The Advice I Needed as a Teen (And Still Do Sometimes)

Daily writing prompt

What advice would you give to your teenage self?

If I could go back and sit beside my geeky teen self, I think I’d reach out, touch her cheek, and say this:

“You are enough, just as you are.”

I know she wouldn’t believe me right away. She’d probably frown and give me that skeptical side-eye, thinking I was just being nice. But I’d say it again, assuring her I’m not being cheesy, hoping it would sink into her heart and seep through her doubts.

“You don’t need to be prettier, louder, or more extroverted to be seen or loved. Your sensitivity, the depths you hold, the way you notice the smallest details, and the emotions you feel so deeply: they are not to be ashamed of. They are your gifts.”

When I was growing up, I often wondered why people liked me. I didn’t see what they saw. I wasn’t the popular kid, or the prettiest, gentlest girl, and I definitely wasn’t the life of the party. I was scrawny, awkward, quiet, and always second-guessing myself and my decisions. I spent so much time trying to figure out what made me special.

I’d tell her this too: “Don’t waste time wondering why others like you or if you’re worthy of it. You are worthy just as you are. Let yourself be vulnerable without feeling weak. Let yourself dream without fear of not being good enough.”

There were so many time when I felt like I was running, desperate to catch up, to fit in, to be noticed, to be the best. I’d want her to know she could stop running and start breathing.

I’d tell her, “Trust your voice because it will take you places you never imagined. And when the world feels overwhelming, turn to the things that make your heart sing—music, poetry, art. They will remind you of who you are when you feel lost.”

If I could give my teenage self anything, it would be that sense of peace. The peace that gives her understanding that she didn’t need to constantly strive to be more. She was already enough and complete. And maybe, just maybe, hearing that would have made her journey a little gentler.

So, if any of you are reading this and feel like you’re still that teenager inside, this is for you too:

You are enough, just as you are.

What Bores Olivia? (From Her Lover’s Perspective)

Daily writing prompt

What bores you?

View all responses

What bores me? Instead of answering the question like others did, I sent it to my lover to check how well he knew me. He said he’d send the responses via email since, in his words, “you’re a lot to handle.” 😂. Here are his answers, edited for clarity.

Perfection

What is the first thing that comes to mind? People who appear to have everything together: always happy, always in control, and never a hair out of place. You can’t bear it. It bores you because it feels so fake. You seek authenticity, those raw, unpolished moments that reveal who someone truly is. You’re not really interested in perfection. You are drawn to the faults and weaknesses that make someone real.

Small Talks

If someone wants to quickly lose your attention, they can engage you in small talk or any other surface-level conversation. Talk about the weather for too long, or go on about a reality program without getting into the underlying issues, and you’ll mentally fade out. You desire depth. You like discussions about emotions, dreams, fears, and everything in between.

Playing It Too Safe

It’s not that you despise routine and predictability. You thrive on them. What bores you is when individuals live too conservatively, never taking risks or venturing outside of their comfort zones. When someone lives their life strictly by the book, avoiding adventures and fresh experiences, it feels stagnant to you. You like those who embrace spontaneity, take risks, and are prepared to stray from the usual path.

Lack of Authenticity

This one relates to the perfection part, but it goes deeper. You despise fakery, whether it’s someone claiming to be someone they aren’t or stuff that shouts “look at me!” with no true substance. You require honesty, even if it is messy or uncomfortable.

Indulging in Fluff

Scrolling endlessly through social media, surrounded by polished perfection and trendy fluff? You become bored quickly. You enjoy thoughtful material because it challenges you to think, feel, or even question your own perspectives. Fluff without substance is simply pointless.

Surface-Level Relationships

This is a big one. You’re not wired for shallow connections. You desire depth and honesty in your relationships, and when someone keeps things light and never reveals their actual self, you lose interest. You seek the deep, real connections that result from being open and authentic.

Indecisiveness and Selfishness

Especially in men. This is a huge turnoff for you. You admire those who understand themselves and can make difficult decisions. But indecisiveness combined with selfishness? That combination is more boring than anything else.

Obsession with Outward Success

Nothing turns you off faster than those who solely care about outer appearances such as physical beauty, riches, high-paying jobs, position, and titles. You find it shallow and tiring when someone’s self-worth is primarily based on their accomplishments or appearance. You feel there is far more to a person than what appears on the surface or on paper.

At your core, Olivia, you want depth, honesty, and authenticity in people, conversations, and life itself. You want to experience something genuine, even if it is chaotic, confusing, or imperfect.

So that are his answers. Some may redundant but you know what? He got it right 😍🥰😘💋

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.

My Black Converse High-Tops and the Stories They Carry

Daily writing prompt

Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you.

