Quite aware that I have not updated the previous post yet, but will do it when all is ready. 

Let me clarify a thing: 

I have a blog, and I blog; but never once have I ever self-proclaimed to be a blogger. 

It's very flattering when people think that I am "making it" here, but I always always make it clear that I do what I do as a hobby, a passion, an indulgence. 

I feel obscenely small when I compare myself to other bloggers who are truly pouring their heart and soul in their blogging career, posting up to 3 posts a day - I barely post enough to create a proper identity for myself wtf.

Which is exactly why I am forever thankful that I was fortunate enough to be showered with wonderful opportunities that is, truthfully, sheer luck.
Until today, whenever I am asked what genre of blogger I am, I am unable to give an answer that is satisfactory as well as truthful. Because, how do you choose to be only a part of a person you are? 

For a very long time, blogging was an outlet for my thoughts to be free. My blog was a place for me to put parts of my scattered thoughts out there, and hope that someone may help me make sense out of them.

At the same time, exposing a great part of myself makes me feel insanely insecure. 

It is true when I say that I care little about what other people think about me, but the people I hold close to my heart are hardly "other people". After so many thoughtless posts, one may think that I must have gotten used to blogging about parts of me that are more personal, but it is still intensely nerve-wrecking for me to click "publish". God knows how many posts I have drafted and deleted. 

There was a time in high school where people will talk behind my back, and some even said it in my face that they want me to change the way I blog, else they will not be my friends. (Although, to be fair, my blog posts then were childish and insignificant and deleted wtf)

And I did. 

I changed the way I wrote, the way I think, the things I wrote about. And when I read my blog, there were only crumbs of my essence, but the words were not mine - and not in the way where I get really affected by the writing style of authors of the books I read wtf 

But I am grateful. 

Because of the times I cringed at my writing, and after many many turns of trial and error, I finally am at the closest to comfortable I have ever been with my writing/blogging - which actually still involves me cringing but only ever so slightly if I do when I reread my blog posts wtf. (Yes I do that don't judge me wtf) 

I dont know how true it is, but to me, it is a sign that I am close to my core, or spirit, as some may say. 

Because emotions and circumstances change, but the core is forever. To be able to be even slightly more comfortable with myself, being myself; to have believes that I trust in my gut that it is true even after time has lapsed; to finally be okay-ish with knowing that people actually read my blog and will probably pass judgments that may or may not be true; the contentment is true. 

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Quoting Oprah, "I had no idea that being your authentic self could make me as rich as I've become. If I had, I'd have done it a lot earlier."

And I am rich. 

I am rich to always be so incredulously lucky. I am rich to have so many people I love. I am rich to be blessed with magical people in my life. I am rich with people who are passionate with the things they love, and I am rich to be passionate. I am rich to be provided with everything I needed, and to manifest everything I truly want. I am rich to have my heart basking in an intense amount of happiness always. And I am rich because I love.

Love is everything and synchronicity is a bliss.

I am thankful.

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Love you xxx
♥