SHE who writes with Keys and Ink

A Domain of Chaos, Intention and Transformation

[tsivitah]

About "SHE Who Writes with Keys and Ink"

Follow the documentation of the character and reflections of the many corners in SHE's universe. Here, we capture moments of clarity, perseverance, sorrows, and revelations as SHE writes to wonder, to feel, to connect, and to become.

Who SHE Is

SHE is an imitation of her perception of the world—a self shaped by everything she has seen, experienced, and lived through up to this point. She’s always transforming, always becoming more SHE. Here, in this space and time, you’ll get to venture into her mind, walk through her memories, and glimpse her reflections. You’ll question what you see, and, in the infinite end, you shall interpret SHE in your own terms.

Main Series

Blabbermouth: A space for raw discussions, thoughts, and ideas—a spot to share memories and public introspection.

Imaginary Archive: An exploration of the never-ending creations of SHE. Where imagination runs wild, showcasing everything from character development to snippets of stories that breathe life into her universe.

Dot-Dot Momentum: Tiny dots of thoughts, fleeting moments of “Aha's!” This series captures those brief insights and realizations that spark inspiration and connection, reminding us of the beauty in the little things.

Closing Statement

As you venture through this looney facility, take your time to explore the many layers of SHE. Our main patient SHE doesn’t bite—in fact, she’s quite friendly... most of the time. Here, we keep our space humane and looney, inviting you to share in the reflections, creations, and “Aha!” moments. Welcome to SHE Who Writes with Keys and Ink—let’s embark on this journey together!

______

I’d love to connect with you! Feel free to explore my creative collection (Click Me!). Let’s grow and Transform together! With love, Tsivitah

[trc-magazine]

classroom articles:

EXPLOING THE CONCEPT OF ANOINTED TALENTS:

— A Mini Series Into The Architecture Of  A Parable Of Stewardship

SECTION 1 — THE QUESTION BEHIND THE PARABLE

A Philosophical–Theological Prelude

Every meaningful exploration begins with a question — not a small question, but one that interrupts ordinary thought, presses gently against the heart, and refuses to be ignored.

The Parable of the Talents begins with one such question.

Not spoken explicitly by Jesus, yet woven into every verse:

“What will you do with what has been entrusted to you?”

It is a question that lingers.

It follows you home.

It touches the way you work, create, serve, or remain still.

It confronts both potential and hesitation, both desire and fear.

This study begins here — at the threshold of that question.

1. The Parable as a Mirror

When Jesus tells the story in Matthew 25:14–30, He is not merely describing three servants.

He is holding up a mirror:

inviting the listener to locate themselves within the narrative.

We are all entrusted,

we are all expected to grow,

and we are all summoned into accountability.

The parable does not ask whether you have been given something — it assumes you have.

It does not ask whether the Master will return — it assumes He will.

The question is simply:

"What did you do with what was placed in your hands?"

2. Why This Question Matters

In a world obsessed with comparison, achievement, and productivity, this question cuts deeper and more truthfully:

• It is not asking if you have more than others.

• It is not asking if your gift is impressive, visible, or celebrated.

• It is not asking you to imitate, replicate, or outperform anyone.

Again, It is asking:

"What have you done with what you were uniquely given?"

This shifts the entire conversation from external measurement to inner stewardship.

It reframes success, removes pressure, and exposes excuses.

It invites you to examine:

• what you carry,

• what you cultivate,

• what you avoid,

• and what you honour.

3. The Hidden Depth: Talents as More Than Resources

In the ancient world, a “talent” was a unit of weight and value — heavy, significant, costly.

But in the parable, it functions as a metaphor for the sum of all divine deposits:

• abilities

• spiritual gifts

• opportunities

• influence

• assignments

• graces

• capacity

• and even seasons of life

This means every reader comes to the parable already carrying something sacred.

This is why the question is not theoretical.

It is existential.

4. What Stirred This Study

This series was born out of a season of introspection, where the author (ME, lol) found themselves asking questions that would not settle:

• What is a talent, truly?

• What makes a talent anointed?

• How does God measure faithfulness?

• Why does one person multiply what they have, while another buries it?

• Where does capacity come from? Is it natural? Spiritual? Formed?

• What does it mean to honour what God entrusts?

These questions pressed inward until they became an inquiry. — A study. — A need to slow down the parable and truly look at it.

This mini-series is the fruit of that gaze.

5. An Invitation to the Reader

This is not a lecture and not a dogmatic explanation.

It is a guided reflection — one that welcomes the reader into a space of intellectual contemplation and spiritual openness.

You are invited to:

• sit with the text,

• question it,

• let it question you,

• and draw insights shaped by Scripture, reason, and your own lived reality.

Nothing here forces a conclusion; rather, it offers perspectives that illuminate the path of understanding.

In this classroom of inquiry, we walk slowly.

We observe.

We listen.

We consider.

And together, we begin with the question that undergirds it all:

“What will I do with what God has entrusted to me?”

SECTION 2 — KEY DEFINITIONS

"Clarifying the Vocabulary of Stewardship and Spiritual Capacity."

Every meaningful study begins with language.

Words carry worlds within them, and without clarity, readers risk interpreting through assumptions rather than insight.

The following definitions will serve as the intellectual, spiritual, and reflective foundation of this series.

They are not rigid doctrines but lenses of understanding — tools that will accompany us as we examine the parable from theological, philosophical, and experiential angles.

1. Anointing / Anointed Talent

Anointing is the divine empowerment or consecration given by God for a specific purpose. It is not merely skill, passion, or talent — it is: grace assigned, ability amplified, purpose commissioned.

