Evangeline's Diary

Diary acc :) no replies or follow back, I just write & log out. Feel free to unfollow 🤍

[misseuxevangeline]

06-23-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Life is mad, but I think I am madder.

Or maybe I cannot even say that confidently yet—

because I have not even finished my life.

I have not found my purpose.

I have not figured anything out.

So what right do I have to declare anything at all?

Well, dear Keeper…

I do not really know what to say today.

I made paper stars.

Fold after fold, trying to make something small and meaningful out of patience.

But I could not even last an hour.

I lose interest too quickly.

Too easily.

Like everything slips out of my hands before it becomes something real.

And I wonder if that says something about me.

Or if it is just one of those days where everything feels a little too heavy to hold onto.

Either way—

I am here.

Still figuring things out.

Still folding stars that never quite stay in shape.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

[misseuxevangeline]

06-21-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

I really need to go out.

To sit by the ocean.

To inhale the salty air until my lungs remember how to breathe.

There is something in my life right now that feels unbearably suffocating, and the worst part is—

I do not even know what it is.

I just know that something inside me feels too tight.

Too crowded.

Too heavy.

And whenever life begins to feel this way, my mind always returns to the same place:

the ocean.

Maybe because it has always known how to quiet me.

How to hold all the noise inside my head and return it to me as something softer.

Something I can survive.

I want to sit by the shore alone.

To eat in silence.

To let the wind touch my face and the waves speak louder than my thoughts.

To exist for a little while without minding the people around me.

Without explaining myself.

Without carrying anything except the sound of the sea and the weight of my own breathing.

Maybe that is all I need.

Not answers.

Not understanding.

Just the ocean,

and a version of me that can finally breathe again.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

[misseuxevangeline]

06-20-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

I have many friends.

More than I deserve, perhaps.

And yet, if I found myself at my lowest point tonight, I do not know who I would call.

Not because there is no one.

But because I do not want to inconvenience anyone.

Or maybe that is only half the truth.

Perhaps the other half is that I do not know who I am to them.

I am everyone's friend.

But am I anyone's first choice?

Anyone's best friend?

Anyone's person?

And who am I to call and ask for comfort when I do not even know the place I hold in their lives?

What right do I have to interrupt their day with my sadness?

But maybe that is not the real reason either.

Maybe the truth is much uglier.

Because I know friendship is not a one-way street.

It is give and take.

If I call them when I am at my lowest, then someday they may call me when they are at theirs.

And the thought unsettles me.

Not because I dislike them.

Not because I am unwilling to listen.

But because I do not know if I have the capacity for it.

I am carrying enough of my own weight already.

Some days, even my own thoughts exhaust me.

How can I carry another person's too?

And then the guilt arrives.

The voice that tells me I am selfish.

Insensitive.

A terrible friend.

A person who receives warmth but struggles to return it in equal measure.

A person who loves people, but only from a distance.

And perhaps that is why I keep everyone at arm's length.

Not because I hate connection.

But because deep connection feels expensive.

It asks for parts of me I am not always willing—or able—to give.

Sometimes I wonder if something is wrong with me.

Because people speak about deep human connection as if it is a necessity.

A hunger.

A need.

And while I understand it—

I do not crave it the way they do.

Or perhaps I do, but only in small doses.

Only when it is safe.

Only when it asks little of me.

Because truthfully?

I love being alone.

I love the silence.

The freedom.

No explanations.

No obligations.

No emotional debts to repay.

Just me.

And maybe that does not make me heartless.

Maybe it simply means I have spent so long relying on myself that solitude stopped feeling lonely and started feeling like home.

Still—

I cannot help but wonder sometimes:

Is loving my own company a strength?

Or is it merely loneliness that learned how to survive?

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-19-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

I have a theory.

Every woman who says she does not want a relationship is secretly a yearner.

Not because she does not want love.

But because wanting and pursuing are two entirely different things.

Life gives us countless reasons not to enter a relationship.

Goals.

Responsibilities.