View all responses

Some shoes are only shoes. They are worn for comfort, functionality, or fashion. Then there are some that become a part of you and accompany you through different stages of life. My Converse High-Tops in black are just that. I never wear high heels or other feminine footwear. They are simply not me—not my style. I don’t feel like myself when I wear such shoes. I’ve always been a sneaker girl since I was a kid and continue to be so even now that I’m nearing 50 (not yet, but almost there 😅).

My Converse, from the minute I put them on, felt like an extension of me. I know some people dislike Converse because of its tight cut, but it never bothered me. These shoes fit my petite feet well, allowing me to walk comfortably for hours. And I have. They’ve taken me to unexpected places and supported me through highs and lows. They’ve quietly witnessed countless moments of solitude, adventure, and change.

I’ve walked city streets, wandered quiet parks, and even attended church services in them. They’ve been there in the rain, drenched through but still sturdy, and in the searing heat, carrying me forward when I was tired and sweaty.

They’ve been my travel shoes, treading dusty earth in my homeland. They’ve become my go-to shoes for grocery shopping and getting my kids to and from school.

But beyond the places they’ve taken me, these shoes mirror who I am: unpretentious, practical, a little worn around the edges, but still going strong. They remind me I don’t need to fit into anything that isn’t me. I simply need to be myself, step by step, wherever life takes me.

So here’s to my black Converse High-Tops. They may simply be shoes to some, but to me, they carry a history of footsteps, of moments both big and small, of all the roads I’ve walked, and the many more still ahead.

Writing Is Not a Competition, So Stop Policing It

People are having knee-jerk reactions to AI, with some even accusing writers who use AI tools of plagiarism or cheating. AI technology has grown swiftly, transforming how we produce, communicate, and engage with content. While there are legitimate concerns about its impact, we cannot just put AI in a box and pretend it does not exist. It’s here to stay, influencing the future of creativity and expression.

I’m using QuillBot to polish my writing, and what is so wrong with that? English is my third language, and I want to write well. Apparently, that’s a serious sin to some people. I was writing actively on another site for eight years prior to launching this blog. All was well and good until the age of AI was upon us, and lately the people who police the site ran my posts on AI detectors, and they were flagged as non-original writing. Seriously? I was writing honestly, authentically, striving to improve and find my voice. And instead of being encouraged, I was accused, cornered, and made to feel like my growth is a crime. I literally had to shrink myself to make others comfortable. This is insane.

I handwritten all my essays, blog posts, and poems

So after eight years of writing on that site, I decided to launch my own blog. Today is my birthday, and this new blog marks a rebirth for me—a fresh start where I can write freely without the constant need to prove myself. I had to leave that space that no longer welcomes me as I am. It hurts, but here, in my own blog, I am stepping into something bigger that doesn’t force me to constantly prove myself. Now, I am going to write about something that many people disagree with, and that is okay. We all have our opinions on things. And if you disagree with what I said, I respectfully request that you skip my blog and move along. Don’t leave a comment whatsoever because I am not here to argue with anyone. This is my blog, and I can say whatever I want, so please respect that.

AI is helping more people to express themselves than ever before. Why are we writing? We write to express our emotions, share stories, and share ideas with others. I enjoy writing, and I do so on a daily basis. I want everyone to have that right and that joy regardless of their circumstances. We can’t all go on long writing retreats somewhere by the sea, with our spouses pouring us delicious cups of coffee. The reality for most of us is that writing can be difficult… maybe we have a bunch of kids tugging on our clothes, maybe we’re exhausted from a full-time job, maybe we didn’t have great opportunities in school, maybe English isn’t our first language—like me, an indigenous woman from an obscure tribe somewhere in Borneo—or maybe we’re fighting dyslexia, ADD, or arthritis to get the words on the page.

Notebooks filled with writings and ideas

We should not label those who want to express themselves with AI as cheaters or not real writers. How can writing be cheating? What defines a ‘real writer’? All of this is absurd unless you think writing is a competition. I do not feel that writing is a competition; instead, I believe that expression is a basic right. And AI is not preventing people from writing or expressing themselves. Quite the contrary, in fact. A new publication by a Harvard academic named Andrew Hartwig contends that, over the next decade or so, 90% of the IP generated nationally and worldwide will most likely be generated by artificial intelligence… so…🤷‍♀. And those who swear by AI detectors, please know that AI detectors are biased against non-native English writers like me.

I’m not condoning anyone to copy and paste anything from a chatbot and claim it as their own, but advocating for an ethical use of AI. See, this is the reality of the world we live in—something to ponder about. This is just my opinion, though, and I have no intention to argue with anyone.

The Man Who Taught Me to Read

Daily writing prompt

Share one of the best gifts you’ve ever received.