An anointed talent is:

A God-given ability that carries a spiritual assignment — activated by God, sustained through God, and directed toward God. It transforms a natural gift into a vessel of Kingdom purpose.

2. Talents (Biblical Meaning)

In Matthew 25, a talent is a unit of weight and value — large, costly, entrusted.

Symbolically, it represents all that the Master places in our hands: skills and abilities; opportunities and influence; roles and responsibilities; unique graces; material or spiritual resources; time, seasons, and assignments.

A talent is therefore anything God entrusts for the sake of fruitfulness and growth.

3. Stewardship

Stewardship is the art and responsibility of managing what belongs to another.

Theologically, it means living with the awareness that:

“What I carry is not mine — but given to me for a purpose greater than myself.”

Stewardship includes care; development; intentionality and accountability.

It is how we honour the Giver through how we handle the gift.

4. Faithfulness

Faithfulness is the quiet, steady virtue of showing up.

It is not perfection and not dramatic achievement.

Biblically, faithfulness is consistent integrity; perseverance in the unseen; reliability over time; obedience in small responsibilities.

In the parable, faithfulness is the single quality the Master celebrates:

“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

5. Capacity / Ability

Capacity is the inner measure of what a person can carry, develop, or sustain.

It includes:

• mental and emotional resilience

• skill and competency

• spiritual maturity

• character strength

• readiness for responsibility

Theologically, capacity is often formed more than it is given. It grows as we respond to God through:

• obedience

• discipline

• refining seasons

• repeated acts of faithfulness

This is why the parable says the Master gave talents “according to their ability.”

Capacity shapes divine entrustment.

6. Multiplication (Kingdom Meaning)

In the Kingdom, multiplication is more than numerical increase.

It refers to:

The expansion that occurs when God’s gifts are used in alignment with His purpose.

This can manifest as growth in character; deepening wisdom; lives transformed; widening influence; impact that surpasses the individual

Multiplication is the natural fruit of faithful stewardship under divine grace.

7. To Give Glory / To Work for the Glory of God

To “give glory” is not merely to speak about God — it is to reflect His nature.

Working for God’s glory means:

• offering your gifts with integrity

• honouring God in motives, methods, and outcomes

• allowing excellence to point beyond the self

• aligning intent with divine purpose

In this posture, the ordinary becomes worship.

8. Character

Character is the moral and spiritual structure that supports the weight of one’s gifts and assignments.

It includes: humility; honesty;courage; discipline; emotional maturity; integrity.

In the stewardship journey:

Talent opens a door; character decides whether you remain in the room.

9. To Honour What God Entrusts

To honour is to treat something as sacred, meaningful, and worthy of care.

To honour a God-given talent is to:

• value it;

• protect it;

• develop it;

• use it with intention;

• resist fear-driven passivity;

• return it to God multiplied.

Honour is the opposite of burying the talent.

It is gratitude expressed through responsibility and action.

SECTION 3 — SERIES OVERVIEW

“Exploring the Concept of Anointed Talents”

Because this study approaches the Parable of the Talents through a reflective, theological, and philosophical lens, the series will unfold in a slow, structured progression. Each post builds upon the previous one, forming a continuous thread of insight.

Once each installment is published, links will be added so the reader may navigate fluidly from one reflection to the next.

Below is the outline of what is to come:

• Introduction: The Question Behind the Parable

Published: 15.12.2025

The starting point — the question that confronts every steward of divine entrustment.

• The Nature of a Talent: Gift, Weight, Responsibility

To Be Publised by: 22.12.2015

Understanding what a “talent” truly represents: spiritually, symbolically, and experientially.

• Anointing as Activation: The Spirit’s Role in Human Potential

Published: 29.12.2025

Exploring how God breathes life, purpose, and power into natural gifts.

• What Is Capacity? The Inner Vessel

Published: TBD

A deep dive into inner ability, spiritual maturity, and the formation of readiness.

• Growth & Multiplication: Effort, Grace, and Mystery

Published: TBD

Where divine sovereignty meets human responsibility.

• Fear, Burying, and the Psychology of Avoidance

Published: TBD

Understanding the inner forces that lead to stagnation, hiding, or missed potential.

• Honour, Accountability, and the Master’s Return

Published: TBD

What it means to live aware of divine entrustment, evaluation, and eternal purpose.

• Case Study: The R-Tistique Reflection

Published: TBD

A personal, creative, and practical application of the parable to your studio’s journey.

• Conclusion: Becoming Faithful Stewards

Published: TBD

Drawing together insights to form a unified understanding of faithful, anointed living.

Each section crafted to invite the reader to learn, reflect, to discern, and to see themselves within the unfolding narrative of stewardship.

With this foundation in place, the journey begins.

[tsivitah]

Dot-Dot momentum:

"To Be Grateful"

(excerpt from a self-written devotional lol)

... For while it is true that we cannot see God in human form, I do not believe He is invisible. I see Him — everywhere.

I see God in the sun that warms my skin, in the wind that brushes past me, in the rain that sings on the trees.

I see Him in the cycle of a tree, the system of the ants, and the creativity of humankind.

I see Him in my family’s laughter, in a friend’s call, in the quiet peace that finds me when I am alone.

Even in art, in books, in the bed that holds my rest — I see fragments of His mercy and imagination.

Every created thing whispers of its Creator. How could such beauty, warmth, and order exist without the breath of the Divine?

So yes, perhaps it is hard to be grateful for what we do not see. But only because we are not always aware. To be grateful is to be awake — to be present in the life we were given by that same “invisible” God.

Gratitude, I believe, is the fruit of awareness. And awareness can only blossom in presence.

When we are present, we notice. When we notice, we recognize. And when we recognize — we give value...give thanks.

