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When My Real Name Became the Mask

I spent most of my life with personal social media accounts I never actually felt at home in. I posted the things people were “supposed” to post — school, career updates, relationship milestones — but it always felt like putting myself on display in a marketplace. A catalog of life instead of a life.

The only thing that ever felt real were the pen‑pal style connections from the early internet, before everything became curated and performative.

Somewhere along the way, especially after my marriage ended, I stopped showing people my life. I stopped posting where I went, what I had, what I achieved. None of it felt meaningful or in the moment anymore.

Now I don’t have my name anywhere online. I use my pseudonym — Jade — on Tumblr, Instagram, and YouTube. And strangely, it’s the name I’ve grown into. The one that feels like me.

My real name has become the mask. When people say it in real life, they’re talking to the version of me that exists for them — not the person I actually am. The true me lives under my pseudonym, where no coworkers, relatives, or acquaintances can find me.

It’s odd, but freeing.

The ghost version of me is the one tied to my legal name.

The living version is Jade.

Questioning the Question: Why Intent Matters in Every Study.

Always ask yourself: What’s the intent of this study?

This piece explores how intent shapes research, belief, and social narratives — and why asking why matters as much as asking what.

This is an important question to revisit because time keeps teaching us that knowledge—especially about history, anthropology, and the sciences—is never static. Information about human behavior, biology, and society constantly evolves as new discoveries refine what we thought we knew. Fields such as medicine, physiology, psychology, sociology, and nutrition are always expanding. The picture of existence keeps getting updated.

Acknowledging that expansiveness requires humility. Humanity is still at the beginning of understanding itself and the universe. Each year, we learn more, and that’s why I hold the mindset that we shouldn’t deny something’s existence until we can prove it doesn’t.

Take radio waves as an example: they existed long before we invented radios to detect and use them. Similarly, we can’t categorically deny the possibility of a cosmic creator, spirits, or other unseen phenomena simply because we lack the instruments to measure them. Materialists often demand concrete proof, but absence of evidence isn’t evidence of absence—it may just mean we haven’t yet developed the tools to perceive what’s there.

We didn’t know the microscopic world existed until the invention of the microscope. We didn’t understand oxygen as a distinct element until the late 18th century, when scientists like Joseph Priestley and Antoine Lavoisier identified it. Trees don’t “separate oxygen particles” exactly, but through photosynthesis they absorb carbon dioxide, use the carbon to build tissue, and release oxygen as a by‑product—making the air cleaner and contributing to their growth.

Humans often deny what they can’t yet prove, and that skepticism has its place. It keeps inquiry grounded. At the same time, both spirituality and materialism have been misused by people seeking power or control. Whether atheist, believer, or skeptic, anyone can act harmfully—the constant variable is human behavior itself. Our desires and needs drive us, sometimes toward good, sometimes toward exploitation. That’s why frameworks like Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs remain relevant: they remind us that our actions often stem from fundamental human motivations rather than ideology alone.

Another example: proving where emotions appear in the brain and how hormones influence bodily sensations only shows the hardware doing its job. I tend to roll my eyes when people use that argument as if it explains everything.

Think of your computer: it has hardware, but without software and a power source, it’s inert—just a block of materials. The human body works similarly. We have hardware (organs, tissues, neurons), software (the mind’s programming and learned patterns), and a power source (bioelectric energy).

Even with hardware and electricity, without the “software” that organizes signals, the body wouldn’t know how to process hormones, breathe, interpret facial expressions, or learn. A baby can read a parent’s emotions without formal teaching—that’s innate programming shaped by evolution. But when the hardware malfunctions, issues appear: glitches, delays, or breakdowns. Just like a computer, if a component fails, the system stalls or shuts down until repaired or replaced.

Our bodies operate on the same principle. Electrical impulses travel through nerves; organs communicate through chemical and neural signals. The gut, for instance, sends messages to the brain via the vagus nerve, influencing mood and cognition. When an organ fails, the system destabilizes—sometimes fatally.

Despite all we’ve learned, consciousness remains largely mysterious. Scientists have begun to understand that experiences can leave biological marks passed down through generations—a field known as epigenetics, which studies how environmental factors and trauma can influence gene expression without altering DNA itself.

We’ve advanced enough to improve human life dramatically—reducing malnutrition, disease, and injury—but some scientific pursuits still raise questions about intent. Not every dataset needs to be chased endlessly. Sometimes, the more meaningful question is why we’re studying something at all.

Let’s take divorce rates as an example.

Comparing divorce rates among heterosexual, gay, and sapphic couples often reveals more about the intent behind the study than about the people being studied. Many of these analyses are shaped by cultural or political agendas rather than genuine curiosity about human relationships.

Historically, marriage was a property‑based institution. In many societies, it functioned as a contract among wealthy or aristocratic families to consolidate status and wealth. The wife’s role was often defined by her capacity to produce heirs—an expectation that tied her body directly to property and lineage. Although marriage laws have evolved, that legacy still influences how we interpret marital data.

Divorce statistics can be misleading when used to fabricate social “problems.” A rising divorce rate isn’t necessarily negative—it can signify that people feel freer to leave relationships that no longer serve them emotionally or mentally. For women, the right to divorce without cause or a husband’s permission is historically recent, marking a major step toward autonomy.

When it comes to sapphic relationships, the data are even murkier. Official statistics rarely capture sexuality accurately; most divorce filings don’t include a checkbox for both partners’ identities. Surveys and questionnaires often rely on small, self‑selected samples, which limits their reliability. As a result, claims that sapphic couples have higher divorce rates are based on incomplete data—and frequently weaponized by political figures to reinforce narratives about instability or morality.

But if sapphic couples do separate more readily, that can be read as a positive indicator of agency. It suggests they’re less bound by patriarchal expectations to “stick it out” when a relationship becomes stagnant or unhealthy. Choosing to leave is an act of self‑respect, not failure.

That’s where bias comes into play.

We’ll get deeper into that later, but it’s worth noting that most studies begin with a theory—a guiding question that shapes the research design, participant selection, and data interpretation. The intent behind that theory often determines what gets studied and what gets ignored.

Not all participants carry equal weight in research, especially in fields touching social justice, diversity, equity, and inclusion. When studies focus on marginalized communities—say, narrowing down to school systems in the U.S. and even more specifically to school counselors—the voices of participants from the most oppressed groups become crucial. Their experiences can reveal systemic issues others overlook. Yet many decline participation, often due to distrust or fatigue from being studied rather than supported. As a result, researchers work with whoever is willing, which can skew representation.

Rigidity compounds the problem. Some prominent figures in academia become so entrenched in their frameworks that they lose touch with lived reality. Their work narrows until they can’t see the broader picture. History offers examples—Albert Einstein, for instance, was brilliant but reportedly struggled with daily life and relied on others for basic tasks. Intellectual isolation can make researchers defensive when their work is questioned.

That defensiveness shows up in modern cases too. Consider the “brain scan doctor” who claimed everyone should undergo brain imaging to tailor treatment plans. When another physician pointed out flaws—like ignoring the lack of affordable healthcare access in the U.S.—he reacted with irritation instead of reflection. The critique wasn’t about invalidating his entire theory; it was about context. His approach overlooked socioeconomic realities and seemed more like marketing for his book and supplement brand than genuine scientific inquiry.

The takeaway: good research requires humility. You must test your theory not only to prove it right but also to prove it wrong. Without that balance, studies risk becoming echo chambers for personal bias rather than tools for understanding.

Capitalism fuels many pursuits—and the prestige of being known for something.

You can often trace a researcher’s or influencer’s motives by looking at the brands funding their work. Industries have long shaped narratives to protect profit: the meat industry promotes red meat as essential and “bioavailable,” the tobacco industry once funded studies denying links between smoking and cancer, and food corporations push the idea that ultra‑processed foods are harmless if you just “balance calories in and calories out.” These campaigns distract from deeper truths—how hormones, stress, and overwork affect health—and why metrics like BMI fail to measure well‑being.

Capitalism thrives on keeping people overworked and under‑rested, because illness and poverty sustain consumption. When studies focus on declining birth rates, divorce rates, or the so‑called “loneliness epidemic,” they often frame these as crises rather than symptoms of patriarchy, capitalism, and religious dogma. A lower birth rate isn’t inherently bad—it can reflect women reclaiming autonomy and rejecting childbearing as social currency. The child‑free‑by‑choice movement is a sign of agency, not decline. Everyone’s choice deserves respect, whether rooted in physiology, preference, or circumstance.

Those who panic about falling birth rates often fear losing access to bodies—fewer people mean fewer consumers, fewer workers, and less exploitation. Capitalism depends on constant replenishment of labor and markets; when that slows, power at the top feels threatened.

Now consider studies on Intimate Partner Violence (IPV) that break data down by sexual orientation—lesbian, gay, heterosexual, bisexual. When misread or weaponized, these studies become tools of stigma. One widely circulated study, for instance, measured who experienced IPV, not who perpetrated it, yet commentators twisted it to claim “lesbians are violent.” That distortion ignores context: many lesbians have had relationships with men, and IPV can occur in any gender configuration.

Yes, sapphic couples can experience abuse—women are not exempt from harmful behavior—but the intent of such studies matters. Are they seeking solutions or reinforcing stereotypes? The people who misuse these findings often aim to control women’s bodies and relationships, discouraging women from loving other women. Historically, lesbians have threatened patriarchy precisely because they decenter men entirely. Their focus—our focus—is on women’s well‑being, autonomy, and solidarity.

If this study focused on history rather than gender, it would reveal another gap: men often don’t report being victims of intimate partner violence (IPV). The numbers for gay men should be much higher. Many men—gay or straight—avoid reporting sexual assault or other forms of abuse because of cultural expectations around masculinity. They fear ridicule or disbelief.

Even when men do participate in IPV questionnaires, honesty can be complicated. Would they recognize verbal, emotional, or psychological abuse as violence? Often not. Many people don’t realize they’re being mistreated until someone helps them name it.

Men also rarely speak about being harassed or stalked by women. Social norms trivialize their discomfort—other men might joke that he should “take the offer.” I once had a coworker confide in me about a woman’s persistent, inappropriate behavior at his job. He needed someone to listen because it made his work environment unbearable. That silence around male victimhood shows how toxic our social infrastructure has become.

A lot of people treat others poorly, feel entitled to access their bodies or emotions, and repress anger until it manifests as control or violence. Women can do the same; abuse isn’t gender‑exclusive. But when researchers design studies, intent matters. Biases shape what gets measured and what gets ignored.

History is full of examples. For decades, anthropology taught the “man the hunter, woman the gatherer” model—a misconception born from male bias. Even the old evolutionary chart showing a monkey turning into a man oversimplified human origins. We now know there were multiple hominin species, and evidence shows that roughly 40–50 percent of prehistoric women hunted as well. Modern technology confirmed what earlier evidence already suggested but was dismissed.

The same happened with wolves: early researchers assumed strict hierarchies based on captive observations, but later field studies revealed that wild wolf packs are family units, not dominance‑based structures. These examples show how easily bias distorts research.

That’s why asking about intent is essential. Every study should be approached with discernment—questioning not just what it claims, but why it was done and who benefits from its conclusions.

The Vampire Lestat: A Love Letter to Queer Horror and Complicated Monsters

I finished watching The Vampire Lestat, and where do I even begin with this take? How can I pay respect to the gothic queen who created the world of The Vampire Chronicles?

I feel the precipice of Anne Rice’s work as a whole through Lestat’s story arc in what’s supposed to be the third season of Interview with the Vampire. Everything I’ve seen in the series—and even in Anne Rice’s universe, with Mayfair Witches and Talamasca: The Secret Order—pays homage to her work as an author. And I’m not just referring to The Vampire Chronicles either. Because let me tell you a little something about Anne Rice: she wrote erotica, and one of them I read was The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty—only because someone gave it to me. It was part of a trilogy.

That lady had some kinks. I’ll end it at that. But I think the series is true to how she really wanted it to be—kinky and sexy as hell.

It’s a known thing that writers, a.k.a. authors, sometimes write their desires into their work. It’s unavoidable, especially if an author has hidden kinks or fetishes. Anne Rice even wrote her erotica under another name: A. N. Roquelaure.

There’s nothing wrong with writing smut. But I imagine she probably wanted to write The Vampire Chronicles in the same manner, yet couldn’t because of the Hays Code—and it probably wouldn’t have sold well or become as popular as it is today. Besides, blood drinking is both an act of pleasure and an act of sexual violence, depending on the context in The Vampire Chronicles. And even in vampire fiction as a whole, it’s a metaphor for sexuality, pleasure, and intimacy.

Anne Rice was inspired by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu’s 1872 Carmilla, a Gothic novella. It’s the same novella that inspired Bram Stoker to write Dracula. However, Carmilla focuses heavily on the “sapphic” woman.

