Learning to Think for Myself

My latest read

I used to think that this question would have a straightforward answer. If I were to answer directly without much thought, I would probably say, “Read more, write more, and get more exercise.” These pursuits are easily slotted into a daily routine. However, my answer doesn’t seem as solid lately.

What I wish I could do more every day is to live without that continual feeling of pressure in the background. There is always this subtle feeling that I should be accomplishing more, learning faster, doing things right, or staying within particular boundaries that I didn’t set for myself.

I began to notice how that pressure changed the way I think. For years, the teachings and expectations of the church shaped the way I thought. I read selectively and questioned things carefully. My curiosity came with hesitation, as though there were boundaries I wasn’t meant to cross. I didn’t see it as pressure back then. I thought I was just being responsible and doing the right thing to safeguard my faith. 

Things are clearer to me now that I’m no longer coming to church. However, the difference is very subtle and happens in little things. When I pick up a book, I don’t feel the need to examine if it aligns with my Christian values. I can entertain an idea without immediately judging its worth. I can linger in uncertainty, not feeling the pressure to have an answer on the spot. 

I see it in my reading and writing. I can tell since my thoughts move more slowly and aren’t as occupied. I also have a softness that I didn’t have previously. I don’t condemn myself as quickly as I used to. I feel less inclined to turn every mistake into something that needs to be fixed right away. I can accept my flaws without feeling like I’ve failed.

The process is still new. I’m still in the early stages. There are times when I go back into old habits, like when I start to think in ways that I’ve been taught in church for years. But unlike before, now I have the awareness and I can stop the thought or pattern before it escalates even further. And with time, I believe I can unlearn the patterns that were shaped during those years in the church.

This ability to think and live with a sense of ownership is what I desire more of every day. I want to read without guilt. I want to ask questions without being afraid. I want to make decisions based on understanding rather than obligation. But I can’t force it into a schedule or keep track of it all the time. From the outside, it appears unproductive because it doesn’t always show results right away. However, it changes the texture of my day because the changes are internal. It gives me a sense of stability. It also gives me a peaceful mind because I don’t have to prove or justify anything.

And in that peace, I notice that I am more present in what I am already doing, like cooking, reading, writing, or being with my family, without feeling the need to be somewhere else. Like I said, the change is internal and happens slowly. Some days I notice it more than others. Some days I lose it and have to find my way back. But when it’s there, even briefly, the day feels a lot different.


I write about Iban culture, ancestral rituals, creative life, emotional truths, and the quiet transformations of love, motherhood, and identity. If this speaks to you, subscribe and journey with me.

Little Things I Wish I Had More Time For

Daily writing prompt
What do you wish you could do more every day?

Image source

Waking up before dawn

The darkness is soft, almost porous. I lie on my bed for a moment, in half-light, listening to the world exhale. The refrigerator hums in the kitchen. Somewhere above, a toilet flushes. And far away, in my mind, a train shudders along its tracks.

Then—silence.

This silence is my companion. I want to sit with it longer and let it wrap around me like a blanket. But the world is already stirring. The koel calls for its mate. A muezzin’s call to prayer rises in the cool morning air. The day’s demands creep in like the first rays of sun.

I answer, always, because I must. The world moves, and I move with it.


Being a flâneur

Flâneur. It’s called being a flâneur. Wandering aimlessly without a destination or agenda. Just feet on pavement and hands in my pockets, watching people, and life. I’d notice things—sunlight cracking through the sidewalk, ants hauling crumbs from a toppled trash can. I go nowhere in particular, but in that nowhere, I find everything.

But being a flâneur is a luxury. Everyone wakes already moving. Our minds rushing three steps ahead, ticking off tasks, rehearsing conversations, calculating time. Even before our feet touch the ground. There’s no space for aimless wandering. Even when we try to slow down, something reminds us: idle time is wasted time.


Writing before the world intrudes

I write every day, carving out one to three hours, but what I long for is unhurried time, quiet hours where the mind is soft and open and the words flow smoothly. I have so much to say. But the day rushes in, relentless and loud. Its noise chips away at the focus I try to guard.


Reading without guilt

One page, one sentence, savored for the sheer pleasure of it. Like stealing time in a world that never stops asking. But the books pile up like a reminder of the time I don’t have or the attention I can’t spare.

What do you wish you could do more of every day?