Gratitude is not just a reaction to blessing; it is a way of seeing. It is the steady realization that God has never stopped revealing Himself — not for a single moment. Through nature. Through others. Through the work of our own hands.

For the people who love me and the ones who challenge me.

For the quiet and the noise.

For the beauty that surrounds me and the breath that sustains me.

— I am grateful

For wherever I turn, I see Him. The invisible made visible — in all things.

[tsivitah]

📓 Diary Entry 002:

🧷 I WAS ROBBED OF MY SECOND CHILD POSITION.

I’m 25 now. Which means my brain is ALLEGEDLY fully developed. And as the days go by, I keep getting these flashbacks—like little surprise memory postcards from my kindergarten and primary school days...

And let me just say:

I could’ve been SOCIAL.

I could’ve been COOL.

Gosh, I could’ve had whatever spark my younger brother carries now.

BUT NOOOOO.

Someone 💀—or should I say SOMEONES—left a spot vacant and I was FORCED to fill it.

Suddenly I had to be smart.

I had to like books.

I had to be the “focused one.”

LIKE FAAAAAAQ MAN 🙄

All my prehistoric social skills?

✨Wasted.✨

They never got to evolve.

And do you know how hard it is to FOCUS under the pressure of perfection???

ROBBED. I was ROBBED, I tell you. 😭💀

Anyway… what webtoon am I gonna read today?

[tsivitah]

Dot-Dot momentum:

“If I become like everyone else, who will be me?”

I don’t know who first said these words, nor where they came from — yet they hold enough truth to stir a lifetime of reflection.

For we are not here to be like X or W; we are here to be ourselves.

To honor the gift of life, to cherish the singular reason our souls came into being.

It is me who is loved by God.

It is me who was anointed with life.

It is me who was entrusted with certain gifts, certain blessings, and a promise written in spirit before time began.

So if I let go of this me, if I abandon the space that was meant for my own becoming — who shall take it?

What will I have given away, and to what end?

Surely, there is no worth in letting go of the self that was divinely breathed into existence.

For to be oneself — wholly, tenderly, and unashamedly — is to honor the One who imagined me into being.

[tsivitah]

BLABBERMOUTH

A Search for the Stillness of Waiting

There has been a change in my routine.

I no longer indulge in hyperactive and anxious activities — the kind driven by that inner pressure to do great, achieve fast, and accomplish quickly.

At my core, I still struggle with the ability to live in the present.

And I know this is one of my many harmful traits (lol).

Even so, this new rhythm came quietly — not forced, not planned — and it has allowed me to notice what I had so easily missed before: the now. Today. This moment.

Through the practice of gratitude, daily reflections, awareness of my gestures, thoughts, and emotions — through setting small goals, showing myself kindness, and constantly seeking to align with the timing and love of the Lord — I’ve begun to learn what it means to be still.

To breathe where I am.

To truly see the present.

Yet, it would seem that today (lol) — maybe because of hormones, maybe because my body feels uncomfortable with all this change, maybe both — I find myself consumed by thoughts I now know are harmful.

Persistent, loud thoughts that try to spark a fire of anxiety across my entire being.

It’s strange — to know a thought’s harm and still feel its pull.

It’s exhausting, really.

So, in that discomfort, I went to my dad — searching for steadiness, for something to hold on to — and by the grace of God, he reminded me of a story I somehow needed to hear today:

“When Daniel knelt before the Lord, God sent Gabriel with the answer immediately. Yet Satan intervened for quite a period, and Archangel Michael had to be sent to help. Even so, Daniel waited.”

And there it was — that word, echoing inside me: Wait.

Wait.

That was what I needed to hear.

That was what I needed to understand.

Daniel prayed for understanding and waited for his answer in faith.

He didn’t try to rush God, nor did he assume silence meant neglect.

He trusted that, though unseen, something was moving — angels, battles, divine timing — all while he remained still.

I need that.

I need to wait on tomorrow.

To wait on my mind.

To let it sit still, even when it insists on setting me on fire.

I need to embrace my todays and be kind while I do.

And maybe, in the same way Daniel waited for understanding, I too must wait for peace — not as something I must create, but as something already on its way.

I see the similarities between my moment and Daniel’s — both marked by quiet wars unseen, both requiring a posture of still faith.

Surely, Daniel too wrestled with emotions, with thoughts, with the noise of being human.

So there must be something in him worth drawing from — something steady, peaceful, faithful.

Maybe waiting isn’t only about patience for what’s coming,

but peace with what is.

Maybe it’s about trusting that even when my heart feels restless, God is already at work — and my stillness, too, is an act of faith.

Whatever the case, I’ll keep looking into it.

And even now, as I write all this out, I realize I already feel a little lighter than when I started this… well, blabbering entry.

[tsivitah]

Dot-Dot momentum

The Chair and the Spirit: On the Matter of Being Human

I. A Breakfast Question

Saturday mornings at home are calm and feel longer than any other morning of the week. Somehow you sleep for hours more yet wake up at your usual weekday time, refreshed and renewed.

This morning was no different. I even got the typical sibling knock on the door — his way of announcing his existence (and fulfilling his duty to annoy me) — all while grinning wildly and scavenging for the cereal box I had hidden in my room, hoping to enjoy it for longer than a day if left on the kitchen counter.

After a fair bargain, in which he offered to make me breakfast in exchange for the cereal, we headed to the living room to eat together.

Soon after, Father joined us and asked if we could include him — and Mother too — while the other two boys enjoyed their Saturday morning sleep.

As we began eating (before Mother had joined us), Dad asked one of his many reflective questions:

“Would you consider yourselves materialistic or spiritualistic people?”