I liked the 2019 film adaptation and highly recommend it to anyone interested. Just a warning—the film takes a more human lens and removes vampirism altogether. Blood remains a theme, but in a dreamlike way, used as a tool for connection and intimacy between the female characters. It portrays blood drinking as a symbol of deep emotional and sexual connection between two girls romantically involved with each other.

To be honest, that human lens grounds the idea of what may have inspired the novella itself—the hidden lives of homosexual women expected to uphold roles within patriarchy and religious dogma.

The core premise is female homosexuality—the sapphic. The women in the novel and film aren’t victims of a predator; they welcome Carmilla and are drawn to her. In a modern context, that means they’re romantically and sexually attracted to her—and Carmilla to them. But it’s the religious dogma, as shown in the film, that feared the sapphic and ultimately killed an innocent woman.

Now, I’m not surprised that Anne Rice took the same route—writing about queerness through vampires, using blood drinking as a form of intimacy, and also as a way to depict sexual violence through the same act.

Magnus is a good example of this—drinking as an act of sexual violence. Magnus forced another vampire, who was in an eternal sleep, to drink from him. He violated that vampire and drank his blood to become one himself. Magnus desperately wanted to be a vampire, but he was rejected because he was too old.

In The Vampire Chronicles, there are set rules about who can be turned into a vampire. Children are off-limits. The elderly, too. And if they’re still in adolescence, that’s considered too young. So Magnus took the Dark Gift for himself—without consent—from the other vampire, who was buried underground and unaware. That’s a clear metaphor for sexual assault.

When it comes to Lestat’s story, Magnus turning him was an act of sexual violence through and through. From season one—and being familiar with the novel—I already knew Lestat was telling a trauma story of being violated. He was stalked by an obsessive fan, locked in a room with dead bodies that looked like him. Lestat thought he was going to end up like them—dead. But Magnus took what he wanted. He turned Lestat against his will and then unalived himself afterward, leaving all his holdings to Lestat. Crazy—but that’s the story.

In the series The Vampire Lestat, I love how they tell the story through Lestat’s chaotic perspective. The imagery is so erratic it’s hilarious. Sam Reid’s portrayal of Lestat is fun to watch—he makes the character flamboyant and beyond dramatic. I can totally imagine Lestat as a woman, so that final line with Louis’ brother was hilarious. Yes, Lestat, you would make the perfect woman. He’d be that girlie-girl who charms the entire room. He already does that. Shove him in a woman’s body, and everyone would believe it. Lestat as a lady would put every other to shame. I’m just being silly about this.

Hopefully, people entering Anne Rice’s universe aren’t placing human morality on the characters or expecting a simple good-guy-versus-bad-guy dynamic. There is no particular villain in The Vampire Chronicles—they’re all nuanced characters with layers of complexity. Most of them are victims in some way, and many become perpetrators.

Lestat was already a victim of abuse since childhood. He tried to live up to the expectations of his father and brothers, who beat the hell out of him throughout his youth. In the series, I appreciate that they highlighted his speech impediment—his stutter—which was used to belittle him. He was so determined to prove his worth that he went to hunt a pack of wolves on his own. This led to his dog and horse dying and left him seriously injured. Not the wisest decision, but it showed how desperate he was to be seen as strong and capable. It happened in the books too, but I love the dramatic scene of him in agony, throwing a tantrum about not wanting to be treated—until his mother stepped in to care for him.

Through those flashbacks revealing Lestat’s history, we learn how inappropriate Gabriella was with her own son. She was abusive in her own way—having him watch women and little girls burned at the stake when he was only a child. In the books, she was more focused on Lestat, and yes, they had an incestuous relationship after he turned her into a vampire. The series took that straight from the book but added the sex scenes. In the novels, after turning his mother, Lestat no longer saw her as his mother—he no longer saw her as Gabriella at all. That’s how Lestat’s mind worked.

I’ve wondered why Anne Rice would tap into such a taboo topic in her story. But then again, there are plenty of works that dive right into it—many explicitly about sexual violence in the home. The Crow Girl is one of them: the father repeatedly assaulted his daughter, got her pregnant, and later assaulted his granddaughter.

Even in anime, there are tropes that lean toward more-than-platonic relationships between siblings—hovering on the edge without fully committing, but still there. It’s inappropriate, but that’s what those tropes insinuate. Some anime are explicit about it, usually between brother and sister. There’s a lot of media that plays with that dynamic. There’s only a small amount of Yuri and Yaoi that touch on it.

Whisper Me a Love Song has a younger sister crushing on her older sister in the manga, though not in the anime adaptation. So, incestuous romantic attraction—or stories that flirt with the idea—still appear across media in different formats. I’ve even seen apocalyptic films that lean toward it with sister-sister dynamics. Most people don’t catch it, but it’s there. They’ll say, “Nah, they’re just being good sisters.” Even the Fallout series adaptation uses it for background characters to create tension within a vault community. It’s there, and it’s not going anywhere—it adds shock value to storytelling.

So, I wasn’t shocked by Gabriella and Lestat. I’m so used to seeing that trope in different media that it’s lost its edge, like most toxic tropes. I’m just glad that, in the end, Lestat creates boundaries with Gabriella—aka Sophia. He does undergo some change within his character. And his relationship with Louis is fascinating after everything they’ve been through while apart.

Louis and Lestat are like butter on bread. People love to say they’re toxic for each other—and they are—but they’re also absolutely compatible. They benefit each other in odd, twisted ways. Lestat, to me, is an overt narcissist, while Louis is more of a covert one. Both are manipulative and self‑absorbed, in passive and aggressive ways. That’s why Claudia’s rage in episode six was so delicious to watch—she was ripping her two fathers a new one. But she aimed that rage at Louis. Why? Because it was Louis’ fault. And Claudia never wanted to become a vampire. Every time she tried to escape her dads, it led to something terrible.

From season one of Interview with the Vampire, I already knew Claudia was manipulating the situation when she came home after being freed by Bruno. She pushed every button that would trigger Lestat. And she targeted Louis more because he was easier to control. She couldn’t manipulate Lestat the same way, even though he was her preferred father figure—because they both enjoyed the hunt for human blood. Louis didn’t. Lestat and Claudia were alike in their competitiveness and need for control. Claudia took pleasure in one‑upping her maker. And in season two, Lestat acknowledged that she was the perfect vampire. That’s why her execution was so hard to watch—it was like a father watching his daughter burn to ash, regretting his failures and shortcomings.

However, Claudia was never innocent—not in the novels, not in the series. She was ruthless. The show gave her a softer side, though, and I loved that they made Madeline her immortal beloved—the dressmaker.

Now, for Louis…

People forget that Louis was a pimp who ran brothels. He was no pushover. We see that in season two when he killed Santiago and every vampire associated with Claudia and Madeline’s deaths. Even in season three, he slaughtered an entire coven to get to Bruno. Louis pays a girl who looks like Claudia to act like her—there’s a lot wrong with that. Louis is complex, but I enjoyed watching a pimp rise to become one of the wealthiest men in the world, owning several businesses. I also liked that he could acknowledge Armand’s pain—his history of being sold into sex slavery.

To be a pimp owning brothels, especially in the time period he was born into, Louis exploited Black women to fulfill white men’s fantasies. It gave him wealth and luxury. It was powerful to watch him confess how wrong it was that Armand was only twelve when old men paid to have their way with him.

Eventually, we’ll get Armand’s story. He’s not a villain either—he’s deeply layered. He had never turned a human into a vampire until Daniel, his first. That detail fascinated me. Armand’s affection for Daniel shows how deep the fledgling‑maker bond runs. Through Armand, we see how difficult it is to ignore that connection. Despite the insane and horrible things he does, I think Armand genuinely wants to take responsibility for his fledgling. But he also loves setting up characters—like pieces in his scripts—to be in the right place at the right time for his use. That hasn’t changed. Armand is a control freak who doesn’t want vampire laws erased or more vampires made carelessly. More vampires mean the annihilation of humanity—there wouldn’t be enough blood to feed them all for long.

The Vampire Chronicles often plays with the age‑gap trope among vampires. It taps into taboo topics like incest and other harmful behaviors. The series dives deeper into the psychological aspects of each character—domestic abuse, narcissism in relationships, queerness. It’s more open about queerness than the novels could be, given the time period and publishing constraints Anne Rice faced.

So now we have The Vampire Lestat. It shakes the glass in ways that will spark discourse—and that’s exactly what Gothic stories are meant to do. They push boundaries to make us think and become aware. You’re not going to get black‑and‑white characters. You’re not going to have a set villain. When a story like this is adapted with modern culture, politics, and social context, it forces reflection. The vampires act oppressed—they want to feed freely and live among the world.

What does that tell you as a viewer?

Take that as you will.

The Hard Road Still Leads Forward: A Spiritual Reflection on Action and Fear

Spirituality has been on my mind more often than writing my usual blogs about media. Since I’ve been on the path of sobriety—maintaining my place on the wagon—I’ve been thinking about how spirituality has been woven throughout my life: through dreams, my creative endeavors, and mainly through art, writing, and cooking. I’m also a media junkie who pays attention to the hidden lessons within the work, because most creatives naturally weave in subtle philosophies. They appear in the smallest moments or within scenes that carry layers of meaning.

The latest example came in the final episode of The Vampire Lestat, where Lestat’s fledglings—including his maker—told him he was a failure as a vampire. His counter was that failing meant he at least attempted, which he revealed was something most vampires struggled with. I paused the episode and said, “Hell yeah.” That’s one of the biggest lessons about living life: even though he failed, he took action. People rarely acknowledge that he was left to figure things out on his own, since his maker, Magnus, ended his life after turning him. Why mention that? Because taking action without knowledge means learning through trial and error. Yes, he was bound to fail—but trial and error is how we learn. That’s what Lestat did. He didn’t have the privilege of a mentor to guide him or a parental figure to care for him. That’s why his statement mattered: “At least he attempted through action to get anywhere in life as a vampire.”

I have my own thoughts about the series, which I’ll eventually write about. I’m sure, just like the Apple series Pluribus, particularly around its main character, there’s plenty of discourse surrounding Lestat and the show as a whole. But for this blog, I’m focusing on spirituality—and how the philosophies we’re taught can be integrated into real life.

I mentioned this in another blog, using Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice as an example. Life is about taking consistent action. Why is that important? Because without action, there’s no chance of success or failure—there’s simply nothing. The possibility of anything is removed from the table entirely. That’s why, if you want to find friendships or romantic love, or even change your environment to grow, you have to take action: be out in the world, be in the right place at the right time, and allow yourself to connect with people.

Doing that in this era is challenging. It’s not easy for everyone. People are more anxious than ever about failing, being rejected, or making a fool of themselves. They fear emotions like embarrassment and shame. Yet when it comes to making changes—like moving to another country—it’s an opportunity for growth. When we stay somewhere that’s hit a ceiling, where there’s no room to grow, we have to make the choice not only to pick a different path but to take action strategically and diligently.

Interestingly, I watched an anime recently that illustrates how choosing the right evolution creates the chance to keep evolving. The series is called Reincarnated as a Dragon Hatchling. Every time the main character—a dragon—reaches the maximum level of an evolution, he’s given new options. Depending on which path he chooses, he can either lose or gain the ability to continue evolving. Most of the time, he picks the evolution that allows him to keep growing and becoming stronger.

Even though he’s presented with evolutions that might serve his personal goals, he chooses the one that lets him grow stronger to protect others. That choice brings more challenges and harder decisions. One of those choices is especially difficult—and if you’ve watched the series, you know exactly what I mean. I won’t give away key details; if you’re curious, watch it yourself.

Life, too, is about choices and taking action on those choices. That’s a spiritual philosophy that’s universal—and perhaps more prominent than any other. It’s simple yet complex to live by because of one thing: fear.

At the tip of the umbrella is fear. Fear prevents many people from moving forward—not just from moving, but from moving with meaning, mindfulness, and purpose. People fear failure. They don’t want to feel discomfort. There’s fear of disappointing others, fear of how they’ll be perceived, fear of abandonment, fear of rejection. The list goes on. But most importantly, people fear making choices because choices come with uncertainty.

Let me be clear: there’s no controlling the outcome of things. Choices are hard to make precisely because of that. They can lead down paths of hardship and bear no fruit—meaning you can lose more than you put in. Or you might face constant push and pull, the turbulence of life itself.

When it comes to choices, my best friend is a perfect example. She chose to come to the United States as her chance to evolve. Just like in the anime I mentioned, there’s a ceiling to growth. In her case, living in her home country came with limitations—not just in upward mobility or material opportunities, but in the freedom to be herself as a lesbian. She knows firsthand what it’s like to live in a place where homosexuality is illegal and punished.

At least here in the United States, in certain cities and states, you can be yourself. Not the entire country accepts LGBTQ+ individuals, but some places do. I was born and raised here, and I’ve experienced areas that are frightening to navigate. It’s best to know where not to go. My best friend learned that too. Our intuition kicks in when we need to mask who we are, depending on where we end up. Sometimes, survival becomes the top priority: How do I get home untouched and alive?