Fear.

Distance.

Timing.

The endless list of things that convince us to wait.

But nothing—

absolutely nothing—

stops us from yearning.

And perhaps that is the cruelest part.

Because yearning asks for nothing.

It does not demand commitment.

It does not require certainty.

It simply exists.

Quietly.

Patiently.

Relentlessly.

I have yearned for someone for so long that sometimes I become frustrated with myself.

Because the truth is embarrassingly simple:

I was in love.

Perhaps I still am.

And there is nothing I can do about it.

I have goals I need to chase.

Worries I need to carry.

A future I am still trying to build.

Love was never supposed to be at the center of my life right now.

Yet somehow, it found a place anyway.

So I do the only thing I know how to do.

I yearn.

I yearn for the future.

I yearn for possibilities.

I yearn for the version of life where there is an us.

Not now.

Maybe not soon.

But someday.

And perhaps that hope is enough to keep the feeling alive.

Because if we are meant to be—

then we are meant to be.

If our paths are meant to cross again,

they will.

If there is a future waiting for us,

time will find a way to bring us there.

Still—

for all the confidence I try to carry,

there is one truth I cannot hide.

A small, frightened confession I rarely allow myself to say aloud:

I think I will cry if there is never an us.

Not because love is everything.

Not because my life depends on it.

But because some people become woven so deeply into your hopes that losing them feels like losing a future you quietly cherished.

And that,

keeper,

is a heartbreaking thing to grieve.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-18-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

I have been sharing my thoughts here for quite some time now.

My fears.

My confusion.

My unsettled feelings.

The parts of myself I struggle to understand.

And I hope you know that I do not share these things to burden anyone.

Not to dump my problems onto strangers.

Not to seek validation for every emotion I feel.

And certainly not to drain those who happen to read my words.

But if my thoughts have ever reached you carrying more sadness than comfort—

then I am sorry.

Because that was never my intention.

The truth is, I write because I remember what it feels like to think you are the only one.

The only one who is afraid.

The only one who feels lost.

The only one who lies awake questioning yourself long after everyone else seems to have figured life out.

And perhaps that is why I keep writing.

Because if someone stumbles across these words at the right moment—

maybe they will realize what I am slowly learning too:

You are not alone.

You are not the only one who is afraid.

You are not the only one carrying fears you cannot explain.

You are not strange for feeling overwhelmed.

You are not broken for questioning yourself.

And you are certainly not the only person trying to make sense of life while pretending you already know how.

We all fear something.

We all carry burdens no one else can see.

We all have nights where uncertainty feels heavier than hope.

And perhaps that is what connects us.

Not our similarities.

But our shared humanity.

The fact that we are aware of what we feel.

The fact that we continue moving forward despite our fears.

The fact that we keep searching for answers, even when none arrive.

So if these words somehow found you when you needed them most—

then let this be the thing you take away:

You are not alone.

You never were.

And I hope, keeper,

that this little blog reaches those who need it.

Just as much as I needed it when I first began writing.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-17-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

There are things that time cannot simply heal.

People often say that time heals all wounds.

But the more time passes, the weaker and more unsettled I feel.

Because some fears do not fade with time.

Some fears grow alongside it.

I fear adulthood.

Its responsibilities.

Its demands.

The way it expects you to know where you are going.

The way it assumes your childhood and teenage years have prepared you for the world waiting outside.

Time has been moving faster than ever lately.

Ticking.

Clicking.

Rushing forward without pause.

And with every passing day, it feels as though it is hurrying me toward adulthood whether I am ready or not.

This fear inside me—

time cannot heal it.

Because the closer adulthood comes, the louder the fear becomes.

I keep looking back at my childhood and teenage years, wondering if I wasted them.

Wondering if I should have done more.

Learned more.

Become more.

I do not feel prepared to face the world.

Its responsibilities.

Its uncertainties.

My purpose.

And as time continues to race ahead, I find myself standing still, feeling less healed than before.

People say fear exists because there is someone you want to impress.