The table fell silent. My brother and I exchanged glances, frowning at one another as we searched for the right words. It sounded like a simple question, yet it opened the door to something far deeper than we expected.

II. Defining the Terms

Father followed up with a second question:

“How about we first share our understanding of each before deciding which one describes us most?”

And so we did.

We agreed that material relates to matter — what is tangible, visible, and measurable — while spiritual, on the other hand, refers to what is unseen yet believed, something that cannot be touched but can be perceived through experience.

That was my explanation, and everyone agreed (with a laugh of course).

But as I was speaking, another question quietly rose in my heart:

“If the material is what can be seen, and the spiritual what cannot — where do emotions, thoughts, and words belong?”

III. The Invisible Made Audible

Thoughts, emotions, and speech seemed to belong to both worlds. They are unseen, yet they move through the visible.

Our thoughts are not physical, but they shape actions.

Our emotions stir our bodies.

Our words — mere air and sound — carry invisible meaning.

It reminded me of Genesis 1, where creation began not with matter, but with a voice:

“And God said, ‘Let there be light.’”

A voice — breath — sound. Spirit passing through matter, becoming creation.

Perhaps our emotions, thoughts, and words are that same mystery happening in smaller ways every day — the spirit manifesting through matter.

So... where do they align?

IV. Mother’s View: A Unity of Both

Sure enough, Mother finally made her way to the table.

We eagerly updated her on the discussion, and once settled, she said something that resonated deeply:

“It’s impossible to separate the two, because we humans are both matter and spirit.”

In her view, the spirit gives life to the body, and the body expresses the spirit.

She reminded me that the Bible often speaks of feelings and moral tendencies as spirits — the spirit of envy, love, wisdom, or courage.

If that’s true, then what we call “human emotion” might indeed be the spiritual realm breathing through us.

Her words echoed 1 Corinthians 15:44:

“It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.”

We are both — inseparable in essence.

I found myself staring at the empty chair beside me, realizing what Mother had just done — she had, once again, overexplained herself into absolute clarity.

Yes, we are indeed matter — yet I have life within me.

My brother added that both matter and spirit were intertwined. Of course they were!

Suppose I desire to earn a great deal of money — yes, it’s true that money is what I seek, but I’m moved by the feelings and beliefs I attach to that money: security, comfort, freedom, or love.

It’s not just the money, and it’s not just the feeling — it’s both, because we are both.

It’s in our nature to attach the material to the spiritual, because we are spiritual beings living a material life.

By this point, my question was answered.

And I had my mother and brother to thank for leading me there.

V. Father’s View : The Direction of Desire

My father, on the other hand, approached it philosophically.

To him, materialism and spiritualism were not states of being, but directions of desire.

He said:

“To be materialistic is to connect with God for the sake of worldly gain.

To be spiritualistic is to connect your worldly gains back to God.”

That struck me.

It wasn’t about what we seek, but why we seek it.

He also described God as the fullness of all things — light and shadow, wisdom and mystery — not because God is both good and evil, but because He encompasses all that exists, beyond our human categories.

He explained that religion often struggles with this idea: that God truly is everything, for He is the Creator of the entire universe, the source of all existence. Yet in His core, He remains holy and good — capable, if He wills, of anything, but always true to His divine nature.

It was hard for some of us to digest, but it stayed with me.

VI. A Family’s Threefold Reflection

As I listened to both my parents, I realized something...

Each of us had touched a part of the same truth.

I had focused on interaction — how the spirit manifests in matter.

My mother and brother spoke of integration — the unity between the two.

My father highlighted orientation — the purpose behind them.

Together, we formed a kind of living trinity of perspectives — three reflections on one mystery.

VII. The Matter of Being Human

We are not simply flesh trying to be spiritual, nor spirits trapped in flesh.

We are spiritual beings embodied in matter, called to reveal invisible realities — love, faith, truth, creativity — through visible means.

Even something as simple as a chair, a word, or a tear can carry the weight of eternity when it becomes a vessel of spirit.

Perhaps that’s what it means to be human — to live as both chair and breath, matter and meaning, visible and unseen, earthly and divine — all at once.

Maybe that’s the quiet miracle of being alive.

[tsivitah]

🕯️ One year of She who writes with Keys and Ink✨️

Strange, isn’t it? I could’ve sworn I’ve had this space for longer. But then again, my sense of time has always been scattered — tenderly unreliable — keeping me wandering between moments, never quite sure how long I’ve stayed. (Not quite a good quirk to possess, but I digress.)

A year. Just a year. And yet it feels like I’ve lived several small lifetimes here.

I haven’t written as much as I wish I had, yet each post carries the weight of a season, a thought, a flicker of self that would’ve otherwise dissolved into forgetfulness. This corner has quietly become a room of my own — one built of reflections, self-encounters, half-dreams, and tiny awakenings.

Here, I’ve traced the birth of thoughts, the unfolding of emotions, the soft chaos of becoming and turns of events — a space where, even in my silence, my words have continued to breathe.

So here’s to the pages that changed me as I wrote them.

To the ones still waiting to be born.

And to the quiet miracle of a space that feels like home — one that listens, remembers, and grows with me.

[tsivitah]

The Mirror Named Saul:

On identity, emptiness, and the shared language of survival.

# BLABBERMOUTH

Prelude

I wasn’t searching for Saul.

I hadn’t planned to open Scripture, and truthfully, I hadn’t thought about his story in years.

When I first read it — sometime in the 2010s — it was more out of habit than hunger, a kind of passive reading that never reached my heart.

But recently, something stirred.

It began with a conversation — not a study, not even a prayer, but an honest moment with God.

I told Him how fragile my emotions have felt lately — how easily I can be shaken by a single word, a glance, a silence.

