision but through physical contact.

I thought my sole responsibility was to carry my owner's things, but I was wrong. I was also responsible for gathering her beautiful memories in Tagaytay and keeping them safe with me. Tagaytay is not just another place I visited. It's more of a proof of life, that cold air exists, that enjoyment is not just for people, and that memories can stick to a bag. And if my owner were to ask me if I want to be used again, I would gladly say yes and be with her. Tagaytay allowed me to gather various encounters and physical feelings, but most importantly, cherished memories.

[chinnyea]

The Weight of Stillness

Being stuck in the same situation is a whole other level of tiredness. A whole other level of pain. It’s like fighting for change that will never happen. It makes you miserable, it makes you tired, and it makes you bleed. One day, you’ll beg the heavens to help you get out of it, and the next, you’ll just accept defeat. You’ll lie down on your bed, look at the ceiling, take a long, deep breath, and cry without tears. And that’s what makes it difficult — wanting to move but not being able to, because of the pain.

Isn’t it ironic? You are stuck, but you’re waiting for something to stop. Yet no one knows when it will stop. And no one knows when it will change. You just sit there waiting for the same energy and effort you give to someone. Slowly, tiredness and bitterness begin to eat you alive, piece by piece, until you can no longer endure the pain and complacency, until you can no longer endure the monster growing inside the silence.

[chinnyea]

What For?

What’s the point of this life I own?

Will I continue to hold on, or just throw a heavy stone?

But one thing’s surely clear — I live among men,

Trying to think with a serious pen.

What’s the point of this life if success means all?

What’s the meaning of standing proud and tall?

“You must be this, you must be that,”

Lyrics I hear like a song so flat.

What if I can’t reach your expected height?

If I fail, should I just end the fight?

I don’t understand why I’m here at all,

What’s the point if I won’t be able to stand tall?

Why’s it so hard to breathe in a world of perfection?

Why was I born in this cruel direction?

What’s the use of defeat if I must excel?

I’m tired of chasing medals as well.

Sometimes I wonder what it feels to be gone,

To rest forever, no dusk, no dawn.

But it’s my fault, I built this cage,

Trapped in the crowd’s demanding stage.

So now I ask, what’s life worth to me?

If losing means death, then where’s victory?

Without the medals, without the cheer,

Does my heart still matter here?

If I’m not the hero in the world’s eyes,

Am I alive, or just a ghost that dies?

Waiting in silence, ready to quit,

What’s the point of living if fire of success won’t lit?

[chinnyea]

Unsent Postcard to My Younger Self

Will forever and ever love Zambales ⋆𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

[chinnyea]

Comfort in a Circle

Chocolate Bavarian Donut by Denise Centeno

A donut is more than a sweet treat; it is a circle of comfort that carries memory, joy, and connection. Sinking your teeth into a happy haus chocolate donut with a tasty Bavarian filling gives an extraordinary feeling. But it’s more than that. It’s more than just an affordable “merienda” in the Philippines. It’s more than just dough and chocolate. It is a symbol of joy, nostalgia, and community. A simple, sweet food has the power to provide healing, comfort, and satisfaction. A donut is a hug in food form — a small spherical universe of sweetness. Compared to other sweets, donut shines like no other. Everything I’m looking for is already inside its circle of magic. The softness, creaminess, feeling, and emotion it sparks. And of course, the idea of it being given by someone I cherish makes it even more fulfilling. It’s not just a donut — there is something even more magical beyond its sweetness and taste.

The outer layer, rich with cocoa sweetness, gives way to a soft, pillowy interior. Biting it comes with a surprise — inside is a creamy, thick custard that melts into one’s tongue. One bite leads to one calm feeling — ease. Along with its taste, the sugary, yeasty aroma excites me most before I bite into its chewy, soft base. The glossy sheen and faint crackle of chocolate as teeth sink in give a feeling of contentment as it gives warmth on my fingertips. The way the Bavarian filling spreads into my mouth makes me crave more. The boldness of chocolate against the gentle creaminess of custard creates a luxurious contrast of taste. Yet, it still manages to deliver a sweeter taste, proving that not everything different lacks beauty. Sometimes, it is the two different combinations that create the most magical flavor, feeling, and comfort. Just like in life, boldness and gentleness are needed to achieve balance. Without the other one, it will be plain, boring, and out of life.

The satisfaction of biting the dough brings me to heaven. Its fluffy base, combined with soft chocolate and a silky Bavarian filling, includes a unique ingredient that vanishes all my problems in an instant. This idea is the strongest power of a donut — it is made to provide comfort, but it also magically makes me forget the things I needed comfort about. Back when I was in junior high school, my father would buy a box of 12 after my online class. And with just one bite, all the stress and tiredness were completely changed with happiness, energy, and comfort. Even during my lowest lows, donuts serve as a shoulder to cry on, advising me with sweetness. It’s like a temporary escape that leaves an everlasting impact on my taste buds, and proof that small joys matter. This effect is not always found in ordinary food, thus making this chocolate donut special and memorable.

Photo source: Pinterest

More than the feelings and taste is the story. The sweetness of the donut resonates with that of my classmate, who gave me this thoughtful, tasty snack. Donut, for me, does not just make a one-time feeling; it creates a mark on my tongue, my heart, and my mind. It becomes a part of my memory beyond the cocoa and custard — the effort and thought of the sweet person who thought of giving me such a masterpiece. As someone with a sweet tooth, I value not just its fit with my preferences but also the idea behind each sweet and the person behind it. Receiving a chocolate donut from someone I enjoy being with and someone I spent a trip with is another level of richness. It makes the chocolate more luscious, and the custard creamier. The donut becomes a symbol of friendship, creating a memory that will last.

