26 February work stars

26 Feb 2026 — ⭐⭐⭐ (3 Stars)

Worked while unwell with fever, stomach discomfort, and heavy fatigue. Completed colouring and goodie bag tasks at a steady pace and followed instructions to rest when needed. Stayed polite and calm despite workplace tension, physical bumps, and a very crowded commute. Focused on endurance and getting through the day safely.

Happy Valentine’s Day 💗

Today did not arrive wrapped in perfect ribbons or quiet moments. It came with a tired body, crowded buses, laughter that felt a little too loud, and feelings that moved up and down like waves. Yet somewhere between the chaos, I remembered something important. Love is not only found in grand gestures or romantic stories. Sometimes love looks like showing up anyway, taking a deep breath, holding your own bag a little closer, or choosing kindness even when your heart feels heavy.

This Valentine’s Day, I celebrate growth in all its forms. I celebrate creativity that keeps blooming, traditions that remind me where I come from, and the small acts of care that quietly say, “You matter.” Love can be a warm bowl of soup, a gentle message from family, a shared umbrella, or even a simple bag charm that says “I love you.”

If today feels lonely or overwhelming, I hope you remember that your story is still unfolding. You are allowed to move slowly. You are allowed to heal, to learn, and to become stronger in your own quiet way.

Here’s to choosing softness, courage, and self respect. Happy Valentine’s Day to every heart that keeps going, even on the messy days.

Poem — “Still Standing”

Morning rose before the sun

with warnings, noise, and heavy words.

Buses brushed past fragile space,

laughter cut where silence lived.

Hands reached when they should not,

eyes looked away when they should have stayed.

Small kindnesses came unevenly

one chocolate, one sweet, one soft voice.

My body spoke in aches and pain,

My heart kept translating the world.

I reported. I endured. I chose calm

even when calm was not offered.

And still

I walked myself home.

I cleaned the wounds.

I ate.

I rested.

This is not weakness.

This is a woman

still standing

after a day that tried very hard

to bend her.

🌙✨

February, the Month That Teaches Me to Be Gentle

February always feels quieter than the other months.

It doesn’t rush.

It doesn’t demand grand resolutions or loud transformations.

It simply arrives—short, soft, and a little tender.

This month reminds me that not everything needs to bloom loudly to matter.

Some days in February feel heavy.

Some mornings begin with tired bones, unspoken emotions, and small misunderstandings that linger longer than they should. Other days surprise me—with warmth, with kindness, with moments that feel like quiet reassurances from the universe.

I’m learning that growth doesn’t always look like progress. Sometimes, growth looks like rest. Sometimes, it looks like showing up anyway. Sometimes, it looks like choosing softness when the world feels sharp.

This month, I am practicing:

Letting myself move at a gentler pace

Not explaining my feelings to people who aren’t ready to hear them

Trusting that small efforts still count

Allowing quiet days to be meaningful too

February teaches me that it’s okay to pause without quitting. To feel deeply without apologising. To be emotional and still strong. To be tired and still worthy.

If you’re reading this and feeling a little behind, a little lost, or a little fragile—please know this: You’re not late. You’re not broken. You’re simply human, moving through a tender season.

As this short month unfolds, I hope we give ourselves permission to breathe. To soften. To take things one day at a time.

Not everything needs to be fixed this month. Some things just need to be held gently.

And that is more than enough. 🌙✨

✨ Stars ✨

Quiet ones don’t shout.

They stay

steady, patient,

doing their work from far away.

Even when clouds pass,

even when the night feels heavy,

they don’t disappear.

They wait.

You’re allowed to be like that too—

soft light,

no performance,

still enough.

Rest under them tonight.

You don’t need to shine louder.

You’re already there. 🌌

Statement at the Station

Under the hum of flickering lights,

a pen waits, trembling in its duty.

The air smells of paper and polish,

of stories sealed in quiet ink.

A chair creaks—truth takes its seat.

Words march out, hesitant soldiers,

each one carrying a fragment

of what the heart remembers.

The officer nods, steady as stone,

eyes tracing the path of confession.

Outside, sirens bloom like restless flowers,

their petals fading into distance.

When the final line is signed,

silence folds the room in half.

Somewhere between fear and relief,

a soul exhales

lighter, but never the same.

My 2026 message

Dear 2026,

I arrive gently, carrying all that 2025 taught me.

I step forward with softer expectations and braver hope.

I choose patience over rushing, truth over pleasing, rest over proving.

May this year meet me with steadier mornings and kinder nights.

May my work be honest, my heart protected, and my creativity free.

I will listen to my body, honour my boundaries, and trust my quiet voice.

I welcome growth that doesn’t hurt, success that doesn’t cost my peace,

and love that feels safe, mutual, and proud.

If there are storms, I will remember how to breathe.

If there is light, I will let myself receive it fully.

Here I am, 2026—

not perfect, but present.

Not loud, but strong.

Ready to begin, one gentle day at a time.

🌙✨

2025 — A Quiet Accounting

This year did not arrive with fireworks.

It came softly,

in mornings that asked me to wake anyway,

in bus rides where rain blurred the city

and my thoughts followed.