How small actions from others can echo in me for weeks, reshaping my mood, my confidence, my sense of being.

I confessed that sometimes my reflections become self-doubt. That my introspection turns into a quiet war inside my own head.

And in that raw honesty, I felt a gentle invitation — not a voice, but an awareness.

It led me toward Saul.

Not to read him, but to see him.

It was as if God was saying, “Look at him, and you might begin to understand yourself.”

Learning about Saul became a mirror — a way to observe my own conflict from a safer distance, to study the emotional patterns that both wound and define me.

It was an opportunity to extend to myself the same empathy I so easily give to others.

And in that recognition — that quiet oh, this too is me — something in me had already begun to heal.

Before Saul ever entered the picture, the people of Israel were already restless.

II. “Give us a king like the neighboring nations.”

They looked around and saw every other nation led by a king — strong, commanding, visible.

They wanted that same certainty, that same sense of order and pride.

“Give us a king like the nations,” they demanded of Samuel.

It wasn’t that God had abandoned them; it’s that they wanted someone they could see.

Someone to fight their battles, to represent them, to make them feel secure.

And so, Saul appeared — tall, striking, from the smallest tribe.

A man of good presence — nothing particularly special except that he looked like what they imagined a king should be.

Even his calling happened in the most ordinary of ways — while searching for his father’s lost donkeys.

When told that he would rule Israel, Saul’s first response was not awe or pride, but doubt:

“Am I not from the least of the tribes of Israel, and is not my family the least of all?”

(1 Samuel 9:21)

At first, it reads like humility — but there’s a tremor in his words.

It feels less like modesty and more like the voice of someone already convinced he’s undeserving.

Why would a man so outwardly capable feel so small inside?

Even during his public anointing, Saul hid among the baggage.

A symbolic image, perhaps — the one chosen to lead, already hiding.

It’s as if the crown found him before he found himself.

I can’t help but read between those lines — to sense the quiet storm in his heart.

Maybe Saul didn’t reject the calling itself, but the weight of what it asked of him.

Maybe his story began not with rebellion, but with fear — the fear of being seen and expected to be something he wasn’t sure he could sustain.

III. The Familiar Senses

I didn’t expect Saul’s story to move me.

At first, I was simply curious — but somewhere between the verses, something shifted.

It wasn’t just history anymore; it was reflection.

It was as if his uncertainty echoed something in me.

Saul followed, obeyed, and in many moments, tried to please.

He wanted to do what was right.

Yet the very thing that drifted him away from the Spirit of God was his inner conflict — that tangled knot of self-worth and the need for approval.

There were emotional wounds in Saul — unhealed, unacknowledged — that surfaced as pride, jealousy, and fear.

“When I saw that the people were scattering from me... I forced myself and offered the burnt offering.”

(1 Samuel 13:11–12)

And so, fear spoke and acted on his behalf — fear of rejection, of being unseen, of losing love — echoing back to that same earlier doubt: “Is my family not the least of all?”

At its core, humility isn’t about shrinking; it’s about truth.

It’s seeing yourself clearly — neither above nor beneath others — and resting in the worth God has given you.

Saul couldn’t rest there. His image of himself was always in conflict with how others saw him.

In glory, he tasted emotions that soon became his greatest dependencies.

For someone who once saw himself as “the least of all,” approval became a kind of survival.

This made me realize I wasn’t reading Saul’s downfall; I was recognizing a pattern — a familiar rhythm of fear, striving, and misplaced worth.

Saul was turning into a mirror — a complex human, ruled by emotions I understood all too well.

What truly threatened him wasn’t David, nor the Philistines, but the quiet war within his own heart —

the conflict between who he was called to be and who he believed himself to be.

And once I saw that, I couldn’t unsee it.

IV. The Ache of Recognition

It was within this arc that my emotions stirred — a triggering nostalgia, a strange comfort found in Saul’s story.

To be called to something meaningful, yet doubt your worthiness.

To strive to please others, to do the “right” thing, and still end up misunderstood.

To fear failure, to ache for love that sees beyond performance.

To lose sight of yourself somewhere between approval and identity.

Saul was never evil — he was afraid and wounded.

He didn’t understand grace; he couldn’t allow himself to.

He was ruled by his own unhealed emotions, and in the end, they consumed him.

And that, I realize now, is where I’ve often stood as well —

in that tender, painful space between longing and self-belief,

where anxiety, overthinking, and people-pleasing quietly grow.

V. A Redemptive Mirror

Saul’s story feels tragically familiar.

To me, it’s a mirror — reflecting the parts of myself still in need of gentleness and grace.

The fears, the desire to please, the doubt, the anxiousness that lingers from not allowing myself to fail —

and the longing for authentic love that doesn’t depend on perfection.

Learning from Saul has become a way of sitting with those reflections —

of acknowledging where fear and faith still wrestle in my own heart.

Maybe redemption isn’t the absence of our flaws, but the awareness that they no longer define us.

That the mirror named Saul — the one that once revealed my emptiness — now reflects the possibility of grace.

[tsivitah]

"MAYBE TOMORROW"

"...And so on, tomorrows will pile up

And then one day

The day I waited for will come to me..."

 The sound of surviving.

That's what this song is to me.

An ache that wrapped around my chest before I could even understand the words.

Melodies that shed tears from unresolved corners of your soul.

A bundle of desperate feelings.

A silent endurance, one that is weirdly hopeful.

"Maybe tomorrow.. I'll feel lighter,

Maybe it'll be warmer

Maybe tomorrow will be mine to live..."

[tsivitah]

An Empathetic Detachment Study

a reflection on kindness, practice, and the grounded divinity of presence

✧ The Gentle Weight of Listening ✧

There’s something mystifying about historical figures like Jesus — how they walked among chaos and praise, betrayal and awe… and never seemed to flinch.