And perhaps they are right.

Not because I am trying to impress others—

but because I am trying to impress the person I hoped I would become.

I am afraid of facing the reality that I have not done anything I consider worthwhile.

Afraid that I have not become a better person.

Not for myself.

Not for others.

Afraid that I have spent years existing without building a life I can proudly call my own.

And perhaps that is why time feels so frightening.

Because every tomorrow feels like another chance I cannot afford to waste.

Still—

if time truly heals, as people say it does,

then I hope tomorrow brings more than just another passing day.

I hope it brings clarity.

Purpose.

A direction worth following.

Because I do not want to walk blindly into the uncertainties of life.

I want to meet them with open eyes.

Even if I am afraid.

Especially if I'm afraid.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-16-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

If there is one c-drama I would recommend with my whole heart, it would be The Best Thing.

Truly—

the best thing I have watched in a long while.

No exaggeration.

It has quietly become my comfort drama, the kind I revisit whenever life feels too heavy, whenever I need something soft to return to.

And perhaps what makes it comforting is its slowness.

The pacing is gentle.

Unhurried.

Nothing too loud, nothing too dramatic—

just enough warmth to make you stay.

And honestly?

I think all of us deserve to experience the kind of love He Suye gives Shen Xifan.

The kind of love that feels patient.

Steady.

Safe.

The kind that makes you believe softness still exists.

And the female lead?

Oh, I adore her.

Her style.

Her face.

Her smile.

Everything about her is just—

chef’s kiss.

I do not think I have moved on from this drama.

Or perhaps—

I simply refuse to.

Maybe that is why I keep returning to it.

Because some stories become places.

And some characters quietly stay with you long after the ending.

Though if I am being honest—

I think this drama also made me yearn a little.

For a love like that.

For someone like He Suye.

Someone gentle.

Someone who stays.

So yes—

you should try watching it.

But fair warning:

If you want excitement, chaos, or nonstop drama—

this one may not be for you.

Its beauty lies in its quietness.

Okay, keeper.

Good night.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

[misseuxevangeline]

06-15-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

Being the eldest daughter of an eldest daughter feels like a curse, does it not?

Or perhaps—

a responsibility passed down so quietly that no one notices when it becomes heavy.

My mother grew up learning not to depend on anyone.

And somehow, without meaning to, she handed that lesson to me too.

To need little.

To ask for less.

To carry things alone.

To convince myself that I can do this by myself, because why inconvenience others?

Why burden people with things I should be strong enough to carry?

And perhaps that lesson made me strong.

But it also made me tired.

Because somewhere along the way, strength became loneliness dressed as capability.

And the cruelest part?

I think I passed pieces of that loneliness onto my brothers.

I expected them to know things on their own.

To endure.

To figure it out.

Because I did.

I made it through alone—

so why couldn’t they?

Why ask for help when the answer seemed obvious?

Why struggle when it felt easy?

But perhaps it only felt easy because I had no choice but to learn.

Growing up, attention was rarely mine to keep.

It belonged to someone younger.

Someone who needed more.

And I understood.

I was the eldest.

The eldest adjusts.

The eldest waits.

The eldest paves the way.

That is what they say, isn’t it?

You go first so others may walk more easily behind you.

And I hate admitting this—

but paving the way was difficult.

It was lonely.

And I did it mostly alone.

For myself.

So others could follow without stumbling where I did.

Should I feel proud?

Maybe.

But pride feels strangely distant when all that remains is exhaustion.

When strength no longer feels admirable—

only expected.

And here I am now,

not asking for solutions,

only kneeling quietly for understanding.

Because some inheritances do not look like jewelry or land.

Some inheritances arrive disguised as survival.

As silence.

As carrying too much.

A curse, indeed.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-14-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

Recently, I have been wanting to disappear.

Not in the dramatic sense—

or maybe a little.

I do not know anymore.

I just want to leave.

To escape reality for a while.

To vanish from the version of me everyone seems to already know and expects me to remain.