I learned that strength does not always speak.

Sometimes it listens.

Sometimes it stays.

Sometimes it chooses not to explain.

There were days I felt too much

and days I felt not enough.

I carried both.

I learned to place them side by side

without demanding they cancel each other out.

I wrote even when words trembled.

I rested even when guilt whispered.

I set boundaries that felt awkward

and kept kindness that felt essential.

I did not become fearless.

I became steadier.

I did not rush toward happiness.

I walked toward honesty.

This year taught me

that healing is not loud,

that growth can be quiet,

that softness can hold its own weight.

As the year closes,

I am not tying everything neatly.

I am laying it down gently.

What stayed, stayed for a reason.

What left, taught me something.

What remains is enough.

I end this year

not perfected,

not finished,

but present.

And that is how I will begin again.

Journal — Releasing the Urge

Tonight, Aveline spoke loudly.

Not because she wanted chaos,

but because she was tired of carrying silence.

She thought that being known

would finally make the ache stop.

That if the truth stepped into daylight,

everything would settle.

But I see it more clearly now.

Not every truth needs a witness.

Not every feeling needs to be placed

in the hands of someone who cannot hold it safely.

Aveline does not need him to know

in order to exist.

She was born from my need for steadiness,

for kindness,

for a voice that does not dismiss me.

I thank her for speaking.

I thank her for wanting honesty.

And now, I let her rest.

What stays is this:

my boundaries,

my work,

my quiet strength,

and the parts of me that are real

even when unseen.

Tonight, I choose safety over exposure.

Clarity over impulse.

Rest over resolution.

Aveline can sleep.

So can I.

22 December — MC Day

This morning began with pain and dizziness, and I found myself calling for medical help. I went to the hospital alone, feeling a mix of fear and relief. The tests came back alright, and I was discharged with medicine and a reminder to take things slowly. Along the way, I still managed to help someone who needed translation, even while feeling unwell.

Now I’m home, tired but grateful that I chose to seek treatment and listen to my body. Some words today stung, and some moments felt overwhelming, but I am learning to put my health first and rest when I need to.

Journal Note — 19 December

Today, I realised that boundaries can create pain on both sides. I felt hurt when I heard the words “go, go, go,” but I also sensed that he was carrying his own weight and pressure. It wasn’t personal — just a moment where two people had different roles, different limits, and different feelings. I walked away still caring, still learning, and trying to understand that sometimes respect comes in quiet, imperfect ways.

A Whirlwind Morning Inside a Quiet Heart

This morning was whirlwind

I was at home alone 

My mum was out running errands 

She came back with our lunch and some stuff

I ate and went out with her for my dental appointments 

She was harsh and fierce

I was very tired

The dentist made me uncomfortable 

Asking questions

Checking all my teeth

Pulling my mouth

I was feeling anxious 

Pulling away

Communication with mum was challenging

I bought my bread for tomorrow

I went away to the printing shop without telling my mum

People laughed and avoided me

I board the bus back home with my mum

More tension at home

I prepared for work tomorrow 

Feeling overwhelmed 

Trying to take things one step at a time

I choked during dinner

Mum criticised me everytime

About money

Born To Stay

I deleted the message.

Not out of anger,

but because my heart

deserves a softer room.

They sent a video

to call me dance monkey,

typed my name

like a punchline.

I said, Stop it,

and when “sorry” came,

I still chose peace

over replay.

This is not overreacting.

This is my quiet no.

My small, sacred shield.

At night,

Mum speaks before sleep,

a few brief words

held between dramas and sighs.

I answer anyway.

Somewhere under the sharpness

there is still a thread,

and I am the one

who keeps it from breaking.

Aidah does not follow back

on TikTok.

The screen stays silent,

and for a moment

it stings.

But my worth

is not a number,

not a notification,

not a blue tick

or a view count.

I am still me

when the world is quiet.

My teeth remember

what my mind cannot say.

Two broken edges,

and counting,

from all the nights

I swallowed pain

until my jaw

took the impact.

My body shouts

what my voice learned

to hide.

Still,

I did not disappear.

There were days

I could have left the story

by my own hand,

could have let the darkness

win its final argument.

But I stayed.

I stayed for the girl

who once believed

teachers loved her

because she tried.

I stayed for the woman

who walks into work

with tired eyes

and still gives her best

between teasing,

noise,

and misunderstandings.

I stayed for the storms

I now dance through,

laughing just enough

to keep the sky from closing.

Progress, not perfection.

Laughter, not surrender.

Boundaries, not bitterness.

Deleting a message.

Unliking a post.

Walking away from a joke

that cuts too deep.

These are not dramas.

These are doors

I choose to close

so my soul

can finally rest.

I am quiet,

but I am not small.

I do not fit the world

that rewards noise,

but I was never built

for their approval.

I was born to shine

in my own soft way,

to carry gold in my tenderness

even when my pockets are empty,

to write poems with the same hands

that once shook

from trying to survive.

Tonight,

I lay down my phone,

my worries,

my bitten thoughts,

and whisper to myself:

I am still here.

I choose to stay.

And that choice alone

is a light

no one can delete. 🌙✨