They didn’t take things personally. Not because they were numb, but because they were anchored in something deeper.

I’ve been turning that thought over like a coin between my fingers.

*

Let me pause here. This isn’t about preaching or converting.

I mention Jesus not as a claim, but as a reference point — one I’m most familiar with. What I’m really doing is reflecting on certain scriptures that… stayed with me.

The ones that sparked this whole thought came from Ephesians 4:2–3 and 29:

“Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.”

“Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may impart grace to those who hear.”

When I first read that, I thought: Wow. Sounds like enlightenment. Or a myth. Or maybe something only monks on mountaintops can pull off.

(And I don’t even know much about monks... yet.)

But still — I couldn’t shake it off. How does one actually become completely humble and gentle? What does that look like in a regular, messy, modern life?

I didn’t expect an answer. And then, right in the midst of an ordinary moment, it came.

✧ The Moment Arrives ✧

It came in the most ordinary way.

I was half-listening to my parents talking nearby — not part of the conversation, just… adjacent. Wrapped in my own thoughts.

And then my dad said something.

Calm. Slightly amused. Almost prophetic:

“Exactly! That’s what listening means. To truly see that it’s not about you — to see the real source of the action or speech and not let yourself be moved by it.”

I paused.

Wrote in my notebook: What is listening? What does that mean, truly?

And then I tried it. I tried to listen — not just hear, but see. And something… shifted.

✧ The Revelation ✧

Jesus — not the haloed painting, not the exalted icon — but Jesus the unbothered.

I know, that sounds strange. Unbothered used to mean cold, disinterested, detached.

But what if it can mean something else?

What if Jesus wasn’t detached from people… but from ego?

Not cold. Just clear.

A grounded kind of presence that could hold space for chaos, celebration, misunderstanding, praise, and rejection — all without losing center.

His detachment wasn’t apathy. It was awareness. A presence that stayed soft, even when the world was harsh.

And so I wondered again — but this time, differently.

✧ A Shift in the Question ✧

So maybe Ephesians 4 isn’t asking us to be flawless saints. Maybe it’s inviting us to be present.

Could it be that to be humble, gentle, and patient… means simply to know how to listen?

Not react. Not absorb.

But see beyond the ego — in ourselves and in others.

If true, then maybe the strange analogy that followed wasn’t so strange after all.

✧ A New Understanding ✧

What if gentleness isn’t a trait you’re born with?

What if it’s a practice?

Maybe they’re choices. Maybe they’re habits.

A kind of spiritual muscle memory — built slowly, with awareness and repetition. Practiced until it becomes your natural response. Until presence becomes your posture.

✧ The Willing Practice ✧

Paul once said:

“I die daily.” (1 Corinthians 15:31)

Not a dramatic death — but the daily ego-shedding. The daily choice to respond with clarity instead of impulse.

To speak what is helpful, what is graceful. To remember where you are. Who you are.

To root yourself in that truth.

✧ Spiritual Consciousness ✧

A philosophy student once told me:

“Spiritual consciousness is knowing where you are.”

And maybe that’s what Jesus had.

He knew where He stood. Who he was. So He didn’t get swept away by projections. He met each moment with presence. With love.

Every time.

And so I stand at the edge of that realization, wonder in my eyes, like a curtain has lifted.

Choosing to believe I’m allowed to walk through that door: This isn’t just for saints. This presence. This kindness.

It’s not far away. It’s not unreachable.

It’s a birthright. A practice. A quiet revolution of the self.

Not easy. Not magical.

But real. Accessible.

Something I can move toward — little by little.

Suddenly, “be completely humble and gentle” feels less like an impossible scripture and more like a step I can take.

Not all at once.

But maybe… a little bit today. Now.

[tsivitah]

BLABBERMOUTH

"I Forgot Again"

Sometimes I feel dumb.

Not in a funny, self-deprecating way. Not even in a hopeless way. Just… a strange, still, slightly cold way. As if something short-circuits inside me — a misfire in the moment. I’ll be in conversation, and suddenly, I don’t understand what’s being said. Or worse — I do understand, but the understanding won’t come out. It stays stuck somewhere between my mind and my mouth. My thoughts feel heavy. My face goes still. My limbs feel distant. I try to hold the thread of what’s being asked of me, or what I want to say, but it slips out like fog.

It’s not that I don’t know. I do. I know things. I’ve lived them, felt them, questioned them, written about them. But the second someone looks at me, or asks me something about myself, I forget. It’s like all my thoughts scatter and hide behind curtains. I can't answer simple questions. I lose my words, not because they’re gone, but because I’m suddenly afraid of inviting them out.

I think that’s what scares me the most. Not the forgetting — but the shrinking away. The way I sometimes doubt even what I know best, because I can’t seem to say it in a way that feels real. I become detached, like I’m observing my own mind from outside it. I don’t feel bad for myself — not in a pitying way. It’s more like... a quiet disappointment, a confusion. Like being stuck inside a maze I built myself, where I know the exit is near but can’t explain how to reach it.

In therapy group, I’ve noticed I rarely speak about myself. Not really. I offer comfort, I nod, I smile when others open up. I recognize their pain. I know how to support, how to reflect, how to say kind things to someone else. But when it comes to me? I disappear. If a moment arrives where I could be vulnerable — really, truly let someone see me — I slide out of it. I talk about the past like it was someone else’s life. I share the lightest layer of something and then quickly move on. I don’t dive in. I don’t let anyone stay with me there.