I learned that from my mother—especially in parts of the U.S. that are deeply racist. I grew up witnessing it. I remember my mom telling my dad and his parents to stay silent so no one could hear their accents. She would tell them not to speak and not to get out of the vehicle unless necessary. Since my mom is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Caucasian woman, she was the one who asked for directions when we road-tripped through southern states. This was before GPS or smartphones—back when all you had were maps and the courage to ask strangers for directions in unfamiliar territory. These days, no one has to worry about that.

But back to my best friend—her decision to come here was incredibly hard. She talked about the risks of failing, what that meant, and what would happen if she had to return home. If she failed in the U.S., she’d have to start from the ground up again. She had little money and wasn’t earning enough from her jobs. It would be difficult to rebuild savings, find housing, and secure a better-paying job—especially since most jobs didn’t pay well to begin with. And returning home would mean continuing to hide who she was.

It took her almost two years in the U.S. to come out as a lesbian to the people around her instead of hiding. At first, things didn’t go smoothly. It was hard. She faced hardships that would break the average person. But recently, she shared something profound that helped her make the choice to leave her country—a dream.

She told me that in her dream, she saw her child self walking down a road. Then a vehicle ran over her younger self—flattened like a pancake, blood everywhere. But her child self got back up. In the dream, my friend ran to her, shocked yet relieved that her younger self was alive and able to keep walking toward her destination. She only told me about this dream now, after more than ten years of friendship and being settled here, because she finally understood its meaning.

Her child self was showing her that the path forward would be painful and difficult—so hard it might feel like death—but she would survive. She would get back up and keep moving. And that’s exactly how her life has been since she decided to come to the U.S. and build something new. She’s a completely different person from the one I met 10 years ago. The dreams and fantasies she once thought impossible have come true. But the path wasn’t smooth or painless—it was wrapped in hardship, and she survived every turbulence.

Interestingly enough, I’ve had similar dreams. Mine showed that the car would miss me entirely. In my dream, I can share more detail with you than I could about my best friend’s, which I have to keep ambiguous.

In my dream, I was in my grandparents’ home—the family estate. I was in the room I usually occupied when visiting. My grandfather, who had been dead for ten years, entered the room. He grabbed my arm and floated me across the room, through the wall, and out to the football‑sized front yard. We glided across the field and onto the street.

There, he stopped and had me stand in the center. A car came racing toward us, aiming straight at me. It gained speed, getting closer, and I looked at my grandfather, terrified. But he kept me standing there, holding my arm, watching the car approach. At the last second, it swerved away, missing my leg by an inch. The car never stopped—it just kept going.

In that moment, my grandfather looked at me, and without saying a word, the experience said enough. I interpreted it as: “See? It’s scary, but you survived. You’re protected from the worst outcome.” Some things are far worse to experience, and yet I’ve only faced what’s manageable. I just didn’t see them as survivable back when my life was spiraling. Yet here I am today, viewing them as cuts—not the deep wounds that would disfigure or disable me.

Every bad thing that happened to me, someone was there in some way. When I was locked out of my house as a kid because my parent was mad, my neighbor took me in, gave me water, let me use her restroom, and fed me. When I was left in a parking lot because my parent lost their temper, my uncle picked me up and brought me to my grandmother. When I was kicked out of the house, someone took me in. All horrible experiences—but I never faced the worst that could have been.

I’ve experienced a lot of negativity, but I’ve overcome the pain and agony that came with it. Even in my latest dream—where my personal plane crashed into the shoreline—I lost everything. I wandered the beach and found a party full of people drinking and celebrating. Since I’d lost everything, I wanted a beer. I was ready to steal one, but instead, a woman saw me in my disheveled state, walked up, and handed me her own. In that dream, she helped me. She gave me fresh clothes, socks, and even offered me any of her shoes. She let me grieve in her bed because all I wanted was to lie there and stare at the ceiling.

When I told people about the dream, their reactions surprised me. Some said, “If you ever sense that coming, or if you do lose everything, please let us know.” Others joked that I should avoid planes, thinking it meant a literal crash. A few said they’d try to help me avoid losing everything. I didn’t expect those responses—but they were interesting and even funny, and they put my heart at ease.

I’m always amazed by how philosophies reveal themselves. Spirituality is built on the foundation of many philosophies that cultivate meaning and integrate into everyday life. That can happen through media, through dreams, or through lived experience. I wanted to share this because it’s important to cultivate spirituality just as much as we cooperate with the material world.

Take that as you will.

Rituals of Becoming | Darkness as a Teacher | Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice.

“The darkness held a question. Are you strong enough? She doesn’t know the answer yet. But they will tear it from her mouth.” — Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice

This line from the video game embodies the core of my written work, using darkness as a theme. Darkness is metaphorical for the aspects of ourselves we’re too afraid to face: the shadow self. Whatever words people use to describe it, it’s all the same pursuit of reaching our inner truth. That truth is what we suppress, hidden in the deepest part of ourselves.

I constantly write characters who suppress their truth, yet I have them reveal it in some way. My character Jezebel in The Mark of the Skull uses writing to express it. And I make that known on the first page.

Do you know what story teaches the importance of speaking the truth? Vasilisa the Beautiful and Baba Yaga. Baba Yaga literally punishes those who aren’t truthful — with death.

Senua’s journey through Helheim in Hellblade reminded me of the initiation process of becoming. And what’s more profound than coming to terms with life and death? The philosophy of Hel is impermanence. It’s not self-deception anymore when you face that truth. In Senua’s case, she had to overcome the ingrained lies her father told her to see reality clearly.

One truth: her father had her mother killed, burned at the stake. He abused his family, claiming Senua was cursed. In the game, she had to overcome not just fear but illusion.

The first boss I fought was Valravn, the God of Illusion. To reach him, you navigate a landscape of illusions; nothing is what it seems. Yet he guides you, chanting from a distance. It’s haunting yet beautiful, mystical in its way.

The second boss, Surtr, tests physical and psychological strength. You run through a landscape of flames, fighting as you burn. It forces endurance — pain as transformation.

Life inflicts discomfort and pain beyond imagination. Heartbreak is one of the things most people know. Sometimes endurance is the only way through. In that section of the game, you can’t stand still — you must keep running, taking action diligently and strategically. That’s the lesson: living is constant action.

After that come trials of fear — the journey of becoming.

Toward the end, Hel stabs Senua with a sword. She bleeds out and dies, but Hel transforms into Senua. I don’t know the developer’s intention, but I saw it as the death of the old self. My mind blazed with amazement. Senua’s entire journey was trials, and she succeeded. Even failure had real consequences: the black rot creeping up her arm could kill her and restart the game if it reached her head. That mechanic made dying matter.

Senua’s journey represents releasing the old self. Why do I interpret it that way? If a foundation isn’t solid and has too many cracks, it crumbles. Her old foundation was weak — built on abuse, isolation, and grief. Destroying it and rebuilding from the lessons she learned, embodying Hel’s philosophy, gave her a stable base to grow. With a strong foundation, the sky becomes the limit.

The second game is about integrating those lessons — her new foundation. Philosophies you can’t integrate into reality are just air, like food with no nourishment. They do nothing for the self or others.

So why is facing our shadow selves — our darkness — so important? Because it strengthens the self, and by doing so, it helps others. In Hellblade II, Senua helps others and becomes more selfless. She frees giants from pain, helps tribes survive attacks, and exposes a fearful king’s deception.

Even then, trials of becoming remain. You never stop becoming. Transformation happens often — like the butterfly’s cycle of caterpillar, chrysalis, and rebirth. For me, it feels like it happens every decade. Each decade, I become someone new, building upon my foundation. I metaphorically live the death of the old self, becoming the new version of me.

Interestingly enough, I’ve always written the death of the old self into my stories. In my first story, An Ocean’s Solitary Star, the Harpy ritual of becoming required taking a dagger to the heart — a literal act of death and rebirth to join the Harpy clan and receive their blessing and power. Even in The Daughters of Darkness, the main character, Kristen Brenner, undergoes the same cycle of dying and rebirth. Her entire journey is about becoming.

But...as always...

I leave it at that.

Nine Days Sober: Reclaiming My Body, My Health, and My Life

Once I make it through the day, I’ll officially be nine days sober. I’ve made it through the withdrawal symptoms since the last time I posted here, when I was four days into my sobriety journey.

During that time, I struggled with constant headaches. My body didn’t know how to regulate its temperature, particularly in the heat, since it has been unbearably hot this summer. Some symptoms included pale sweating and light-headedness. Imagine that — instead of going red in the face, I went pale with sweat. It’s a thing that happens.

Thankfully, I never experienced tremors or other severe symptoms that would have required entering a recovery center. That didn’t happen. But I did have disrupted sleep, night sweats, and vivid dreams. I get nightmares, but I rarely acknowledge them as such because I don’t have a fear response to them.

Surprisingly, I haven’t had many cravings — unlike last year when I went sober for 104 days. To curb my light-headedness and sweat loss, I drank a little juice mixed with sparkling water. For example, I’d mix a shot of orange juice, a shot of cranberry juice, and a whole can of Topo Chico Sparkling Water (lime and mint flavor). It may have sugar, but it was worth it when I was suffering from overheating and dizziness.

For fun on the weekend, I mixed a bottle of Barritt’s Ginger Beer with a can of Topo Chico and had that as a mocktail. Because it’s a large serving, I drank it throughout the evening with dinner. It tasted close enough to what I normally mixed with alcohol that my mind registered it as “normal,” just without the buzz.

My usual cocktail used to be two shots of rum, one bottle of beer, and an entire bottle of ginger beer with a squeeze of lime and lemon — and I’d generally make two batches through the evening. That added up to two beers, four shots of rum, and two ginger beers in one night. I drank every evening, though not always the same cocktail. Sometimes I’d just have regular beers — two — and a Puerto Rican Mule, which is basically two shots of rum mixed with ginger beer and a squeeze of lime. Some nights I’d have two Puerto Rican Mules, which meant four shots of rum and two bottles of ginger beer in one evening.

I’m being detailed so readers can understand the extent of my drinking habits — and the fact that I’ve been doing this for a long time, even though it’s the worst thing for me as someone with autoimmune conditions who has been taking daily medication since I was 25 years old. I’m 40 now. Do the math.

Last year, my 104 days of sobriety were driven by fear — fear of how alcohol disrupts everything, from the absorption of vitamins and minerals to their depletion. Alcohol is a diuretic, and my body focuses on detoxing the alcohol rather than performing the beneficial repairs it needs. Sleep becomes disrupted, so there’s no deep rest — which is crucial for healing. Hormone dysregulation is another issue.

When I talk about absorption and processing, I mean that no matter how nutritious my diet is — even eating red meat like steak for B12 — my body wouldn’t absorb it properly.

I mentioned in my other post that because of the lack of extraction, absorption, and processing, the body develops deficiencies leading to malnutrition — even though I eat a nutritionally dense diet. It doesn’t matter.

I kind of like the term cellular starvation because that’s what’s happening in the body. With that type of starvation — on a biological and physiological level — signals are sent out to keep eating, stirring cravings for certain things. The body needs different types of micronutrients to survive, and without them, things happen.

I took that into account last year when I stopped drinking for 104 days. It was hard because my mind was racing with thoughts. I haven’t hit that point yet this time, since it’s still early, but I’ve noticed my sleep has improved and my rest feels deeper. I can tell my body is getting more of what it needs from my overall diet, which is extremely important.

I’ve introduced more nuts, such as walnuts and almonds, into my diet and started consuming more vitamin C–rich foods like strawberries and multicolored bell peppers. (Multicolored bell peppers are especially rich in vitamin C.) As for the nuts, I eat walnuts and almonds with plain Greek yogurt — I prefer it extra sour. Nuts are rich in magnesium, and walnuts contain polyphenols, which have anti-inflammatory properties. Both provide protein and fiber, but the micronutrients they offer are more important to me. Magnesium helps relax muscles, and since I have a heart murmur, it’s beneficial for managing the palpitations that come with it.

I’ve mentioned before that I have issues with chronic inflammation, so eating foods with more anti-inflammatory properties daily is best. Inflammation disrupts many processes in the body and is even associated with insulin resistance.

Insulin resistance prevents cells from absorbing nutrients properly. Cellular starvation sends signals to eat more, even though the body isn’t getting what it needs to function. This is why, when someone says the cliché “calories in, calories out,” I roll my eyes and walk away. We all have different health paths. My diet and lifestyle are catered specifically to me and my needs.

Because of my medication, I can’t eat for 30 to 60 minutes after taking it. I also learned I’m not supposed to drink coffee for 30 to 60 minutes afterward — only water. Now that my body is adjusting to being alcohol-free, I can’t make drastic changes like that, since my medication might absorb differently and cause stress on my system.