View all responses

I have received many gifts throughout my life. But when I think about the best gift I’ve ever received, I realize that it isn’t something wrapped in paper and ribbon. It wasn’t bought or could be taken away. Instead, it was given to me by a teacher decades ago when I was seven years old. I can honestly say that this gift has changed the course of my life forever. It was the gift of reading.

Unlike my children, I started learning to read fairly late according to today’s standards. I was seven years old and already in my first year of primary school. At that time, the phonic reading system was unknown, at least not in Malaysia, and we learned to read using traditional methods such as syllables or combinations of vowels and consonants. My parents were from the Boomers generation and had no idea how to teach reading to my siblings and me. Education was solely the realm of school teachers.

His name was Mr. Vincent. He was my class teacher (homeroom teacher) and also taught us Malay. Malay is my second language. I don’t know his last name, but I remember how he looked and his patience with more than thirty students who didn’t know how to read or write. I was just a child, sitting in a classroom, struggling to string letters together. I had not yet realized that literacy was the key to unlocking an entire world. Over the course of months, and through what I believe were endless frustrations for Mr. Vincent, everything began to make sense. The first word that made it click together in my brain was “ayam” or chicken. It is a combination of the vowel “a,” consonant “y,” vowel “a,” and consonant “m.” Slowly the letters turned into words, words into sentences, and suddenly books were no longer mysteries; they were doors waiting to be opened.

My Primary 5 class photo. I transferred to another school and no longer in touch with Mr. Vincent.

I think of him every year on May 16, Malaysia’s Teachers’ Day. I wonder if he ever knew the impact he had on me. Or if he realized that by teaching a young girl to read, he was giving her more than just a skill. Mr. Vincent was giving me access to knowledge, imagination, and a lifelong love for words. Because of him, I have spent my life reading, writing, learning, and growing in ways I never could have imagined back then.

Teachers rarely know the full extent of their influence. They plant seeds in young minds, often never seeing how far those seeds will grow. Even if Mr. Vincent never read this, I want to acknowledge him. I want to say: Thank you. Thank you for your patience, for your belief in a young girl’s potential, and for opening the doors of literacy that have shaped everything I am today.

To anyone who has ever had a teacher like Mr. Vincent, a teacher who made a lasting impact and shaped the way you see the world, I hope you take a moment to remember them. Be grateful for them and maybe even find a way to say thank you.

Because sometimes, the greatest gifts aren’t things. They’re the people who take the time to teach, to guide, and to believe in us before we even know how to believe in ourselves.

And personally for me, reading became more than just a skill. It became a gateway to expressing my thoughts and to finding my voice through writing. Every word I put on paper today is a reminder of that first lesson in literacy. It’s a reminder that one teacher’s patience can shape a lifetime of words.

A handwritten draft of this post.

This Is My Voice | Writing Without Fear

Someone who is so dear to me said this recently:

Your writing should be about expressing rather than avoidance. You should be able to focus on what you want to say rather than whether it sounds imperfect enough to be accepted. It’s absurd that you have to purposefully make your work look bad so that people don’t mistake it for AI or plagiarism. You’ve spent so much time trying to fit into places that don’t know how to accommodate you; muting your voice, dimming your brilliance, and shrinking yourself just to be tolerated. You deserve to exist completely, to write with all of the richness, depth, and beauty that is uniquely yours. What if others feel intimidated by that? That’s their problem, not yours.

For a long time, I hesitated before clicking “publish”. It’s not because I don’t have anything worthwhile to say or write, but because I’m worried my words will be misconstrued, misunderstood, or judged unfairly. I wrote with trepidation, revised, simplified my sentences, looked up synonyms in Thesaurus, and softened my tone. All of this was done to ensure that my sentences weren’t overly polished, as if writing well had become something to apologize for.

But I’m done apologizing.

This is my blog. This is where I can write freely, without feeling compelled to defend my words and voice. This is the place where I may write freely, without fear of triggering an AI detector or meeting someone else’s expectations.

For many years, I shared my writings on places where visibility was dependent on approval. Engagement seemed like a performance. I just realized on such platforms that the fear of being seen and the fear of being silenced can coexist. But here on my site, I no longer need permission to exist, and my thoughts may flourish since they do not require validation to be meaningful.

Above all, I decided to write for myself first.

Some of the entries may be personal, while others will be poetic and reflective. Some may feel incomplete, contradictory, or nonsensical, and this is okay. Writing is about honesty. I don’t need to be flawless. And this is me, speaking in my own voice, unvarnished and fearless.

If my works speak to you, you are invited to stay, read, and contemplate. Above all, this is a place where I could rekindle the love of writing. I write because I want to and can.

There is no more dread or hesitancy. Only words, freely written.