Yet, more than comfort, a donut is an art. The patterns of the heart above the chocolate serve as a reminder that sometimes there is nothing that can provide happiness and contentment but a donut. Beyond art, it’s also a language — a way of saying ‘I care’ and ‘I’m here.’ Thus, it heals parts of me that ordinary food cannot. It is a crafted masterpiece that brings back my joy. The balance of textures, the harmony of flavors, and the precision of its filling show the artistry of baking. To call a donut “just a food” means underestimating the creativity and expertise that transform simple ingredients into something magical.

The chocolate Bavarian donut is more than a “merienda”. It is comfort, memory, art, and principles encircled in one. It speaks of the giver’s thoughts, the beautiful memories, the baker’s artistry, and my own longing for sweetness and balance in life. In its heavenly softness and richness is a quiet reminder that sometimes, the simplest things carry the deepest meaning and give extreme happiness. A donut may vanish in minutes, but its taste and sweetness linger far longer on my tongue, in my heart, and in my memory.

[chinnyea]

DALAGA

In a traditional household filled with old views, biased perceptions, and questionable opinions, being a transgender woman is considered nefarious and disrespectful. Tradition, for them, was not questioned — it was inherited. Men marry women, and women marry men. This old belief, passed down like an heirloom, left no room for Riah’s difference at first — for the change she was aiming for. For her family, acceptance is not accepting her for who she wants to be, but rather accepting herself for who she truly was in the beginning. They perceive this idea if it favors their beliefs, but ignore it if it was asked by her, a person who wants to live freely and happily.

Growing up, Riah knew and felt who she was in the very beginning. With her talent for dancing, her family knew that her actions were feminine, unlike those of any other boy. She would sway her body like a woman and imitate her girl cousins. Dressing and embodying femininity caught the attention of her father — not because of pride, but because of disfavor. She’s also her father’s daughter, but why can’t she get the attention, love, and acceptance that her father gives to her cousins? His disapproval filled Riah’s life with fear. To avoid every hurtful knock and to shield herself from her father’s cruel words, Riah chose to stay silent in her closet through countless seasons.

But not all secrets are meant to be hidden. Some are meant to be displayed — to be worn. Yet, just as the rainbow touched Riah’s clothes, the echoes of hateful words and unsolicited opinions from Riah’s relatives stuck in her mind.

“Bakit gan’yan ang suot mo, e mukha ka namang lalaki?”.

Those simple words crushed her soul. Her confidence was shattered. Why can’t she chase freedom? It keeps running away like a kite cut loose from its string. Does being a transwoman mean her blood is suddenly less important? In the eyes of those who dismiss her, she is treated like refuse — discarded, unseen, as if her humanity could be stripped away with a single cruel gesture.

At family gatherings, the air thickened with unspoken disapproval. Her aunt’s eyes darted away, and her grandmother’s words cut deep in her heart. It was as if a virus called “homophobia” spread, so that his father could not even be near him because of his unacceptance. The shadow of fear keeps following her, and bars of disappointment locked her up in a room of silence and loneliness. The remaining piece of dignity in her closet was even snatched by her grandmother’s malice-laden speech, stitched together from old and biblical sermons, fighting for something beyond her control. That moment cut the string of patience she was holding onto. Riah became avoidant — she stopped crying over her relative’s foul words, she stopped pleading for understanding, and she stopped asking for compassion. She made herself an army to live in a house that became a battlefield of glances and unspoken judgments.

Riah learned to quietly disappear in corners while still yearning for serenity. She treated loneliness as an ingredient that will make herself happy, free, and at peace. At the same time, being inside her closet, waving the rainbow flag quietly is a key to her returned confidence. Moving forward is not a sign of weakness — rather, it is a testament of growth, strength, and firmness to pursuing what she wants to be.

Amidst her father’s spiteful words, it is indeed true that no parent can endure their daughter. It may hide in the most guilty moments of her father, but pride eventually comes up when love takes place.

“Mga kumpare, dalaga na inaanak niyo.”

These are the exact words that came out of his mouth — words that changed his beliefs. Words that changed his views. And words that accepted his daughter. Behind the old disappointment was a sitting truth that identity cannot be imposed. Only Riah can define herself, and only she can carry the truth of her becoming. What once was shadowed by fear now shines in her own light. Behind her rainbow flag and colorful clothes, she had learned to ignore the deep cutting words that once shattered her heart into pieces. Because true happiness, for her, is not the acceptance of each family member — rather, it is the freedom of wearing her identity. She may have faced devastating opinions that broke her, but her pride screams louder than shame and affection.

Despite the weight of challenges and sting of discrimination, Riah pursued her goal — to keep her identity strong. No one can strip it from her, not even the harshness of society, nor the imposed opinions of her own family. Taking a few steps backward from those who deem her unworthy just because of being a transgender woman is not rude — it is self-preservation. If only she could wind the clock backward, she wished for a past reshaped — one where kindness softened her family’s words and love was not withheld.

At the end, she was embraced not in a shadow of empathy, but in her own shadow where both her choice and happiness reflected the feeling of freedom. That acceptance carried the weight of happiness, a silent triumph after a time of being looked down upon, hated, and discriminated. More than anything, she longed to be loved wholly not only for who she chose to be, but for being someone else’s granddaughter, daughter, niece, and sister. And in that fragile bit of hope, she wished her family would trust her promise to make amends, to prove that dignity is not inherited from old beliefs, but is formed from acceptance, confidence, and pride.

Transgender women may not scream perfection, but they all deserve the love and freedom that ordinary men and women receive. Acceptance should have no gender. It should be free, unconditional, and rooted in humanity. Dignity is not a privilege reserved for a few; it is a right that belongs to all. To welcome them wholly is to affirm that love knows no beliefs, views, or opinions. Freedom is strongest when it is shared, not when it is resented.

Photo source: Pinterest