That said, I don’t really need to change anything because my markers are stable. I also have gluten sensitivities due to my autoimmune conditions. If I eat gluten, my immune system attacks my thyroid. I know several women who’ve had thyroid cancer and had their thyroids removed entirely, so I count my lucky stars that I haven’t gone down that path.

There’s an obsession with protein in the United States. I’m old enough to remember this isn’t the first time — it just gets rebranded every few years. People seem to forget the Atkins diet, which was heavily protein-based.

Capitalism perpetuates these trends. The amount of protein influencers push is a regimen meant for dedicated bodybuilders. Consuming more protein can lead to fat loss or a leaner physique, especially if refined carbohydrates are reduced.

Processing and digesting protein requires more calories than digesting refined carbohydrates, which take significantly fewer calories to break down. Meat-based proteins, in particular, take days to fully digest, not hours. Overconsuming protein leads to conversion into glucose, which also burns calories. For some people, a high-protein diet naturally creates a calorie deficit — but this only works well with strength or resistance training aimed at building muscle.

Average people who do minimal exercise can still gain body fat from eating excessive protein. Long-distance runners, for example, rely on carbohydrates to fuel their muscles, since muscles prefer carbs for optimal function. It’s about complex carbs versus simple sugars. Simple sugars are useful for endurance athletes or demanding sports like Spartan races.

I remember a coworker saying he’d chug a beer after a race and his muscles throbbed — his body was absorbing the carbs from the beer instantly. But for the average person, consuming carbs like that can have adverse effects because their muscles aren’t depleted enough to use the sugars efficiently. The pancreas ends up working overtime. Everyone’s insulin response is different, which is why diets should be personal, not collective. There’s no one-size-fits-all.

Back to protein — eating too much meat-based protein puts you at risk of missing essential micronutrients from other foods. It’s not just about amino acids, even though they’re the building blocks of muscle. If you’re not weightlifting or pushing your muscles hard and then resting properly, your body will only use what it needs; the rest gets converted to glucose or excreted.

Protein and amino acids are important, but the body also needs diverse micronutrients to function properly. The gut microbiome thrives on nutrient diversity. The large intestine has its preferences, and the lower intestine has its own. Without a diverse gut microbiome, you weaken your gut health.

That’s why I laugh — not because it’s funny, but because people on all-meat diets would likely get sick from eating plants, especially ones that could be toxic to someone lacking gut bacteria for defense. When a biological female has a weak gut, her offspring will too, leaving them defenseless against toxins in foods that most people can eat safely.

That’s why probiotics have become so prevalent — the gut microbiome is vital to overall health. The gut sends more signals to the brain than the heart or even the brain itself. I always joke that my heart is in my stomach, and maybe that’s true. My gut is the master of this body.

I naturally eat a lot of protein based on what my body requires, but I don’t focus on the grams in each food item. Even though steak has a higher protein content per ounce, it doesn’t have the micronutrients I need to manage my autoimmune conditions. I still eat red meat, but not often — usually during my time of the month, since it’s easy to digest and all I need is a fist-sized portion.

The best protein for me is salmon. I also eat plant-based proteins like lentils and soy-based foods such as tofu. I love miso, and I recently discovered the Korean version of red bean paste — thicker and heartier, but with the same probiotic benefits. I also consume nuts and seeds.

I eat chicken occasionally, though it’s not my favorite, so I make it Chinese-style to make it more enjoyable. I keep fiber in mind because it slows digestion and feeds the gut what it needs. I don’t worry much about fats, but I focus on polyunsaturated and monounsaturated ones. Saturated fats are already present in the butter I use and in red meats, and I use coconut milk in some dinner recipes, like certain soups I make.

These are things I think about, and I don’t let anyone steer me in any particular direction because so much of what’s out there is a mass pile of misinformation from people chasing fame, prestige, and money — which is why I always think about capitalism.

Capitalism is a huge driver of lackluster pursuits and buzzwords. So when I hear people say Americans are “under-proteined,” I always ask, how? We consume more meat and protein-based products than any other country in the world. In fact, we consume well over the recommended amount because people assume protein only comes from certain foods. Fitness culture, fueled by capitalism, profits off the claim that Americans aren’t getting enough protein — when, in reality, the average person consumes far beyond both the old and new recommendations.

The issue isn’t protein itself; it’s everything else. Working too much. Too much stress from life’s uncertainties. Not enough downtime. Not enough movement. America’s lifestyle is driven by overwork — long commutes, traffic, exhaustion, and not making enough money to eat better. There’s not enough time to cook or meal prep.

I wouldn’t be surprised if meal prepping has become a lucrative business — it probably has, because people literally don’t have the time to cook a nutritious meal. Even with me having the time to cook, exercise, and do other things, that’s a privilege. I may not have a lot of money, but I’m extremely privileged in life. Only arrogant and ignorant privileged people shame others who don’t have time to meal prep, cook, or exercise.

I don’t live a sedentary lifestyle. I’ve mentioned before that I have no idea what office-based workers go through, sitting all day, because I’ve never held a job that required me to sit. I’ve always worked in heavy manual labor. I don’t judge anyone, though — they’re living their lives the best way they can with what they have, and I respect that. I live my life the best way I can as a manual laborer in this society.

But I’m nine days sober, and slowly my health is beginning to improve again.

I really want to achieve sobriety for the rest of my life. Hopefully, that can happen.

Why I Need to Achieve Sobriety?

I’ve confessed a couple of times on here that I consume alcohol quite a bit. There’s even a blog post where I talk about my alcoholism—why I reach for the bottle, and how people reveal their true selves under the influence. However, as of today, I’m four days sober. I haven’t touched the bottle at all. For some, that might not seem like much, but for people who rely on substances, even 24 hours can be grueling because of withdrawal symptoms. I’m still experiencing them today, on the fourth day.

This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to achieve sobriety. Last year, I managed to go 104 days sober before I jumped off the wagon. I can’t even say I fell off—I chose to jump off. Since then, my drinking habits have gotten worse. How? I got into more cocktail mixing. It benefits how I make drinks for others, but the reason I’m trying to achieve sobriety again is because of my health conditions. Not caused by booze, but by the autoimmune disease I’ve been managing since my early 20s. Alcohol has more adverse effects on me than on someone without an autoimmune condition.

Since mine involves the thyroid, I need to be mindful of my drinking habits. I’ve listened to fitness influencers mention my condition while being totally unaware of what they’re talking about. Metabolism is just a sliver of what the thyroid does. The real function is hormone regulation throughout the body—and hormones do almost everything people don’t realize is important. Without thyroid hormones, the movement and absorption of essential vitamins like B12 and minerals are disrupted. Even if you eat well, your body may not absorb anything, leading to deficiencies. That’s why heart palpitations, fatigue, brain fog, mood swings, depression, anxiety, lack of rest, and slower recovery occur. Untreated, it can be fatal. Nails become brittle, hair thins, skin issues arise, swelling increases, and inflammation builds up.

Autoimmune disease is basically the body attacking itself. I’ve talked about this before. Alcohol disrupts my medication and prevents B12 transfer, making it harder for my body to function properly. So, if I want to lean out or build muscle again, I have to control my drinking. When I don’t, my body doesn’t recover. I’ve injured myself many times because my body couldn’t heal from labor-intensive jobs and weightlifting. Poor sleep makes everything worse. When I was at my best physically, it was during my longest period of sobriety.

I always tell people my daily habits and diet are tailored to me alone. My goal is to manage how I feel day to day—better sleep, less fatigue, more calm, less stress, and more enjoyment in my activities. I’ve always been active, regardless of body mass. Even at my largest, I could run three miles and lift heavy daily. My job required lifting and moving around 50 pounds for eight-hour shifts, five days a week, often with overtime. Then I’d go home and run three miles to de-stress. I also attended school and walked around campus, often without eating enough to sustain my activity level.

Many people work sedentary jobs, but that’s never been me. I can’t relate to health issues caused by sitting all day. My job, however, did wear down my lungs and joints. I have inflammation in most major joints. Both knees were messed up, but I’m glad I no longer need knee braces or compression sleeves. I can squat and move fluidly again. I’m also relieved my elbows and rotator cuff no longer hurt—rotator cuff tendinitis is agony. I chalk up my active lifestyle to my neurodivergence; I can’t sit still for long. But to stay on topic, I’m pursuing sobriety again because the health impacts are too much now that I’m older.

I couldn’t care less about body or weight standards, or the obsession in the U.S. with protein intake—it’s propaganda, regardless of what people think. Sure, consuming more protein helps you lean up, but not for the reasons people believe. Calories are always involved. When you overconsume protein, your body converts it into glucose, which requires more energy (calories) to process than carbohydrates. That’s why eating more protein naturally creates a calorie deficit, eventually tapping into fat stores for energy. I generally lean up more easily in winter—staying warm requires calories. I just don’t like hot weather, so I take any chance to jab at summer.

Back to nutrients: people often overlook other macronutrients like fiber and micronutrients. Regions that eat more plant-based diets tend to have fewer deficiencies and better longevity. Lentils are my favorite legume for fiber and protein. Many foods combine both if you pay attention to macronutrients. I enjoy meat, but overconsuming animal-based foods affects me negatively. You can’t get all essential minerals and vitamins from animals, and I need more of certain nutrients because of my autoimmune condition. Plant foods help reduce my chronic inflammation. Yes, organ meats have nutrients, but red meat increases cholesterol and cardiovascular risks. My best self wasn’t just sober—it was when I ate a mostly plant-based diet with minimal red meat. I prefer fatty fish like salmon, eel, and raw tuna because I love sashimi. I rarely eat chicken unless with friends. I eat eggs, but mostly in garden omelets loaded with bell peppers, onions, and spinach. Spinach is incredibly filling. I love miso—it’s an excellent probiotic food.

I love food. It took time to rebuild a healthy relationship with it because I enjoy cooking and trying different cuisines. When you worry about how society perceives you, it destroys the joy of living. But I’m four days sober, and hopefully, I can continue this path to feel better and manage my conditions more effectively.

The Crow Girl: A Sapphic Look at Jeanette and Sophia

The Crow Girl got me hooked on the spot, and oh my gosh, it was delicious to watch. Before I get into it, I’m aware I’m a year late in watching this series. It was released in 2025, and now the second season is over the rainbow soon. I don’t know why I didn’t watch it last year, but I binged it during the smoldering hot weekend. There weren’t a lot of episodes, but it was an easy watch.

First of all, I’m thankful that it wasn’t too graphic about anything. Because of the context of this story, it’s best to only be told and not shown. Let me state this: characters talking about it is action. We don’t need to be shown everything, especially certain topics brought up in this series that are absolutely horrifying. So, not showing made the story unfold much more easily without overdoing it. However, the core of my post is not about the overall story itself; it’s about two characters in this story.

I’m a lesbian, so this is about the growing sapphic connection between Jeanette and Sophia.

Spoiler warnings.

I will be revealing key details from the show, especially the ending.

So… you are forewarned.

Sophia — we learn that she works in the mental health field, dealing with trauma patients and assessing the mental state of perpetrators. That’s a hard job. We also learn through dialogue exchanges with Jeanette that Sophia admits to dating both men and women. However, she doesn’t want a committed relationship and prefers married men or married people because it’s less complicated for her.

Most of the time, I viewed Sophia as being annoyed with the man she’s sleeping with and allowing into her home. I was thinking, “Why did you give him the keys?” It really looked like she didn’t expect to see him that evening, which is in the first episode.

In many scenes, she just wants him to leave her alone based on her facial expressions and dialogue, especially her disdain for bathtub sex later in the series. She really didn’t want to sit with him in the bathroom. And she absolutely looked annoyed when he showed up while Jeanette was hanging out with her at her home. I knew that look — “Why in the hell did you have to show up?” kind of look. It’s the awkward looks and not saying the quiet parts out loud. “Bro, she didn’t want you there.”

I laughed a bit because Sophia is not subtle about wanting Jeanette in her life. That was more of an indicator to me that she wanted Jeanette in her orbit and that she was done with the dude. But I noticed Sophia has an issue with ending that situationship.

Now, as for Jeanette — she’s married to a struggling artist, with whom she shares a son. Her household is chaotic most of the time, something Jeanette’s work partner Lou admits every time he casually walks into the home, into the kitchen, and eats toast with the family. He doesn’t have a family of his own, but he enjoys the mess in her home. I can understand why he would say that, because regardless of what people think, a messy or chaotic home is being lived in. So, Jeanette’s home represents being lived in. It also represents how hard it is to be a police officer who works a lot, is married to someone who’s an artist, makes time for his work, deals with their son, and manages the house.

They don’t have enough money to cover certain expenses, such as the car. So, Jeanette’s father, a retired police officer, gives them money to fix things, but not without backhanding Jeanette’s husband about not having a job that provides consistent income. It’s shown that they haven’t been physically intimate for a long time, and it doesn’t go well because her husband doesn’t want to.