And the worst part is, sometimes I lie. Not to deceive, but to avoid. I smooth over things. I pretend something was easier or sweeter or more resolved than it actually was, just so I don’t have to explain the messy truth of it all. I guess it’s safer to feel invisible than to feel exposed. Vulnerability feels like a risk I’m not sure I’m allowed to take — or maybe don’t know how to take yet.

It’s strange to write this. To admit it, even just to myself. But maybe this is me trying. Maybe saying it here is my first breadcrumb — the first soft signal that I do want to be seen, even if I don’t know how to stand still long enough for someone to really look.

I know awareness is a start. I know that giving language to something, even clumsy language, is a form of return. A reclaiming. So maybe I’ll forget again. Maybe I’ll freeze again. Maybe I’ll still struggle to answer questions about myself. But now… at least I’ve said it. At least I’ve written it down.

And maybe that’s enough, for now.

[tsivitah]

A Tomorrow with Pieces of Yesterday

Dot-Dot Momentum

As I sat wrapped in the comfort of my bedroom,

my eyes drifted to my small library corner—

a quiet archive of stories, a collection I call my own.

And in that moment, an epiphany bloomed.

It all circled back.

The endless scavenging through my parents' book closet,

picking out titles that sparked curiosity,

choosing covers that whispered mysteries—

somehow, in some way, led me here.

To this.

A shelf of my own, a testament to time.

And then, a realization:

Much of who we are is woven from the threads of our past.

Each chapter of childhood,

each season of growing up,

an intricate stitch connecting yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

I see it now—

my utopian dream is not a distant unknown,

but an echo of the safest, happiest moments I once lived, a tomorrow that resembles yesterday.

I yearn for yesterday.

For what I had, for what I felt.

To breathe that same air, to run across that same field.

To care for a pet, to cherish a home, to nurture a family.

For the things I admired, the spaces I once called mine,

are the foundation of my reality today—

the vision board of my tomorrow.

I am not stuck in yesterday.

This is a moment of revelation.

There is nothing I seek that is beyond me.

Everything I wish for—today, tomorrow—

is within me.

The happy, comfortable, fulfilled me.

No, I am not yesterday.

But yesterday is a part of me.

It lingers in my experiences, my emotions, my thoughts.

And while we often speak of leaving behind pain,

of moving past difficult memories,

we forget to honor the light, too—

the sunrises and gentle joys,

the moments of warmth that shaped us just as much.

The house I lived in the longest,

the very first one built by my parents' sweat and dreams,

was home.

A place where geese patrolled the night alongside our German Shepherd.

Where rabbits roamed the garden, nibbling on endless leaves—

and occasionally my mother’s succulents.

Where pigeons and birds perched in the trees,

resting among the seasonal fruits.

Where ducks and chickens coexisted

in their own semi-harmonious, chaotic society.

A place to run, roll, jump, and rest.

A place where pop music hummed through the walls,

where warm meals filled the air with comfort.

Where I daydreamed,

wrote amateur love stories,

studied psychology books,

and inspected every word in the dictionary.

Where dolls had lives,

where pens and pencils played out telenovelas of my making.

I made my bed, cleaned the bathroom,

washed the dishes, prepared meals.

I sat under the night sky,

my dog by my side—

a companion, a friend, a silent understanding.

I was home.

That was my home.

And all of that still lives within me.

In memory, in dreams, in goals, in character.

In the pages I turn.

In the paths I walk.

In the tomorrow I build—

piece by piece, from yesterday.

[tsivitah]

BLABBERMOUTH

The Problem With Preconceived Perceptions:

- A Comedy of Assumptions

A BRIEF introduction to my character is that I am a very private person. I rarely share my hobbies, plans, or ideas with others—regardless of how close we are—unless I feel there is a secure space or a deep enough level of trust. Otherwise, I say nothing about myself or my interests. funny enough most people I've interacted with haven't even took the time to analyse such ark and simply designed a version of me according to their own internal perception of the world, which again its fine, that's what humans do, it's in our nature.

But it’s always amusing when people realize they’ve built a version of me in their heads that has nothing to do with reality. The reactions are almost theatrical:

“OMG, YOU take the public bus?! I thought you never experienced that before!”

“YOU cook? Since when?”

“YOU know how to clean this?! I thought you never even touched a broom before!”

Ah yes, because surely, I float through life untouched by the common human experience. Naturally, my existence somehow betrayed their script, and now they’re scrambling to make sense of the plot twist. Some people even seem offended—as if I personally deprived them of information they were entitled to.

Which, by the way, is hilarious. Because people expect you to casually hand over every detail of your life without them ever asking, and they don't either — " I care but I don't reeeeally care". That’s not how things work. You don’t see a serial killer randomly announcing their crimes to a stranger in the supermarket.

“Hey, just so you know, I abduct this specific kind of people on Wednesdays around 8 PM in this specific alley.”

It doesn't flow like that, he will on the other hand reveal it to the victim —the one who actually asks the wrong question at the wrong time... at least according to the movies.

And you? You were never that victim.

At first, these assumptions used to bother me. Not because I cared about what people thought, but because the entitlement behind them was absurd. There was always this underlying tone of "How dare you not tell me this sooner?"—as if they were robbed of a truth they never actually bothered to discover. It’s as if people expect the world to neatly present itself according to their assumptions, and when reality doesn’t align, they react with shock or even offense.

Preconceptions, aren't they funny?!

After years of feeling misunderstood, I realized it’s not my job to make people see me accurately. We all view reality through our own lenses—that’s just how we’re wired.

Why Do We Do This?

Humans are wired to make assumptions. It’s how we navigate the world—categorizing people, behaviours, and experiences into neat little boxes so our brains don’t have to process every new interaction from scratch. The problem isn’t the assumption itself; it’s the certainty with which people hold onto it.

