There was a time when, whenever things didn’t go right, I’d crumble completely. I’d blame myself, then punish myself in subtle ways. Maybe that’s why I can be so defensive at times, like I’m trying to protect myself from myself.
I’m sensitive but not in a teary, melancholic way. My sensitivity shows up like smoke coming out of a dragon’s nose. Fiery and sharp. Realising these things about yourself can be strange. You start to feel like a stranger to your own mind. But maybe it’s okay to be exposed sometimes, to feel a little ridiculous. Why are we always trying to be the smartest, the best, the most correct version of ourselves? The hunger for approval is endless. The wanting never stops.
I used to think my sensitivity came from a fragile ego. But mine feels more like: what if they don’t like me? That constant pull outward, seeking love, safety, identity, eventually flips and turns inward. It starts with awareness. Then comes acceptance. That’s the path inward. I’m learning that I’m more defensive than I realised.
Today, Kumiko-san gave me a 15-minute energy healing session on my neck and shoulders. My arms felt lighter afterward, like something inside me softened. She said she could sense a fire within me, a deep passion that may not be visible on the outside. And that I’m down-to-earth. Maybe I needed to hear that to remember where my roots are.
To notice. To accept. To return inward. To seek. To believe.
I often don’t feel like I belong anywhere, not to a place, at least. Sometimes to certain people. But not a specific location. Do I feel like I belong to myself? Can I accept everything that belongs to me? Even the parts I don’t love, like my sensitivity?
Is being “this way” a choice?
I think true awakening begins when you become a stranger to your own mind. When you stop chasing answers and start observing instead. Sitting with what is. Witnessing. Listening. There’s a quote I love:
“There is a voice that doesn’t use words. Listen.”
Why do we avoid listening to ourselves? Why do we run from what we know is right for us? My mind has endless ways of sabotaging itself. And yet, training the mind costs nothing. Being human, though. That’s the real puzzle.
I watched a documentary a couple of days ago about manta rays. They’re a type of fish that has to keep swimming in order to breathe. Literally, movement keeps them alive. And they can fly. Yes, some manta rays leap out of the ocean and fly above the water. It doesn’t make sense. Why would a fish evolve to fly? Also, they swim with their mouths wide open and eat their own eggs to fertilise them. That one went into the “weird facts” folder in my brain.
I’m sitting in my living room writing all this. It feels like time is passing. Like I’m wasting it. But somewhere out there, a manta ray is swimming nonstop, maybe even flying a little, and it doesn’t feel like it's wasting time at all.
Understanding that time isn’t linear is no small thing. But lately, I keep returning to the idea that the past and the future exist only in our minds. Maybe that’s the most zen idea of all. They always say: “There is no moment but now.” And sure, that makes sense. But my mind argues: wasn’t there a “now” yesterday? Won’t there be a “now” tomorrow?
Still, the thought that past and future are just concepts (mental constructs) is both grounding and illuminating. If that’s true, then I’m not wasting time by writing this. Because there’s nothing to waste. Time isn’t something we lose. Life exists for life itself.
I saw a TikTok where police raided monasteries and found that some monks were using ketamine. People were shocked in the comments. But I kept thinking: Why is this so surprising? Being human is the same for everyone. And yet completely different for each of us. That paradox always amazes me.
There’s something tender about just sitting and watching the waves of your breath. I may be sensitive. Too sensitive sometimes. But I accept it. I even love myself in that sensitivity. And more and more, I don’t want to fight for others to love me, too.
This turned into a long one. I used to only write when I was upset. But this came out like a stream of consciousness. I don’t even remember where I started. The mind’s waves are like that.
Like Virginia Woolf wrote in The Waves:
“Happiness in the quiet, ordinary things. A table, a chair, a book with a paper-knife stuck between the pages. And the petal falling from the rose, and the light flickering as we sit silent.”
The dragon is asleep now.