A lot of the time, Jeanette shows signs of exhaustion as well as feeling the bridge dividing further in her marriage. She has moments in the series where she wants someone to talk to about her job — especially about the expanding case she’s working on, where new bodies show up, and the story thickens with the intricate webbing of corrupted rich men. Also, she never paid attention to her husband’s work, but she supported his pursuit. She never had the time to learn about his work — something he actually wanted her to do but didn’t receive.

So, Jeanette and Sophia end up meeting each other because of their aligned interests in the case of the dead teenage boys, the big names involved in horrible things, and the mysterious girl named Victoria. They kind of work together, but not really, despite what the synopsis online says. They’re more like emotional anchors for each other than partners solving the case. It’s more about moments of expressing each other’s horrible days than solving murders. Which is interesting, because Jeanette and Sophia are kind of the Hannibal Lecter and Will scenario, but made canon. They do become physically intimate at the end of the season.

Sophia, who we learn is actually Victoria, isn’t killing innocent people; she’s killing those directly involved in funding the illegal fighting rings. She killed her father after he killed her daughter, Madeline. So, she’s a vigilante more than anything else — but she kills them. The bodies laid out in direct places like a trail for the police to follow. And we learn they were already dead and stuffed in a freezer with a bunch of other bodies and pigs. She’s trying to expose what’s going on under the radar.

But let’s really dive into Jeanette and Sophia’s relationship in the story.

The Organic Intimacy Between Jeanette & Sophia

The dynamic between Sophia and Jeanette in The Crow Girl isn’t the traditional romance setup, and I’m glad it isn’t. I’m thrilled. Why? Because I don’t believe in the concept anyway, but I’ll explain why as I write along. However, in this story, their connection is something far more organic, which is something I always look for in character dynamics.

What Sophia and Jeanette have is more intimate and psychologically layered. What people call “traditional romance” is often just performative ritual: the expected gestures, the scripted beats, the socially approved choreography of affection. What happens between Sophia and Jeanette is the opposite. Their connection grows from emotional intimacy first, and only then moves into physical closeness afterward, which is what I witnessed in the last episode.

Sophia, who is really Victoria, carries two psyches inside her from her past trauma. Interestingly, Sophia has a patient with the same issue of a fractured psyche that comes out as two distinct personalities. Margaret and Angela.

Thinking back, that’s pretty dang good foreshadowing. But back to the two psyches, Sophia and Victoria. Both of them gravitate toward Jeanette.

“Both psyches want Jeanette, but Victoria is the one who wants to hold onto Jeanette and comfort her physically.”

Sophia is the mask, the socially acceptable version of Victoria. I see it as the more curated version that became a doctor and tried to move on, in a way, as well as trying to help others. But blocked out her past in the process. Victoria is the core self: the vigilante shaped by trauma, rage, and moral absolutism. What makes their relationship compelling is that Jeanette responds to both versions without fully realizing it. She waits for Sophia’s texts, shows up at any hour, and leans into the connection even though it's unfamiliar territory for her. Therefore, when Sophia chooses to kiss Jeanette, she receives Sophia’s kiss as the fruit of the already well-established emotional groundwork that has already been laid out in every episode. From the organic dialogue exchanges, to visiting each other at random hours, Sophia bringing Jeanette coffee and a snack, to them listening to each other, and grounding each other in their own way. Even Sophia, in her moments say the right things to give Jeanette relief about her distant marriage that’s falling apart. Since Sophia is in the mental health field, she says it honestly. Not all marriages have lasted that long without issues arising. That’s not exactly what she said. I’m just paraphrasing.

What interests me is how Jeanette really wants an opportunity to see Sophia when she can. That’s the part that sapphics need to pay attention to because that is human behavior. Jeanette was naturally drawn to wanting to be around Sophia. Even after getting home with her husband from dinner out, the moment she got a text from Sophia, she went out the door, using work as an excuse. Oh my gosh, Jeanette using her job as an excuse to leave at random hours is brilliant. So, that’s not random.

Now, what’s most striking is how Victoria seeks Jeanette out more often than Sophia does. Yes. Sophia and Victoria are the same person, but read me out. I’m splitting them into different people. Sophia the mask. Victoria, the hidden core self. Victoria is the one who reaches for Jeanette when she’s drunk, overwhelmed, or unraveling. It was shown to us in the final flashback scenes before the season ended that it was Victoria in control and not inherently Sophia. But don’t read me wrong about this: Sophia wants Jeanette just as much as Victoria, but there are different emotional drivers behind it. Victoria is the one who wants to hold Jeanette, physically comfort her, and be close to her in moments of vulnerability. The final scene, where Sophia shifts into Victoria, makes it clear that both identities want Jeanette, but Victoria wants her most. Victoria doesn’t just desire Jeanette; she needs her. She needs the grounding, the softness, the emotional steadiness Jeanette offers without hesitation.

This is how I view it. Sophia kissing Jeanette is expressing her desire. Victoria, holding Jeanette, is expressing a need. That distinction matters. Victoria is the one who needs comfort the most: the softness, the grounding, and the physical closeness, which is why that final scene of showing Victoria holding Jeanette, instead of Sophia, is more impactful and important to acknowledge.

Jeanette and Sophia, aka Victoria’s connection, isn’t about performance. It’s about two women meeting each other in their broken places, drawn together by emotional gravity rather than romantic ritual. Funny enough, with the rituals in this series. Victoria is ritualistic in dealing with her grief. She creates a nest for the people she cares about, dead or alive.

And her putting the mask on in the childhood memory flashback was another foreshadowing of Sophia being the mask of Victoria. But the growing connection between Jeanette and Sophia, aka Victoria, is the kind of intimacy that sapphic audiences latch onto. It’s what I’m drawn to. Not because it’s flashy, but because it feels more real, raw, and built from the quiet moments where one psyche reaches for another and finds comfort.

Conclusion

Sophia and Jeanette’s intimacy works because it grows quietly and naturally, shaped by emotional need rather than performance. Their connection isn’t about romance in the traditional sense of storytelling; it’s about two women finding steadiness in each other during the darkest parts of their lives. Jeanette responds to Sophia’s vulnerability long before she understands who Sophia really is, and Victoria’s presence only deepens that pull. By the time they become physically close, it feels like the inevitable result of all the late‑night visits, shared exhaustion, and unspoken comfort they’ve already given each other. Their dynamic lingers because it’s built on emotional gravity, not a performative template. Just two fractured selves meeting in a way that feels honest and unavoidable.

But take that as you will.

Why People Blame AI Instead of Confronting the Real Issue

There’s a consistent trend I keep seeing: people are terrified of being replaced. Not by other humans, not by shifting markets, but by AI. And every time I see someone panic about it, I can’t help thinking — hun, the only people who want to replace humans are the ultra‑wealthy. The 1% who benefit from cutting labor costs, speeding up production, and squeezing profit out of every possible corner.

Everyone else — the 99% — will consume both AI‑generated content and human‑made content without a second thought. People already do this with everything else: ebooks and print books, digital art and traditional art, indie films and blockbuster movies, fanfiction and published novels. Most consumers don’t care about the purity of the medium. They care about whether the story resonates, whether the art moves them, or if the content fits their mood.

So why do people keep blaming AI?

Because blaming AI is easier than blaming capitalism.

If someone says “AI is replacing us,” they get sympathy and a clear villain. If they say “capitalism is replacing us,” they have to confront the fact that the same system they rely on to make money is the one harming them. That’s uncomfortable. It forces people to acknowledge that the creative economy was already brutal long before AI showed up.

And here’s the part nobody wants to admit: A lot of creators aren’t just afraid of losing the act of creating. They’re afraid of losing the chance at upward class mobility.

People want the fruit, the prestige, the best‑selling novel, the movie adaptation, the award, the recognition, the financial stability that comes from being one of the “chosen” few. They want to climb the ladder. And they want to be part of the creative elite. That's a mouthful to spew out. But tell me if this is not true. Let's be honest about this.

AI threatens the pathway to all that I mentioned — not the ability to create.

That’s why the fear feels so intense. It’s not just about art. It’s about class.

The truth is that the creative industry has always been shaped by capitalism. Most actors aren’t wealthy. Most musicians aren’t wealthy. And definitely most writers aren’t wealthy. Success has always been inconsistent, unpredictable, and tied to systems that reward profit over passion. AI didn’t create that reality — it just exposed it.

Meanwhile, the 99% will continue consuming whatever they enjoy, whether it’s human‑made or AI‑generated. They’re not trying to replace anyone. They’re just living their lives.

The replacement pressure comes from the top, not the bottom.

So when people say they’re afraid of AI, what they’re really afraid of is losing their shot at climbing the class ladder through creativity. They’re afraid of losing the dream of being chosen. And they’re definitely afraid of losing the illusion of a fair path upward.

But blaming AI won’t fix the system. Blaming won’t change the economics of art. And it won’t make the creative industry any less brutal.

If anything, it distracts from the real issue: We live in a system where creators have always had to fight for space, recognition, and the means to survival.

And that’s why I keep writing. Not because I expect prestige or to bear fruit. But because the act of creating is the part I can control, and the part that still matters, no matter how the world changes.

What My Dreams Taught Me About Fear and Action

There’s something I want to touch base on regarding the philosophies I’ve learned from my dreams. The most prominent one, which I used in one of my stories, had to do with being in an oceanside sanctuary, standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down at the sharks in the water. A woman stood beside me, telling me to take the leap. She wanted me to jump off the cliff and into the ocean with the sharks, then swim to a small piece of land about a quarter mile out from the mainland.

Even though it was a dream, I was afraid. The uncertainty of what might happen ate away at me. But it’s interesting to think about how much fear I held, when all that was asked of me was to trust the woman who said everything would be fine. And she was right. I dove deep into the ocean, swam with the sharks, and made it to the island. It was fun, too, because I got to race the woman who urged me to take that leap of faith. Did I win the race? No. She’s an oceanic nymph — water is her nature. But I still had fun.

Plenty of times, I’ve had dreams where I had to overcome fear and trust the process. It wasn’t about winning or losing; it was about gaining lessons from the experience. Sometimes I had to walk into the darkness even though my gut churned with alertness from the uncertainty of what lay ahead. My muscles tense, my heart races, and even though there’s fear in so much, life still demands action. Even if I fall on my face. Even if I lose more than I put in. I still take action.

If I think about doing something for a long time and never take action, then whatever uncertainty presents itself becomes my excuse to justify not doing anything. Even future writers go through this. They think about writing that one story, that one book, but when uncertainty shows up, they close up and create fear within themselves. People fear wasting time and energy pursuing something with no guarantee of bearing fruit. Let me tell you something fundamentally important about reality: there is no certainty it will bear fruit. The whole point is the process of doing it and seeing it through. Life is about expending a massive amount of energy and time.

I am very good at expending my time and energy on things that bear absolutely no fruit and have run me into the negatives on all fronts, even financially. Do I regret it? No. It doesn’t feel good, but it’s better than not doing anything at all. I dove into relationships and invested energy, time, and money into them, and some lasted longer than expected. My longest relationship was six years; before that, four years. When I decided I wanted to finally write and finish a novel, within six months I wrote two novels and self‑published them. Was it successful? No. But I did get more readers and buyers than expected. I wrote a third novel and a novella, and then a fourth novel. I wrote several other incomplete manuscripts, and my biggest hurdle is completing them. I still write and self‑publish regardless of success. And I’ve admitted to people that I don’t feel excitement or accomplishment from finishing a novel — I just feel relieved. It’s the writing process I enjoy. I like piecing together events. I like building the world and its inhabitants. I enjoy coming up with dialogue exchanges between characters.

I’m in the negative on how much I’ve spent on writing. I haven’t borne any fruit from my work. And I still love writing. I still enjoy creating novels, and I’m not afraid to self‑publish them. I’m not even worried about them failing. Almost everything I’ve created in life has failed in some way. Most life paths I’ve chosen, I’ve failed and fallen on my face. I’ve tried new things because they interested me, and I wanted to pursue them. So I did. I took action. I took that leap. And it wasn’t successful by any means, but I learned a lot, and I enjoyed the process.

Writing long‑form posts on here takes up time, energy, and even money, because I’m using a laptop and internet service to be here. I understand people have fears about AI replacing writers and artists, and they use that as a reason not to bother pursuing their craft. The truth is this: if someone uses AI as an excuse not to write a book or create artwork, it means they never truly wanted to take the steps in the first place. They’re using a changing world to justify not taking any steps at all.

It’s the same timidness some women have about approaching another woman and shooting their shot by simply talking to the person who catches their eye.

I don’t feel any fear about AI. I’m going to be honest: there is a consumer base that wants fast‑produced junk content, and there are consumers who want human‑made content created with time and care. So for writers who write fiction, there will always be a demand for human authors — and now there’s a new demand for AI‑generated writing. Why does a market like that exist? Because some people don’t mind it. They like it, and they consume it. Consumer trends have shifted to include people who just want a story to relax to, even if it was quickly generated and churned out.

The only thing I find threatening is people using an unregulated tool. We need regulations on these tools. People don’t grasp how our current economic system wants to make money by any means necessary. This system is not built for all creators to succeed and make a living solely off creating art or writing novels. It’s like assuming most actors are wealthy because they were in a popular TV show or successful film, or assuming most mainstream musicians are wealthy. Everything relies on consistent work — work that sells, work that consistently pays.

I mentioned my friend who went into debt paying for one of her plays to be shown. No money was made back. She had to work and pay that debt off over time. Does she regret it? No. She was sad she had to miss her own play because her job schedule didn’t allow her to take time off to see it.

Can you imagine paying for something, going into debt to make it happen… and then not being able to attend it? Crazy, right? But that’s what happens. You spend a lot of time, energy, and money on things because it’s better than living with the regret of not doing it. It’s the same with entering another relationship after so many others have failed, and dealing with the heartbreak that comes with it. It’s the choice of taking that leap even though it could lead to hitting a rock.

That’s how my dreams taught me the philosophy of taking action despite all the fears and uncertainties I have.

Growing Into My Lens: A Demisexual Lesbian’s View on Connection

Demisexuality lens on viewing love and romance...

Love is an ambiguous term — and I mean that. It’s an umbrella concept with many layers. It isn’t a single emotion but a multitude of them happening at once. We label different types of love based on context, yet none are definitive, because love is a combination of bodily and emotional responses.

Feeling calm and safe can be associated with love. Enjoying the moment can be considered love. However, based on personal biases and perspectives, so much gets attached to the umbrella term “love.” Attraction can be labeled as love. There’s conditional and unconditional love, transactional love, and even performative and non‑performative love. Dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins can be mistaken for love. Comfort can be mistaken for love. Nurturing can be mistaken for love, even though, for some, caring for others without expectation is instinctive. This is why love has no fixed definition or placement.

I’m not simplifying a complex experience. People often try to simplify things because they want the world to feel less complicated, but existence is far more intricate than anyone can explain. Look out into nature; the connections between species are complex. It’s easy to misinterpret what we see because of deeply entrenched internal biases. We process the world differently, shaped not only by awareness and experience but also by biological responses.

As a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian, I view love through a different lens than an allosexual person. The difference lies in the wiring — the “ignitor” that sparks sexual and romantic attraction to women. I’ll use women as my example because that’s my lived experience.

An allosexual lesbian often feels attraction at first sight. They can imagine being sexually or romantically involved without first forming an emotional connection. They build that bond later — the emotional connection that leads to commitment.

For me, as a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian, it’s the opposite. I need an emotional bond first — to know someone deeply — before I can feel sexual or romantic attraction. I describe it as my apertures opening and my focus narrowing onto her; everyone else fades into the background. When that bond forms, her beauty intensifies in my eyes. Because my attraction is rooted in emotional connection, I rarely feel tempted by others unless I’m emotionally neglected — and even then, I end the relationship. Once the bond breaks, the physical desire disappears.

Demisexuality falls under the asexual umbrella because we process attraction differently. I don’t feel an urge to pursue anyone unless I consciously choose to. Dating can be exhausting, so I have to summon the willpower to connect.

Most allosexual lesbians mistake my quietness for disinterest. That’s why mainstream lesbian advice doesn’t always apply — I’m aware of my demi side, and of others who experience attraction differently. When a woman takes her time to build a bond, it shows she wants to invest her energy in me. I deeply value that. It means she isn’t playing games; she’s serious about connection.

Most of the time, even though I appear more masculine-presenting, people don’t realize I’m a lesbian—or they’re simply clueless about my sexuality because I don’t pursue anyone romantically or sexually. I’m generally relaxed and just want to talk and connect with women.

So, how does this affect how I view love and romance? I don’t get caught up in media portrayals of either. Even mythology offers poor examples—most mainstream mythological figures are cautionary tales, written by men projecting their own desires. Many myths were rewritten over time to reflect cultural shifts, but even in ancient Greek mythology, women were rarely seen as autonomous beings. They were often spirited away by gods against their will, expected to fulfill roles assigned by their gender.

These stories are steeped in patriarchal bias, and they continue to be read through biased lenses. The modern obsession with romance and companionship is a relatively new phenomenon. Marriage for love is modern; historically, marriage was a business transaction or an obligation. Daughters were sold into marriage—sometimes to settle debts, sometimes to elevate a family’s social standing. A girl’s worth was tied to her marriage prospects, and survival often depended on having a husband who treated her kindly.

We also have to acknowledge lavender marriages—arrangements where wealthy men and women maintained appearances while seeking fulfillment outside the marriage. These unions were driven by social and economic obligations, navigated strategically and often sadly.

I’ve written before that, as a lesbian, those patriarchal obligations no longer apply. Sapphics often end relationships more frequently, not out of instability but because we’re free from the social expectation to remain in dysfunction. We’re more aware of unhealthy dynamics and more willing to break the framework that keeps people trapped. That awareness shifts the focus from quantity to quality.

How long a couple has been together doesn’t tell me much—it only reveals the circumstances that keep them there. Often, it’s comfort or shared history. Maintaining a long partnership takes effort, especially in a society that undervalues diverse forms of relationships. Being a lesbian places us at the bottom of the social hierarchy, even economically.

Still, there’s a kind of freedom in that. I don’t feel pressured to stay in a relationship just to avoid being seen as a failure. Heterosexual relationships often carry social consequences and expectations; mine don’t.

I have to admit, it’s nice not to feel pressured to stay in a relationship just because society views ending one as a failure. Heterosexual relationships often come with social consequences, expectations, and standards to uphold. If I exist today and pursue connections with women in my own way, that means people in the past did too. Not everyone acted on sexual impulses or physical desires; many pursued relationships differently.

Monogamy hasn’t always been the default. In certain eras, companionships shifted more freely. Cultural and religious dogma eventually imposed rules that distorted what was natural versus what was taught. Asexual people exist today, so it’s reasonable to believe that, historically, some individuals didn’t form romantic or sexual connections but still built emotional bonds within their communities. Bonds were once more valued than romantic attachment.

As a demisexual/demiromantic person, I deeply value emotional bonds — my wiring is tuned to that. It shapes how I see and experience the world. Hormones and emotions influence how we process life, and what we’re taught affects how we engage with others. Fear shapes how we move forward. I notice the false narratives people tell themselves, often driven by fear, because fear clouds judgment.

Being in a romantic or sexual relationship, especially with another woman, quiets those alert signals that warn of danger. That’s why companionship with a woman can bring euphoria — a sense of complete relaxation and ease, especially in the honeymoon phase.

Relationships between women can form quickly when allowed to flow freely. I don’t see women as complicated; that perception usually reflects someone’s emotional or mental state. Many people want things to be easy, but ease doesn’t foster growth or resilience. Still, those who prefer simplicity — let them be.

Growing older as a demisexual/demiromantic lesbian has reshaped how I view relationships that don’t work out. It’s helped me understand compatibility and see rejection as a blessing in disguise. It hurts, but it’s good — it filters out those who aren’t meant for me. Even when infidelity reveals someone’s true colors, I find gratitude. The woman who tempted my partner spared me future pain.

Betrayal hurts deeply, especially during the process of separation and rebuilding life. Yet I see it as a blessing — a chance to move on and open space for someone new. Staying attached to someone who isn’t meant to stay is the hardest thing to release, but it’s okay for relationships to end.

Knowing there are countless women in the world is comforting. Social media, for all its flaws, reminds me of that — it shows endless possibilities for connection. Letting go of fear and misconceptions has been freeing. It’s a blessing to realize that endings make room for new beginnings.

Yuri That Surprised Me in the Best (and Darkest) Ways

I’ve noticed over the years that it’s a lot more difficult to find Yuri anime—mostly because they aren’t labeled under “Yuri” even though they are. Plenty have gone under the radar because of the lack of labeling. So, I have to rely on online forums to see what’s going under the radar.

Last year, I watched There’s No Freaking Way I’ll Be Your Lover! Unless… and oh my gosh, I never thought I’d be watching a Yuri version of polyamory. The thing about Yuri is that the characters are rich in complex emotions. I related a lot to the main character, Renako Amaori, since she’s an introvert with special interests that aren’t well received—gaming, manga, anime, and cosplay. She’s also neurodivergent. Renako gradually develops close relationships with each girl in her high school friend group, having a history of loneliness before. She masks and hides her true self from the other girls so she can finally have friends and not feel lonely anymore. I think a lot of people can relate to that—because I sure do.

Mai Oduka is the only rich girl in the group who consistently pursues Renako, not only romantically but physically as well.

However, Renako has a crush on Ajisai Sena, which she hasn’t acknowledged to herself throughout the series because she doesn’t want to pursue romantic relationships—she just wants close friends. So, most of the episodes revolve around Renako proving to Mai that friendship is just as important, or even more important, than romantic relationships. Mai tries to prove the opposite.

The concept of trying to prove things to each other is fun to watch—one day they hang out as friends, and another day they date like romantic partners. Viewers often take Mai the wrong way because her character is built around always getting what she wants. She uses that privilege a lot to get her way, crosses boundaries too much, and pays the price for it. We can’t tell the actual sexuality of each character because it’s not stated directly—it’s shown through the story and dialogue exchanges. I laughed a bit when I realized Mai has demisexual traits. She never showed romantic or sexual interest in anyone until she talked to and got to know Renako. Renako treated Mai like a person, not based on her socioeconomic status. They developed an emotional bond, which prompted Mai to pursue Renako romantically and sexually.

Basically, without getting any more into it—because I’d like people to watch it and maybe read the manga—it’s best to experience it firsthand instead of taking my word for it. It taps into deeper, complex emotions about girlhood relationships and the shame we feel when we don’t fit the mold.

Another Yuri anime I watched earlier this year was Roll Over and Die. This one is a darker-themed story about Flum Apricot, who is sold into slavery by one of the hero’s party members. She was part of the hero’s party. Long story short, she’s sold to a black-market slaver who brands her with a slave mark on her cheek and locks her in a cell to die with other unsellable slaves. For entertainment, ghouls are set free in the jail cell with Flum and others. One of them is Milkit—a girl with marks all over her face, covered in bandages. To raise the stakes, a cursed sword is placed in the cell. However, anyone who picks it up bursts into flames and melts. Flum, being attacked by ghouls, has no choice but to go for the sword. It turns out she can wield cursed items, and she kills all the ghouls and the slaver. That scene was very satisfying to watch. Milkit is the only other survivor, and Flum takes her into her care and protection.

The story is really good in terms of world-building, and Flum develops a romantic relationship with Milkit as the episodes progress. Flum does everything possible to make Milkit happy and feel safe. So, even though there’s a dark undertone to the anime, it has a warm-heartedness that comes from the growing bond between Flum and Milkit.

Then there’s This Monster Wants to Eat Me. When I tell you this anime stomps hard on Twilight and does it so much better, I mean it. I’m not joking. This anime sets the tone for a love triangle—but in the most terrifying and delicious way possible. Our main girl is Hinako, who is deeply depressed because, as a child, she survived a devastating accident that killed her mother, father, and brother. She wears long sleeves year-round to cover the burn scars on her body. Hinako attracts a lot of yokai and malicious spirits who want to eat her. Her body rings the dinner bell, and we don’t understand why at first. Then we meet Shiori, a mermaid glamorizing around in human form to meet Hinako. Shiori claims that she alone should be the one to eat Hinako, but she convinces Hinako that she needs to “sweeten up” more. So, they make a pact—Hinako will not allow herself to be eaten by any other monster except Shiori.

Later, we learn that Hinako’s childhood friend, Miko, is a Kitsune and just as powerful as Shiori. Miko has been killing off all the other monsters that wanted to eat Hinako. She’s the one who protected Hinako after the accident. Because of that accident, Hinako’s scent changed, attracting all the yokai to her.

As the story progresses, we learn how willing Miko is to stay by Hinako’s side to protect her from other monsters. Because she herself also yearns to eat Hinako due to the unknown scent, every time it becomes too much to handle, Miko bites off one of her tails and eats it to satisfy her craving for Hinako’s flesh. However, doing that weakens Miko, making it harder for her to travel long distances in human form. As the story moves along, we learn more about Shiori and the true story of what happened to Hinako—and why her scent became so delicious to other yokai. I highly recommend this anime because it just hits the spot.

For now, these are at least three yuri anime I recommend.

The Mythic Teachers of My Life | The Beings Who Taught Me Through Dreams

“All my life, I’ve dreamt in myth — the earth cracking open to birth gods, beasts, and philosophies.”

As of this year, I came to the realization that I’ve been dreaming of the mythos all my life. When I was a child, I dreamt of the earth quaking and the ground cracking to bring up an egg. When the egg hatched, a rainbow‑furred dog emerged. Not just the rainbow‑furred dog emerged — in the same dream, but some time later, another earthquake happened, and another egg emerged from the earth. That egg hatched a black‑furred dog — a dog I feared. In a way, I learned later that I was dreaming of the cosmic eggs.

When I got older, I dreamt of a woman who could control winds. She created cyclones and twisters in my dream. She was indifferent but not cruel. In that dream with her, I had to journey to a mountain, and within that mountain was a giant whom I called Grandfather. I feared my grandfather because he was massive — the embodiment of authority — and older than humans themselves. It was a reason to feel that way.

In those dreams, I had to face many trials on that journey: storms, uncertainty, and looking into an obsidian mirror with no reflection. However, later on, my dreams changed. I dreamt of being in a paradise — a beach scene. On that beach, I met the divine being whom I later proclaimed in my story as Amphiss or Amphitrite. When I looked her up later on, with more internet information available, I discovered that Poseidon pursued a woman relentlessly to become his wife — and Amphitrite was the woman I saw in my dream. The mysterious woman who controlled the sea and created a sanctuary for oceanic creatures revealed to me her story and her personal philosophy of life.

She is the main character in my first dark fantasy romance, introduced as a side character throughout my series. Her philosophy is present — how she blesses the world in her own way. Despite not being someone of higher status, she contributes what she can to the world. Her philosophy is the element of water — how to be like water, even within a rigid world. Even without much physical strength, there’s a way to get by without brute force.

Then there’s Aphrodite. I chose her in my early stages as a witch. But did I truly choose her, or did she choose me? Her name is a mainstream figure in mythological fantasy, and out of all the members of the Greek pantheon, her name and character were the ones I focused on. Out of every goddess in the book, I chose her to impress — to show my creativity in dreams.

Now, I don’t think it was random.

Then there were Hel and Lilith. I always kind of referred to myself as a child of Lilith since I had the dream of being a priestess from a race of beings that were ostracized. But Hel — I realized recently — I dreamt about her a long time ago, after my marriage ended. It was the dream I titled The Lady with a Needle, where she bound my arm, attracting romantic relationships and the desire for them. I’ve always had a reverence for the wolf — and not just the wolf. I would dream of an owl, but that’s a different situation. Why is Hel forward in my life now? I’ve always had this way of using mortality to live life with more meaning rather than taking it for granted. I acknowledge permanence, and I always decree death as an embrace of an old friend rather than something to fear.

She came to mind officially because I played Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice earlier this year — finally, really. The entire game reminded me of an initiation process wrapped in a story of grief. What better way to learn the lessons of life and death than from Hel? In that game, Senua’s death was a transformation — not just the transformation, but the trials she had to go through, overcoming her fears as a warrior.

Hel is not the last being I dreamt of — there was Isis as well. Egypt had to enter the picture. I dreamt of her showing me how ruined statues and her name were being tarnished.

These are the things I think of, and I use them for my stories. I dreamt of Loki and Thor. Surprisingly, I never dreamt of Loki having so much aggression toward Thor. In my dreams, they were like brothers, which is why I wrote them that way. It was always Odin whom I saw as someone who divides and causes mayhem based on self‑serving desires. It’s no wonder Hel sat on the throne where all other spirits — those not eligible for Valhalla — were the ones she looked after. It’s why Zeus is written as a diabolical figure in comparison to the women in the pantheon. However, even Zeus feared someone — Nyx, the cosmic mother herself, the night, and her daughter, the day. I always laugh at that — night and day, mother and daughter.

I wrote about these figures and dreamt them without realizing who they were. But they were feeding me their philosophies. Philosophy is an important aspect — especially from those who were victims of hierarchy. Medusa, I wrote about as well. She was made into a monster. She may have been a gorgon by blood, but she was different from her sisters. She was the beauty that most people admire and snuff out. Not only was she transformed to look like her sisters, but she was also cursed to turn everyone into stone. That means she was cursed to isolation. These are things to think about because they tell a story of power and how worshipping someone higher is not the best route. Think for yourself, discern, and always be aware that even the more performative benevolence is just someone who will betray you and leave you behind to face things alone — and even punish.

All these beings had something to teach me throughout my lifetime.

Why Sapphic Relationships End the Way They Do — And Why the Grief Cuts So Deep

I watched bits of a sapphic relationship of seven years unravel because one partner decided to cheat — and then didn’t dare to end the relationship. That roundabout avoidance, the dragging out of the inevitable, the refusal to take responsibility… It’s more common than people think.

And believe me, I understand why a woman would put herself through mental and emotional hell to keep a long relationship alive, even after trust has been shattered. I related to the woman who was cheated on — not because I was cheated on (I wouldn’t have known anyway), but because I understand attachment.

The inability to let go. The willingness to do anything to mend it. To fix it. To control it.

Those things I understand intimately.

But what I learned in my 30s — and what I’m solid in now at 40 — is that you cannot control another person. You can’t control their choices, their impulses, their wounds, or their betrayals. You can only control yourself.

That’s why boundaries matter. Boundaries aren’t about controlling someone else. They’re signifiers for you — markers that tell you when it’s time to let go, move on, and break the connection before it consumes you.

A lot of women mistake love for being chosen, or for the comfort of having someone beside them. And in sapphic relationships, especially, that comfort can feel rare. Our dating pool is not as large as the hetero world. For me — a demisexual, demiromantic lesbian — it’s even smaller. I joke that my options are the size of a puddle my foot can barely fit in.

In my 20s, I dated whoever was available. The women I ended up in long relationships with were the ones who had unique traits that drew me in. Looking back, I realize I was living a whole different life — one shaped by trial, error, and the lessons I didn’t yet know how to interpret.

Even older lesbians, especially boomer lesbians, have ended long relationships after building entire homes together. Some even got back together because their history was so intertwined. But the truth is this:

Sapphic relationships do not operate under the same obligations as hetero marriages.

Being a lesbian means I am free from patriarchal expectations. Hetero marriages historically run on:

economic dependence

social pressure

religious expectation

gendered duty

fear of stigma

Sapphic relationships don’t have those external “stay no matter what” structures. So when something stops working, women leave — not because they don’t value commitment, but because they refuse to be trapped.

But scarcity complicates things.

When the dating pool is small, people try to make incompatible relationships work. This is especially true for:

older lesbians

ND sapphics

sapphics in conservative areas

women with trauma who crave stability

women who fear they won’t find another partner

Hetero women often stay because of obligation. Sapphic women often stay because of scarcity and hope.

And that creates a unique emotional economy.

The Sting of Long Sapphic Relationships Ending

Four to seven years is a real investment — especially in sapphic culture, where relationships often become deeply intertwined with:

shared routines

shared healing

shared domestic life

shared pets

shared trauma recovery

shared identity formation

When a sapphic relationship ends, it’s not just losing a partner. It’s losing a home you built together.

That’s why the grief hits differently. I feel that in my bones. It’s why my two long relationships were so hard to heal from.

Sapphic Relationships End More Often — But Not Because They’re Weaker

People misunderstand this. Sapphic breakups aren’t a sign of instability. They’re a sign of freedom from patriarchal obligation.

Women leave when something stops working because they can. Because they’re not bound by the same social contracts that keep hetero marriages intact despite dysfunction.

This is a cultural truth almost no one articulates clearly.

My Puerto Rican Lens

I’m half Puerto Rican, and the stories I grew up hearing gave me a sharp understanding of how hetero marriages often function. I’ve seen firsthand how many of them are:

performative

obligatory

quietly fractured

full of infidelity

held together by social expectation rather than love

held together by fear

So I don’t get fooled by how things look on the outside, or by how many years a couple has been together.

Hetero marriages often stay together despite dysfunction. Sapphic relationships often end because women refuse to tolerate dysfunction.

Sapphic relationships don’t fail more often — they end more honestly. And the grief feels sharper because the love was deeper.

The Partner Who Cheats But Won’t Leave

This pattern shows up more often than people admit.

Not because sapphic women cheat more — they don’t. But because when they do, they often:

don’t want to be the villain

don’t want to destroy the life they built

don’t want to face the guilt

don’t want to confront the emotional fallout

don’t want to lose the person who feels like home

So instead of ending it cleanly, they drag it out. They avoid. They lie by omission. They hope the relationship will “fix itself.” They hope the other woman will leave first.

It’s cowardice, yes — but it’s also fear.

Fear of losing the one person who knows them deeply. Fear of losing the domestic world they built. Fear of facing the consequences of their own actions.

We have to learn to see that clearly.

Why She Couldn’t Let Go

People think staying after betrayal is weakness. It’s not.

It’s attachment trauma mixed with scarcity mixed with hope.

In sapphic relationships:

the dating pool is small

the emotional intensity is high

the shared life becomes deeply intertwined

the relationship often becomes the primary emotional anchor

Leaving feels like ripping out a root system.

So she stayed. She tried to mend it. She tried to control it. She even tried to rebuild trust that was already dead.

Not because she was naive. But because she was attached.

Attachment makes people do things that look irrational from the outside but feel necessary from the inside.

The Hell of Trying to Save Something Already Gone

That hell looks like:

bargaining

over-functioning

self-blame

hypervigilance

emotional contortion

trying to be “better”

trying to be “enough”

trying to fix what she didn’t break

It’s not about the cheating. It’s about the terror of losing the life she built. It’s about the fear she won’t find another connection like that. It’s about the grief of losing not just a partner, but a world.

My Own Lessons

I learned firsthand that I’m not exempt from being framed as unstable or monstrous. I learned that someone’s past patterns matter. I learned that love does not protect you from someone’s unresolved wounds.

My first 9-month relationship taught me that danger can hide in places you’re not yet equipped to see. My second taught me that even lesbians can be insecure with other lesbians, and that possessiveness and jealousy are unhealthy, no matter how small the dose is. My third, and longest, taught me that attachment can make you ignore what should have been obvious.

I don’t act like a victim. It happened. I learned. And I moved forward.

Anger doesn’t change anything. Desperation doesn’t gain anything. It only costs more to heal from.

What I Know Now

Sapphic relationships end honestly. They end when truth surfaces. It ends when attachment becomes a cage. And it definitely ends when scarcity tricks women into staying too long. When someone’s wounds spill over, it ends. And the hardest lesson, it ends when someone refuses to face themselves.

When the home you built together can no longer hold both of you, it has to end.

I’ve learned to pay attention to patterns. To boundaries. To attachment. And to the truth beneath the surface.

And most importantly — I’ve learned to walk away before I lose myself.

How Booze Reveals What We Hide...

The topic of my alcoholism has been on my mind for a while now. First, I have to confess that I’m a high‑functioning alcoholic. I know it’s too straightforward to announce this in the beginning sentences of a blog, but in my own way, I’m putting myself on the chopping block as a very flawed person. Well… in society’s standards, a flaw. I view it as a means to breathe for a brief moment.

Now, because I’m coming from a place where I understand addiction—since I use my vice to let myself be free from a lot of my filters for a brief time—I’m saying brief because alcohol doesn’t last as long, and you can become tolerant to it. This is me saying I’m using it to handle the turbulence of life because it grants me inner peace. I’m able to relax even though there’s chaos around. It’s why alcohol is called liquid courage—because it lowers inhibitions and numbs the prefrontal control systems. It dampens the amygdala’s fear response. And with everything going on today, there’s a lot to fear. We can’t deny that life is both benevolent and cruel, and I’ll leave it at that because I already talk about life in several other blog posts. However, this post is dedicated to what I used to write and talk about.

How do people develop a variety of addictions to endure life?

Depending on the person, they choose something to hyper‑fixate on to deal with what they suppress eternally—thoughts, emotions that pile up in the body—and it can become destructive if not released in some way.

How I chose to release my built‑up emotions and thoughts is by writing them down. The best way is actually journaling more than writing fictional stories. However, my earlier stories are suffocating because of unleashing my emotions in them and molding them into a story. But that’s not all I had to do. I have so many deeply embedded emotions that have attached themselves to every cell and every space my body could hold that even writing, painting, and drawing were never enough. I had to break my body in different ways—working myself to the bone, pushing myself to run every day to breathe, lifting as heavily as I could to push my muscles beyond their capacity. I made myself become a machine, believing it was hollow. But I’m not hollow. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m filled with emotions, thoughts, and even dreams. I have needs and wants like everyone else in this world.

Life taught me very young to be hypervigilant.

I also learned very young that people never reveal their deepest truth.

I learned about performance—the many hats to change into, the many masks for different occasions.

I’ve written all about this before in other blogs. I’ve challenged people who think they know someone because of what they display. And I always countered that the majority of people only know the surface level of someone. Because it takes time and a lot of attention, and paying attention to the details to get to know someone on a deeper level. And to go even deeper, that has to be an invitation of the person allowing it to happen. They have to allow themselves to reveal those parts of themselves that people don’t see. When someone does, that means there's a level of trust that has been established.

People who have watched me most of my life say I have the oddest interactions with people. And with people who are just passing by. I mentioned one in my most recent blog about a lady who approached me at the grocery store saying, “You look like you enjoy cooking.” And then, with a span of 5 minutes, she talks about her grief over losing her son. She was not the first, and she won’t be the last. I’ve had many more before her who have spilled their stories. And here I am, a storyteller, a writer of stories. But what does all this have to do with alcoholism?

Well… me admitting that I have to use alcohol to breathe, to let down my guard for a while. To turn down the filters and all the defense mechanisms in my body is why I drink. I have a lot of emotions in my body that I can’t feel, but they are the tensions and the overstimulated nervous system that make me sick from the inside out. Since I’m so numb to feeling, the only time I feel it is when it's leaving metaphorical gashes and lacerations on my body in my dreams. That’s why I talked about my dream, The Lady with a Needle, and how my marriage left a huge open wound from forcing the connection. It’s why I had to dream of binding my arm that attracts and even desires a partnership with someone or a romantic relationship. I was so wounded, and if I didn’t make that choice, I would continue to injure myself metaphorically. And through that, I would be indirectly hurting anyone who would get close, because these are emotional and mental wounds that need to heal.

So, because I stopped using my body physically to brute my way out of my emotional turbulence and overflowing container of every suppressed thing, I focused on writing more, and somehow drinking became more prevalent. I do go to group therapy. I do allow myself to be a part of my spiritual community. I allow myself to have some meaningful or close friendships. But through learning about how I use alcohol to bring down all my filters and my masks, what comes up is me actually enjoying the process of things that bring me joy. I’m more willing to be vulnerable around the people closest to me, and I become more attentive and nurturing. I’m more open to people getting closer to me, even letting them touch me if they want.

Now, here’s the darker aspect.

When someone has suppressed a lot of rage and more aggressive emotions, when those guardrails go down with substances, all that is hidden becomes revealed. I’ve known people who become violent to the point that they would seriously harm those around them, even endanger lives. I’ve also met people who can’t function as human beings without alcohol—or be kind human beings without it. I have a blood relative who can’t give condolences or comforting words without having alcohol running through their system.

But I want to talk about some moments in my adolescence that I take into account when people suppress themselves and rarely say what they want to say. How did I know one of my classmates and friends had a crush on me?

Being a teenager at the time, I didn’t think much of what girls do when they get drunk and say or even do things. I already knew she was bisexual and had hooked up with girls before. But I wasn’t aware of my sexuality back then, so it didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t into anyone romantically or sexually. Even though I had a friend‑with‑benefits kind of thing with a guy in high school, I felt nothing about it. He was only a means to pass the time. Only when I recount my dating history with guys do I sort of remember him and everything I allowed to happen in high school—but it’s like looking through a dust‑covered memory. I came out as a lesbian at twenty‑one, and so much of my life has revolved around women since then.

When she—the classmate and friend who had a crush on me—used to spend nights at my house, especially as we got older, she stole large bottles of beer from the gas station so we could drink at night while my parents were asleep. When she got drunk, she became a lot more daring with me physically, and I realized how much stronger she was. She could easily overpower me if she wanted, and that scared me a bit because if we were enemies, she could have done real damage. But luckily, she never crossed boundaries without my consent. She never wanted to hurt me, even though she had anger‑management issues and had hurt other people before.

I once had to get between her and another girl she was hitting with her lunch bag because that girl had spread horrible rumors about me around school. The moment the bag hit my face and hurt me, she stopped. But back to when she would be drunk at my house—when she got too much with me, if I didn’t like what she was doing, I told her, and she listened. She did as I asked. When she would lie next to me and just talk, which I took as drunk nonsense, she kept talking about her feelings for me. And that wasn’t the only time. She would drunkenly call me sometimes, saying the same things in a haze. I didn’t take anything she said seriously because even if it were true, I couldn’t do anything with it.

Later in life, another person in our circle revealed that she had a serious crush on me. As I got older and more solid in my sexuality, it made sense. I always thought the snacks she tried to give me were peace offerings. Among other things she did for me, it all started to make sense. But I couldn’t beat myself up about that because I couldn’t do anything with it back then. I couldn’t even do anything with it when I was older and in college because she became heavily involved in drugs and other things.

Most of the time, even in my twenties, I was trying to survive school and dealing with the trauma I experienced from years of bullying—and the teachers allowing it all to happen. So many other things were tied to my entire life. It’s no wonder that later on she was okay with other people harming me. I pretty much look back on everything as people wanting to take their pain out on me. So, it’s a blessing that none of those people are in my life anymore.

But the idea of people revealing themselves while tipsy or drunk stuck with me—even in my romantic relationships and dating life. My first girlfriend, when she was drunk, was a happy, flirty drunk. She was flirty sober, but she was extra flirtatious while drunk. However, she was also a lot more clingy and irrationally possessive when she was drunk. All her insecurities were louder when she was drunk and high. She needed something from me that I could not give her.

I had to admit a lot of things about that relationship that were hard to face in the mirror at the time—that I didn’t love her as a partner. I loved her as a friend. We worked well as friends, not as partners. I was still learning, anyway, about what love is and how sex doesn’t mean much without emotional intimacy. Chemistry and passion became exactly what they are—just another substance‑abuse problem, but with my own hormones. And someone like me, who is inclined to become addicted to things, developed several of them under the guise of partnership.

In my next relationship after that, when she used to get drunk, she was the woman I fell in love with—the one who wanted to come home to me and be near me, who loved the parts of me she enjoyed but ignored while she was sober. She was less scrutinizing because, when she was sober, she was more distant and tried to mold me into what she wanted me to be—something society would accept better. Someone to show off to the public.

She needed me to be someone or something I wasn’t, but it was only when she was drunk that she actually expressed a bit of truth. And the truth was, I was the wrong person for her. She loved some of my inner aspects but didn’t love the rest. We eventually had that discussion—that we loved the idea of each other. I loved the inner aspects she wouldn’t allow herself to be, and the version of her that was just her, allowing herself to exist freely for a short time. We had different ideas about the future. Six years—that was the hard lesson I learned with that partnership.

Through those life events, I realized that when people drink, the walls that keep up a façade thin or even come down, and they reveal their true selves for a short time. They can reveal how much they hate you; they can reveal how much they love you. They can even reveal how important you are to them. They reveal their fears and desires.

However, to me, it means nothing. I always say it: I can’t do anything with someone’s suppressed emotions, desires, and the truths they keep tightly sealed away for the world not to know or see. It actually makes me sad. So, the crushes all mean nothing to me, because I always say it—someone who is courageous enough to say what’s on their mind and go for what they want is someone who doesn’t want to be caged and wants to live life how they choose.

I don’t want to feel sad anymore knowing how people truly feel about me, but can’t live it or say it to me. I let them stay that way. And it gets placed somewhere to collect dust or eventually becomes destroyed.

So, in a way, when people drink around me, I pay more attention—to how they act, what they say, what they reveal. I collect that as data on whether they can be a part of my life or if I need to walk away or disappear like smoke. There’s really not much need for a truth serum; when someone takes a substance that brings down the façade, the truth will reveal itself. But it’s a matter of accepting what has been revealed and making choices from there.

Because how someone acts while drunk is the part of them they don’t show to the world. Well, not always—some people are who they are, whether drunk or sober.

Either way, I’m learning to notice what my body tries to say before I reach for the bottle. It doesn’t mean I’ll be able to achieve sobriety, but it gives me more clarity on why I choose to pick up the bottle, even though I know it has its physical consequences. At least when I bring the rim to my lips, I accept the outcome of that choice.

Take that as you will.

#lgbtq community #i am a lesbian #diary entry #alcoholism #addiction #coping mechanisms #emotional suppression #truth under the surface #the masks people wear #relationships #wlw #lesbian #past relationships #psychology #human behavior #writing through it #introspective writing #long post

The Ones Who Don’t Fold: Spirituality With a Spine

People talk about spirituality like it’s some fragile thing that disappears the moment the world gets hard. Or they assume it doesn't exist at all and just focus on the material world. They assume everyone who calls themselves a spiritualist will eventually fall under a dictator, a fascist, a cult leader, or whatever force is loudest during times of fear and uncertainty. Definitely, the world is living up to that word these days. A lot believe and act like spirituality is just another costume people wear until pressure exposes the truth.

But that’s not reality.

If everyone folded, rebels wouldn’t exist. Resistance movements wouldn’t exist either. Definitely, underground networks wouldn’t exist, for sure. People wouldn’t have risked their lives hiding survivors during fascist occupations. There wouldn’t be stories of ordinary humans doing extraordinary things in the shadows.

History itself proves that not everyone collapses.

There have always been outliers; the ones who stay rooted, who keep their humanity, and stay accountable even when the world is falling apart. The ones who don’t need recognition or status or aesthetics. They are the ones who act quietly, intentionally, and without needing to be seen.

These people weren’t spiritually weak. They also weren’t spiritually gullible. They definitely weren’t spiritually performative.

They were spiritually grounded.

And we cannot forget or deny it.

The ones who fall for fascists or dictators? They’re not “spiritualists.” They’re people with weak foundations who joined communities for what they could gain, not for what they could cultivate. They wanted belonging, validation, identity, power, or protection — not actual spiritual growth.

And when fear comes, along with all its uncertainties, when the world shakes, people who joined for ego collapse with it. People who joined for aesthetics collapse as well. People who joined for attention will definitely collapse in utter ruin. And the people who joined for status will learn the lesson when it collapses entirely.

Capitalism feeds this collapse. It teaches people to treat spirituality like a brand, a look, a lifestyle, a way to be seen. It encourages people to enter subcultures for the image, not the practice. To adopt symbols without adopting responsibility. To mimic the surface without touching the depth of its foundation. Its meaning.

But real spiritualists — animists, witches, Daoists, mystics, folk practitioners — have always been the ones who resist quietly. They are the ones who hide in plain sight. They are also the ones who protect others without needing applause. They refuse to surrender their moral compass even when everyone around them is losing theirs.

Spirituality didn’t disappear. The magick didn’t vanish. The integrity didn’t evaporate.

People just stopped recognizing it because they only see the performative version; the version capitalism rewards. It's the version the ego clings to, and it collapses under pressure.

But the real ones? They’re still here. They’ve always been here. Working in the shadows. Rooted. Steady. Unmoved by fear. Uninterested in power. Guided by something deeper than aesthetics or belonging.

Not everyone folds. Some people hold the line quietly, and the world survives because of them.

Take that as you will.

Follow‑Up Reflection: We Never Got Rid of the Caste System — We Just Changed the Price Tag

I’ve been thinking more about what I wrote earlier, especially about how food has always been used as a tool for control. And the more I sit with it, the more obvious it becomes that we never actually got rid of caste systems; not in the United States, not in the West, not anywhere. We just changed the mechanism.

Instead of forbidding certain people from eating certain foods, we created a new kind of gatekeeping: pricing.

In medieval Europe, caste determined what you were allowed to eat. Today, class determines what you can afford to eat. The logic never changed; only the language did.

We pretend we live in a society without caste, but walk into any grocery store and you’ll see the hierarchy laid out on shelves. Organic produce, grass‑fed meats, specialty ingredients, ethically sourced foods — all placed behind invisible velvet ropes. Not forbidden, just financially out of reach. It’s a modern version of the same old rule: some bodies get access, some don’t.

And when you start looking at the human beings behind these systems, not just the systems themselves, it becomes even clearer. People still use food as a way to signal status, purity, morality, and superiority. They still weaponize access. And worse, they still hide behind structures to avoid admitting their own desires — the desire for comfort, control, validation, or power. Some religions used it to send it up the ladder so as not to take any real accountability.

That’s why I say the caste system never disappeared. It just learned how to blend in better. It learned how to disguise itself as “market forces,” “personal choice,” and “lifestyle.” Some people even still use the word "station" when it comes to job titles and material gains. But underneath all that, it’s the same old hierarchy, built by human hands and maintained by human ego.

Food has always been political. It has also always been spiritual. It has always been a metaphorical mirror. And when you look into that mirror long enough, you stop blaming the structure and start seeing the people who benefit from it and the people who are harmed by it as well.

This is why my relationship with food had to be rebuilt through spirituality. Not because spirituality made me “better,” but because it helped me see clearly. It helped me step outside the illusion long enough to understand how deeply food is tied to power, desire, and identity.

We didn’t abolish caste. We just monetized it.

And once you see that, you can’t unsee it.

By the way, I’m a witch who leans toward animism, and I cultivate in Dao. So when I talk about systems, desire, and accountability, I’m speaking from a spiritual framework that sees intention behind everything.

Take that as you will.

Or maybe have a piece of cake.

My cakes are delicious enough to cause a rebellion.

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