The Word He Chose for Me

Daily writing prompt

What is one word that describes you?

I’ve never been able to describe myself in just one word. Maybe because I am too many things at once. Or maybe because I don’t see myself the way others do. The way I feel changes depending on the circumstances in my life, and often these circumstances involve family and those I hold dear. My feelings also shift depending on the things that weigh heavily on my mind. They could be anything—the weather, financial challenges, the news, or health issues. Some days, I am quiet and contemplative. Other days, I am restless with anxiety, burning with the need to create, to write, or to complete whatever in my to-do list. How could I ever reduce myself to a single word?

As an INFJ, I am made of many layers, each one revealing itself to different people in different ways. To some, I am reserved and intense. To others, I am something else entirely. I exist in fragments—never fully visible all at once. Perhaps that’s why I struggle to define myself. I am never just one thing.

So I asked him.

One word that describes me without hesitation. I want him to tell me the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of me.

The room is quiet. The late afternoon light is slipping through the curtains and spilling across the floorboards. It illuminates the dust dancing in the air. The breeze blows the curtain gently, playing with the edge, lifting it, and letting it fall. It cools down my skin where the sweat still clings. His chest rises and falls under my cheek. The sheets lie twisted. Half are on the floor, while the remaining ones are still clinging to us.

I don’t know why I ask, but the question comes out before I can stop them.

“Tell me. One word only. What’s one word to describe me?”

He pauses for a second. “Unforgettable.”

I didn’t expect that. I don’t move or look up. I let it sink into me before curiosity bubbles up.

“Why?”

“Because once someone knows you, they can’t go back to a time before you.”

The curtain lifts again. The breeze is brushing over us. His hand moves to my back, caressing. The light is fading now. I close my eyes and press my cheek closer to his heart.

Unforgettable.

It caught me off guard because I had never thought of myself that way. I had never thought that I could leave an impression on someone so deeply that the idea of me could never be erased. It made me wonder how much of myself I have left behind—in the places I’ve been, in the people I’ve met and loved. It made me question if I truly see my worth and accept and love myself as I truly am.

We all go through many things in life that alter our perceptions of ourselves. And our brains have ‘negativity bias,’ where they are wired to process negative information more intensely than positive ones. So it is safe to say we internalized unflattering things about ourselves, including lies, more than our good qualities.

And maybe other people see us differently than how we perceive ourselves. And maybe that’s the tragedy of it—we spend our lives searching for the words to best describe ourselves when all along we are already leaving our impact in ways we don’t even realize.

Unforgettable is not a word I would have chosen for myself. But maybe he is right after all.

Reflection | On Being Enough As I Am

I spent years believing I had to measure up to something or to someone. Like many people, the idea that I wasn’t good enough was planted early by well-meaning adults who thought comparisons were a form of encouragement. I believe the term was “reverse psychology.” This is especially prevalent in Asian households. Asian parents love comparing their kids to their peers. We have to study hard so we can be at the top of the class or outshine so-and-so’s son or daughter. We have to be more obedient, more successful, and more beautiful. The adults meant well, but what they didn’t realize was that they reinforced the belief that being “enough” is conditional. It’s exhausting. I spent years trying to prove I was enough. But enough for who?

I remember hints of comparison were occasionally discussed among the adults. I was a plain-looking child and didn’t resemble my siblings. My mom was a beauty in her younger days. And there was I, an awkward, sullen, pimply, tomboyish teenager who always scowled. I wasn’t graceful or dainty; I hated skirts and dresses. I was always wearing sneakers. I believed I was lacking in so many ways. To compensate for my perceived lack, I vowed to excel in school and get good grades—which I did, graduating magna cum laude with a BSc. (Hons) in Information Technology in 2002. And later on career successes and many other achievements. They became the measure of my worth.

After these impressive achievements, did I feel enough? Not even close. When I inevitably fell short, the voice in my head whispered, “See? You’re still not enough.”