We all do this, even to others. We take one look at someone’s demeanour, habits, or even their silence, and we craft a version of them that fits within our own understanding of the world. I do it too. And because of that, I’ve become selective about who gets access to different parts of me. Maybe that’s self-preservation, maybe it’s a product of past experiences, or maybe it’s just my way of ensuring that when I do share, it’s with those who actually list. I don't know, but it works.

The Takeaways

I’ve reached a place where I no longer expect people to see me as I am. If they do, great. If they don’t, that’s fine too. It’s not my responsibility to correct their perception, nor do I owe anyone an explanation for simply existing in ways they didn’t predict.

And if there’s anyone who mastered this, it was Lord Jesus Himself. He walked among people who constantly misunderstood him—some calling him a blasphemer, others trying to trap him into proving their own biases right. But he never wasted time arguing about his identity. He simply kept doing what he was meant to do, revealing himself only to those who truly sought to understand. That’s the kind of confidence I aspire to—the kind that doesn’t flinch at people’s limited perceptions but moves with quiet assurance, knowing that the truth doesn’t need an announcement.

So, if you ever find yourself in a situation where someone acts shocked by a simple truth about you, just remember: it’s their preconception that failed them, not you. Smile, nod, and go on living your life.

Because, at the end of the day, you were never their victim.

[tsivitah]

Dot-Dot Momentum

Shades Of A Thing With No Name

Guestroom

“Oh!... it’s you again.”

Another booking, I see… You must really like our lounge to

become such a devoted regular.

What intrigues you, I wonder?

Every visit, you sign up for all our services:

the morning tangent rambles,

our cocky brunches,

evening whispers of unspoken desires,

the midnight midlife crises spa ritual,

and those weekend hikes to Mount Wonder.

In our cosy teddy-bear shade, our regular guest settles in…

As I watch you, coming as you are—blinding me with your light,

I feel a peculiar swirl of emotions,

an unsteady warmth and an ache,

shimmering and out of reach.

There’s a sense of wonder here, maybe even fear, as if by simply being,

you reflect pieces of myself I hadn’t yet known.

This truly is something I can’t quite name,

feelings that gently but persistently urge me

to clumsily and shyly ask if you’d care to join me for a coffee chat.

[trc-magazine]

Classroom Articles

The Back Drawer Effect of Perception

To interpret and understand the data that our mind receives—perception—is one of the trickiest and most natural qualities of human cognition. As Immanuel Kant argued, our perceptions actively shape our external reality rather than merely reflecting it.

Research suggests that the human brain generates between 6,000 to 70,000 thoughts per day. Astonishingly, 80-90% of these thoughts are repetitions of "yesterday's logic", meaning most of what we think today is recycled from the past.

These recurring thoughts influence our beliefs, ethics, choices, and actions, leading us to question: How impactful is our subconscious programming, a.k.a our mental “back drawer”?

The Back Drawer: Subconscious Conditioning

The back drawer consists of stored mental patterns shaped by childhood experiences, social conditioning, and repeated life events.

For instance, if you were frequently told as a child that you’re “not good at math,” your subconscious mind would reinforce this belief, affecting your confidence and effort in the subject. Over time, this internalized belief manifests in real-world struggles, regardless of actual ability.

Dr. Joe Dispenza famously stated: "Neurons that fire together, wire together."

Our brains automate repeated thoughts and behaviors, making change feel difficult and unnatural.

This leads to a self-reinforcing cycle of perception and reality:

Same Thoughts → Same Choices → Same Behaviors → Same Experiences → Same Feelings → Repeated Thoughts

Unless actively interrupted, this cycle continues indefinitely. As Daniel Kahneman puts it: "The mind defaults to past patterns unless actively interrupted."

The Subjective Nature of Truth

My father once gave me a perspective-changing lesson in elementary school. He said: "Two people may witness the same event but interpret it in completely different ways."

This happens constantly in society, revealing that perception is shaped by personal experience, emotions, and cognitive biases.

As Friedrich Nietzsche argued: "There are no facts, only interpretations."

Truth, then, is often subjective. What one person sees as undeniable, another might challenge based on their unique perspective.

(For example, some people argue that Taka—better known as Scar from The Lion King—was driven to villainy because Mufasa stole his ultimate crush. While I disagree, the debate itself shows how perception influences narrative.)

Rewiring Perception & Thought Patterns

To transform perception, one must be open and eager to:

1. Actively Question Core Beliefs

Self-introspection is key. Ask yourself:

What beliefs are limiting me?

Where did they come from?

What evidence do I have to challenge them?

2. Implement a “Delulu” Strategy for Success

("Delulu" = conscious belief in an optimistic, alternative reality until it becomes true.) As William James said: "Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does."

3. Commit to Repetition & Exploration

New beliefs, thoughts, and actions must be practiced repeatedly to override the subconscious back drawer. Growth is often chaotic, but necessary.

If you grew up believing that money is hard to make, actively seek proof that contradicts this belief.

If you were conditioned to fear failure, intentionally expose yourself to small failures and reframe them as lessons.

Conclusion

The thoughts we hold, consciously or unconsciously, dictate the reality we experience. The mind is a powerful tool—it can either keep us trapped in old patterns or propel us toward transformation.

The question is: Will you consciously design your reality, or will you let the past decide it for you?

_____

Inspired by:

This post was inspired by the thought-provoking video “Give Me 21 Minutes and You’ll Never Suffer Again – You’re Stuck on a Loop”. The video explores the power of subconscious programs, repeated thought patterns, and how they shape our reality. It offers deep insights into how our minds can be reprogrammed for transformation.

🎥 Watch it here:

[trc-magazine]

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