I want to do the things I have longed to do.

To become someone different.

To break expectations—

everyone else’s, perhaps even my own.

Because lately, it feels like I am living inside constant fear.

Fear shaped by expectations.

Their voices echoing even when no one is speaking:

You cannot be that.

You should be this.

You must become someone else.

And somehow—

it is suffocating.

I think I have been afraid ever since I realized people had expectations of me.

Ever since I understood that disappointing people was apparently something to fear.

There seem to be only two ways to survive it:

Either stop caring about what they think—

or turn their expectations into motivation.

But how can expectations become motivation when they are asking me to become someone I never wanted to be?

How do I chase a destination that does not feel like mine?

And maybe that is the real exhaustion:

Not failing expectations—

but carrying dreams that never belonged to me in the first place.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-13-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Keeper,

Lately, there has been this strange, overwhelming urge inside me—

the feminine urge to do anything.

Anything at all.

Something reckless.

Something spontaneous.

Something I have always been too scared to try.

And yet—

I want to do it.

I want to do it scared.

Because perhaps courage was never about fearlessness.

Perhaps courage is simply fear wearing determination like borrowed armor.

And maybe—

fun only exists on the other side of fear.

Life is full of wonders, is it not?

Greens stretching endlessly.

Roads I have never walked.

Cities breathing stories I have never touched.

People becoming versions of themselves they once only dreamed of.

So why am I here?

Inside these four-cornered walls—

watching life through a screen as if I am merely a visitor in it.

Trapping myself.

But for what?

Fear?

Comfort?

Laziness?

Or the terrifying possibility that if I finally try and fail, I would have nothing left to blame except myself?

And truthfully—

I want money.

I want freedom.

I want to stop asking permission from circumstances before I allow myself to live.

But in order to have money—

I have to work.

And the frustrating part?

I know I can do it.

I know I am capable.

Yet somehow, I remain still.

Suspended.

Like a person standing before a door they desperately want opened, while refusing to turn the handle.

Am I lazy?

Or am I simply overwhelmed?

Scared?

Too comfortable in the familiar sadness of staying still?

Really though, keeper—

what does one do when they want everything, yet cannot seem to move toward anything at all?

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-12-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Life is truly full of wonders, is it not?

Today, I found myself reading my friend’s writings.

Their words were filled with advice.

Guidance.

Lessons wrapped carefully in certainty.

Meanwhile, mine—

mine are filled with problems.

Questions without answers.

Thoughts unraveling themselves in circles.

A collection of quiet confessions stitched together by confusion.

And somehow, I could not help but wonder:

What happened to me?

Or perhaps—

What could I have done differently?

There is this lyric by Taylor Swift that has been lingering in my mind lately:

“Never take advice from someone who’s falling apart.”

And perhaps that is why I hesitate.

Because truthfully—

I think I have been falling apart for longer than I can remember.

Quietly.

Gradually.

In ways no one truly notices.

So how can someone like me offer wisdom?

How can trembling hands point others toward certainty?

And even when advice comes sincerely—

kindly—

with genuine care—

why does it struggle to reach me?

Why do words that comfort others seem to dissolve before they settle inside me?

Perhaps motivation simply cannot survive where exhaustion has quietly made itself at home.

Or perhaps—

I am simply difficult to save.

Life continues to place me in situations I do not understand.

Feelings I cannot explain.

Thoughts I cannot untangle.

And maybe that is what unsettles me the most:

The realization that I am moving through life not with understanding—

but with guessing.

As though I am merely an ignorant being trying to make sense of a world that always seems one step ahead of me.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-10-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Lord, I place this quietly into Your hands, though mine are trembling.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

[misseuxevangeline]

06-08-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Good evening, keeper.

Deep reflections have been put on hold today.

Strangely enough—

I do not feel guilty about it.

Anime episodes blurred into one another, manhwa chapters carried me somewhere far from myself, and for once, I let them. I let fiction take my hand and guide me away from the endless corridors of my own mind.

Away from the questions.

Away from the realizations waiting for me.

Away from myself.

Those thoughts still lingered, of course.

They always do.

Quietly waiting for nightfall, hiding in shadows, appearing in dreams like old ghosts who somehow know where I live.

But miraculously—

they did not disturb me today.

Or perhaps they tried, and for once, I was too occupied to listen.

And maybe that says something about me.

Maybe I run.

Maybe I avoid.

Maybe distractions have become temporary shelters dressed as comfort.

But today—

I do not mind.

Because this is the first peaceful day I have had in a long while.

The first day my chest did not feel unbearably heavy.

The first day silence did not immediately turn into overthinking.

And honestly?

I think I needed this.

I love distractions.

Not because they solve anything—

they do not.

But because sometimes, surviving the day is simply choosing not to drown in yourself for a while.

And today,

for once—

I floated.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-07-26

To the keeper of my thoughts

Lately, people have been talking about avoidant attachment as if it were a language everyone suddenly learned to speak.

And me—

I only knew the word existed.

Nothing more.

I never bothered to understand it.

Never thought to sit with its meaning.

Until today.

And today, I did.

I wish I could say it felt comforting.

That understanding myself brought relief.

But instead, it frightened me.

My chest tightened.

My heart raced in ways I could not calm.

My stomach twisted as if something inside me had finally been named, and naming it somehow made it more real.

Because for the first time in a long while—

I understood something about myself.

Or at least, I think I did.

And truthfully?

It scared me.

Because suddenly, so many things made sense.

Why I crave closeness only to retreat from it.

Why I want to be understood, yet hide the very parts begging to be seen.

And in that realization, an ugly thought quietly slipped into my mind:

Maybe I really am the problem.

Maybe all this time—

it has been me.

The walls.

The disappearing.

The inconsistency.

The fear disguised as indifference.

And somehow, that realization hurt more than not knowing.

Because deep down—

I think I have always hoped someone would find me here.

Behind the walls I built so carefully.

Walls made of hesitation.

Silence.

Humor.

Distance.

Walls I swore were there to protect me.

Though sometimes I wonder if they have only kept me lonely.

And still—

there is a part of me hoping.

Praying.

Wishing.

That maybe someday, someone will stand before these walls and decide I am worth climbing toward.

Someone patient enough to wonder what hides behind them.

Someone brave enough to stay.

But what can I do—

if people only ever climb halfway?

If they leave before reaching whatever frightened, complicated thing waits behind the stone?

Maybe it is a curse.

To be wanted, but not chosen.

To be liked, but never pursued.

To be seen, but never fully reached.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-06-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

Cutting people off has never been difficult for me.

And perhaps that says something about me.

Or perhaps, it says everything.

I am the kind of friend who overshares, but only to a certain point. The kind who lets people close enough to feel warmth, but never close enough to touch whatever sits underneath.

I have friends.

A lot of them, actually.

People laugh with me.

Talk to me.

Stay.

But sometimes, I wonder if they truly know me.

Because if needed—

I think I could let all of them go.

And that thought terrifies me.

People come, people go.

I learned that lesson too early, or maybe I accepted it too quickly.

Maybe I held onto it so tightly that before connections could fully bloom, some part of me had already prepared for their ending.

I tell myself I care.

And I think I do.

But in ways that confuse me.

When people tell me sad stories, I listen. I respond the way people are supposed to respond. I say the comforting things. I wear the right expressions.

But sometimes, privately, I wonder—

Why do I not feel what they feel?

Why does their sadness not settle inside me the way it seems to settle inside everyone else?

Am I insensitive?

Selfish?

Broken in some invisible way?

Sometimes, I convince myself there must be something wrong with me.

That maybe I am incapable of feeling deeply for others.

That maybe I only know how to love myself.

That my own survival, my own peace, my own feelings will always come first.

And I hate admitting that.

Because what kind of person does that make me?

Sometimes I wonder if I am simply built differently.

If there is a reason I struggle to put myself in someone else's shoes.