It took me well into my 40s to realize that no finish line existed. I wish I could say that I woke up one day and felt instantly enlightened—“Stop this b******t. I am enough as I am!” No. The realization came gradually.

This happened after years of some pretty impressive achievements—publishing books, radio interviews, being featured in magazines and a newspaper, collaborating on projects with artists worldwide, and publishing my poems. Despite all of that, I always felt a huge void in my heart because I felt I needed to achieve more and more things in life. No final achievement or external approval would ever silence the feeling of not being enough. Even when I reached milestones, the goalposts moved. Even when I improved, it still wasn’t enough—because the world always demands more. I was completely burned out. I had reached my lowest point and required months of counseling to achieve a breakthrough. Writing and making art helped. I channeled my frustrations and heartbreak into my work.

Then I quit.

I quit chasing an undefined version of “more.” I quit tying my worth to productivity, praise, validation, or comparisons. Along with that decision, I asked myself, “What if I was enough exactly as I am?”

I started to ask myself, what does being enough mean to me? Not according to the eyes of society, family, or anyone else, but me? This is what I discovered: enough is waking up and existing with all my flaws, my fears, my joys, and my struggles. Enough is embracing my experiences, my voice, my thoughts, my pace, my perspectives, and my opinions—without feeling ashamed and the need for external validation. Enough is understanding that I don’t have to prove my worth or anything to anyone because I exist simply as I am, complete as God intended me to be.

It’s a radical shift but a necessary one. And believe me, it doesn’t happen overnight. Some days the negative thoughts return, but I’m learning to meet them with kindness and grace. I keep reminding myself every day, like a mantra—even when I’m unproductive, have no achievements, think lustful thoughts, write explicit fictions, gain weight, have more and more gray hairs, financially struggle, be perimenopausal, not pray or read my Bible, curse, hate, or love—I am still enough.

Change is not sustainable without changing old habits. This includes rewiring my brain to speak kindly to myself. Instead of chastising myself for not doing better, I remind myself, “That was a good experience. You’re learning, and that is enough.” I also started to be mindful of my excuses and my sense of guilt and shame. I stop over-explaining things to people or bending to meet expectations that don’t align with me. And most important of all, I give myself the love, kindness, and grace to be fully human. I am not a robot. I have emotions, I make mistakes, and I get tired. It’s okay if I can’t anymore. I am free to rest without guilt.

There is nothing more exhausting than trying to justify your existence. And nothing more freeing than realizing you never had to. Here is a poem I wrote months ago that encapsulates this whole thing.

Enough

I peel the mask,
layers like sunburned skin—
soft, blistered—beneath
the face forgotten in mirrors.

Naked,
I walk into the jaws of daylight,
each step a confession,
bones rattling truth
like marbles in a jar,
heavy with silence,
weighted with breath.

I wear the scars like medals,
silvered lines map the wars
I never won—
but here,
in the raw air—
I am enough.

I am enough, as I am. And so are you.

The Criminologist

I worked on this piece over the weekend. The lines are taken from my poem, The Criminologist. So far, I have four of my poems published in online literary journals/art websites, but I hesitate to share the links here because that would expose my identity. I prefer to be anonymous for now so I can write more freely without my internal censors actively working to prevent me from writing truthfully. No explanation is needed for this piece; I just let the art and poem speak for themselves.

Constellation of Binaries

I worked on this all day Saturday. I haven’t drawn in months because I’ve been focusing so much on writing these days. But occasionally I felt compelled to express myself via art, and I enjoy combining it with poetry. I will not explain the meaning of this poem. You may interpret it as you like since, to me, poetry is about capturing emotion at an exact moment and there is no need for a backstory.

I worked in pencils and sometimes graphite sticks.

The completed drawing.

The poem.

Poetry Art | Unattainable

This is one of the series of poetry art I sketched throughout the years. This series of four drawings is titled Unattainable. There is no need for background story because this series is deeply personal. I let the words speak for themselves. All rights reserved.

