At the current moment of writing this, I feel like I’m back at my roots.
I’m writing from the origin point.

I’m using a plain Word doc like I used to when I was a little girl on my dad’s desktop, not knowing anything else but the simple desire that I just wanted to write—
to let my mind wander,
to create something,
anything.

So why not bring out the Word doc like the good old days, when life was simple
and writing was the only desire I had in this world.

I don’t know. I’m currently having an emotional breakdown right now,
at 1:50 a.m., December 30th, 2025.

I’m crying sooo much.

Why?
Because I
just want to
breathe.

Lol.

That’s it.
That’s all.
I just want to breathe.
That’s all I want to do right now.

Once upon a time, my only desire was writing.
Twenty years later, I’m pleading to breathe—
to take an inhale and an exhale, deeply, naturally, without force, without technique, without meditation, without prana, without logic.
I just want to breatheeee.

I don’t know how to explain it, but for the longest time I felt like I wasn’t breathing correctly.
And maybe it came from having a conversation with someone who told me that the correct way of breathing comes from the diaphragm, not the chest. But I think that was the first time I started paying attention to my breath, to my body, to how I breathe—and I noticed, for the first time, that I do breathe shallow.

And ever since then, I’ve just been trying to reclaim my oxygen.

But it stopped being a technical thing a long time ago, and now it feels like this thing I’m constantly trying to manage or control. And it’s like—I don’t need to control it. It’s my body. My body was made by God. It has its own intelligence. It knows what it’s doing. And I just keep getting in the way and complicating everything.

And right now, I’m just sitting here in the middle of the night crying boohoo tears, my nose all clogged, because I just want what’s rightfully mine.

I just want to breathe, man.

Without force.
Without restraint.
Without logic.
Without technique.

And I can take deep breaths.
I can count to four when I inhale and count to six when I exhale.
But I feel so limited in my capacity.
I feel a block.

And I don’t know where this is coming from.
I don’t know if it’s biological.
I don’t know if it’s spiritual.
I don’t know.

I never know.

And quite frankly, I don’t care to know.
I don’t care to know.

I’ve made peace with not knowing.

And I think that comes from me understanding that there’s a knowing innate in me that already knows what it’s doing. And that knowing—and the knowing I try to reach sometimes—are different. You know? I feel like whenever I try so hard to know, I interfere with the knowing that already knows.

Like breathing.

I was born with the intelligence to breathe.
And that intelligence is beyond me.

And I know—
I know that I was raised in neglect of that intelligence, or away from it.
But now that I’m aware, and I’ve seen the results of me not being aware of that intelligence, it’s like I’m reparenting it or something.

Learning how to breathe correctly, as if those codes aren’t already written in my DNA.

Why am I trying so hard to earn my breath?
It’s my breath.

Okay—maybe earning isn’t the right word.
Remembering is.

I don’t know how to explain it.

I know I’m constantly breathing, even when I’m not thinking about it.
But when I place my awareness on it, I notice that I’m not breathing at my fullest capacity.
I inhale and I stop at the top of my chest.
And then I exhale.

And when I try to nourish my whole body with oxygen, I feel a cap—like a block.

I don’t know what that’s all about.
And I don’t want to know what that’s all about because it doesn’t fucking matter.

My body has an intelligence of its own.
It was created by the Source.
And I want my body to live in the natural order of what the Source gave it intelligence for.
I don’t have to interfere.

Remembering is one thing.
But once I remember, why should I feel like I need to earn what’s innate in me?

It’s mine.

I have every right to be entitled to this.
It’s mine.

Just because the world distracted me—
just because the world made me forget when I didn’t know any better—
doesn’t mean I have to try so hard and earn my right to breathe.

It’s mine.

But most importantly, it doesn’t matter.

These are the frustrations of the ego.
And as the ego, I surrender.

Please—just take it.
I surrender.

My frustrations don’t matter.
My entitlement doesn’t matter.

So I just ask that intelligence to do its thing.
And to not leave me.

Please don’t leave me.

It’s not that I want to earn you.
It’s that… I don’t know.

I don’t know anything.

This is coming from humility, but also from the recognition that when I try, I stumble. And I know trying and practicing makes perfect—I know—but that leads back to earning. Which leads me back to: why should I earn what’s rightfully mine?

Maybe, again, it’s not about earning.
It’s about remembering.

Yeah.
That’s more like it.

Remembering that I know.
Remembering to breathe.
Remembering that I don’t have to try so hard.
Remembering that I don’t have to earn it.
Remembering to never forget.

Because this world—
geeez.

Sometimes I wonder how this world could be the creation of the same God that I know.
Like… wow.
It’s unbelievable.

And in a world like this,
I have to remember.

I have to remember to at least breathe intelligently.

If I could have one last prayer, it’s not even to God.
It’s to myself.

I pray to remember.
I pray to remember that breath is mine.
That oxygen is abundant.
That I don’t have to try so hard.
That I don’t even have to try at all.

I don’t need to earn.
Just remember.

Remembering.
Remembering.
Remembering.

Because whether I like it or not,
the world has the power to make me forget.

And if I remember long enough—
if I remember every day, every hour, every minute, every second—
perhaps I’ll forget that I had to remember in the first place.