What happened to me that made me like this?

Or maybe—

this is simply who I have always been.

And if it is—

why does it scare me so much?

Because despite everything I say—

I do not think someone completely devoid of care would be this disturbed by the possibility.

Someone who truly felt nothing would not stay awake questioning whether they are still human.

Yet here I am.

Confused.

Contradicting myself.

Saying, I love my friends.

Then whispering, Do I?

Saying, I care about them.

Then wondering, Why does it not feel the way people describe care?

And maybe the truth is not that I do not care.

Maybe I just do not understand the shape my caring takes.

Still—

I hope none of my friends ever read this.

Because I know these words would hurt them.

And maybe the cruelest part is this:

The fact that I do not fully understand myself enough to explain what I mean.

I do—

and I do not.

I care—

and I do not.

I love—

and I do not.

I don’t—

I don’t know.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-05-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

They say being easily attached is a curse.

That all it takes is one conversation, one moment, one small act of kindness — and suddenly, you find yourself depending on someone who barely knows the weight they now carry in your heart.

I think I am that kind of person.

One glance.

One smile.

One conversation stretched too long.

One lingering eye contact—

and somehow, I am already attached.

Already wondering.

Already caring more than I should.

Sometimes I wonder if it is because I have always longed for love.

Or maybe because somewhere deep inside me, I have been desperate to know what it feels like to be chosen. To stay. To be stayed for.

But the strange thing is—

I cannot commit.

The faster I become attached,

the faster I pull away.

The deeper I fall,

the quicker I disappear.

It is almost cruel.

How I can crave closeness so badly, yet fear it the moment it begins to feel real.

How I can love loudly today—

and grow silent tomorrow.

How I can show up with warmth,

only to vanish without warning.

People say being easily attached is the curse.

But I do not think that is mine.

At least, not entirely.

The real curse, I think, is inconsistency.

I want closeness, yet I run from it.

I offer love, then retreat before it asks me to stay.

I let people meet fragments of me—

never the whole.

And truthfully?

I am scared.

Scared that one day someone will finally care enough to stay, only to discover I do not know how.

And perhaps what hurts the most is this:

No one seems to understand this side of me.

But then again—

how could they?

When even I cannot understand myself.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.

[misseuxevangeline]

06-04-26

To the keeper of my thoughts,

I miss someone.

But the strange thing is—

I do not know who.

Lately, I have been listening to relapse songs, the kind that wrap around your ribs and settle somewhere painfully familiar. Their melodies are dangerously beautiful — the kind that linger long after the music stops, the kind that ache.

And somehow, every time I listen, I find myself longing.

For someone.

Someone I cannot name.

My mind tries to shape a person from the feeling, but the image remains blurred — unfinished, distant, as if covered in fog. A silhouette my heart somehow recognizes, yet my memory has never met.

And still—

I miss them.

I miss someone I do not know, and every time I do, my chest aches in ways I cannot explain.

So who am I mourning?

Is it my future love — someone I have yet to meet, yet somehow already grieve from afar?

Or perhaps I am grieving the chances I let slip through my hands — the people I could have loved, but never allowed myself to stay for.

Or maybe—

it is the ache of what could have been but never was.

Maybe I am haunted by possibilities.

By alternate versions of myself who said yes instead of no. Who stayed instead of leaving. Who loved instead of hesitating.

But no.

That cannot be it.

Because if it were, surely my mind would offer faces.

Surely memory would be kinder and give shape to the ghosts.

Yet all I have is blur.

So maybe my mind refuses because there was never anyone there to remember.

Or maybe—

it refuses because deep down, I do not want to know.

I miss someone I do not know.

I miss moments I never lived.

I miss conversations that never happened, hands I never held, versions of love I never touched.

I miss something I cannot name.

Something I cannot keep.

Something I cannot even hold.

And here I am—

confused.

Wondering what exactly I could have done to deserve this kind of longing for something that may have never existed at all.

Until the next page,

Evangeline

.