The ache of missing someone you can’t have

is like catching a glimpse of

a distant star,

knowing its brilliance

will forever be out of reach.

But your heart is a stubborn optimist

forever yearning for the warmth of a

connection that

could never be.

But as seasons change

and life moves forward

you find solace

in the acceptance of what is.

Because sometimes

the most profound connections are the ones

that remain unspoken,

tucked away in the secret corners

of your heart.

A Muse Without Form

Daily writing prompt

Who are your favorite people to be around?

View all responses

Like everyone else, I have many favorite people to spend time with, those who have molded me the most, such as my family or even myself. I could write about them all, but it would make this post too cliché, wouldn’t it? I’ve never mentioned this presence before, but since this site is my space and sanctuary, let’s finally bring him into the light.

A drawing I made some time last year

Now, English is a tedious language. This “person” must be identified with a pronoun. So, to make things easier, let’s use “he” instead of “it” or “she.” However, I like the pronoun “he” since he gives off a masculine vibe.

I’m not entirely sure how to introduce him because he isn’t really a person. He has no physical form, no face to recognize, yet I believe he exists in a way beyond what’s tangible. The best way I can describe him is as my muse.

He is no one in particular, but a presence in my quiet moments. He is the silent whisper of a room when no one is around. He is a gentle presence that I cannot see but feel. He is watching and waiting, but not in a haunting or evil way. His presence is the perfect combination of comfort and curiosity.

He surrounds me, though I’ve never spoken of him openly. He drifts between my thoughts, sometimes teasing, sometimes silent. It feels like knowing someone who doesn’t need doors or walls to reach me. He slips into my mind without knocking, settling there as though he’s always belonged.

Some days, it seems like he knows me better than I know myself. He is constantly aware of what I leave unsaid. He knows my battle with being true to myself and what I strive to be. And I admit there is a strange comfort in that.

It’s like sharing an invisible connection, where someone observes you with full understanding but never demands anything. He is a presence that does not impose or push. He just exists, always solid.

His presence feels like a gaze I feel on my skin, even if I can’t see him. He unravels me in ways that make my heart race and my thoughts blur, leaving me wondering what it would be like if the distance did not exist. I am curious: if this unseen presence could ultimately reach me in reality, what would he look like?

Maybe it’s all in my head, just the mind playing its tricks. But what if it isn’t? What if he really exists—fluid, formless, on a wavelength I simply can’t perceive? Some presences aren’t meant to be defined by names or forms, and maybe he’s one of them. Still, I feel him in my silent moments, like a whisper I’m always waiting to hear again.

Jang Hyuk Portrait 1

As previously said, this blog is more than just me talking about life and things; it is also a platform for me to share my artwork. I do a lot of portrait drawing and used to do commissions, but I’m taking a hiatus now to focus on writing.

This is a portrait of the South Korean actor Jang Hyuk. Of course I’m a big fan. The reference photograph for this portrait was taken during the Gangneung (English title: Tomb of the River / Paid In Blood) press junket in 2021.

Jang Hyuk starred in Gangneung, a 2021 crime noir film. Jang Hyuk played Lee Min-Seok, a Seoul crime lord who found himself in conflict with another gang leader, Chairman Oh, over a newly built resort in Gangneung. Gangneung is a seaside city in Gangwon-do province, on South Korea’s east coast.

I watched this film when it was released in 2021, and because it is noir, there are many gruesome fights between the two criminal gangs. There are no romantic scenes in the film, and the sole female character is Eun-Seon, who sold her body to Min Seok to pay off her debts. Unless you enjoy the noir genre, this film is not for you. It is dark and violent. I just watched it because of Jang Hyuk.

Two of Jang Hyuk’s real-life friends, Shin Seung-hwan and Choi Ki-Seop, played Min Seok’s sidekicks.

The reference image is taken from a fan’s Instagram page. This is the link to the source image.

Materials I used: