𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓮𝓮𝓴𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓟𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓼

I finished Priscilla , directed by Sofia Coppola (she's one of my favorite filmmakers), and I'm still sitting with the weight of it. The film showed us a glimpse into Priscilla and Elvis's marriage, but what it really reveals is the hollow core behind the most prestigious and controversial marriage.  At first, I wondered if what they had was just limerence, you know, just a fleeting teenage obsession. But in interviews and memoirs, both claimed they were in love. And yet Priscilla herself says in the film, "we were living separate lives." I neither see nor felt romance in the movie, I get it-- maybe it was the way how the story was portrayed  and all. But all I see is a little girl obsessed with an older man, a rockstar to be exact. I saw an emotionally abusive and  controlling man, and a loveless marriage.  Don't get me wrong, sometimes love can really consume us if we let it. Unfortunately, for this girl, she lets it. Leaving everything behind in Germany to ...

Directed by Sofia Coppola I just finished The Virgin Suicides two nights ago, and it left me in a melancholic mood. I am haunted by the hazy atmosphere of the movie, the dreamlike portrayal, and the isolation of the Lisbon girls, as well as the way the boys next door narrate and recall the girls and their tragic ending. The boys’ narration reminds me that memory can be both tender and cruel, most especially to me! They describe the girls in a way that makes them appear hauntingly mysterious, almost mythical, and I found myself perceiving them as angels suspended in time. Lux Lisbon’s eyes, as seen through the boys’ memories, embody this paradox. Their gaze freezes the sisters into symbols of beauty and longing rather than full human beings. The girls were denied the chance to live ordinary lives, and in the boys’ recollections, they are denied the chance to be understood deeply. The Lisbon parents believed they were protecting their daughters by shielding them from the dangers of the ...

I just finished watching Turtles All the Way Down , the movie adaptation of John Green’s novel. The story follows Aza Holmes, a teenager living with OCD, whose intrusive thoughts often spiral into endless loops. At its heart, the film isn’t just about solving a mystery, it’s about Aza’s struggle to navigate friendship, love, and identity while living with a mind that constantly questions reality. As a psychology graduate, I found it fascinating how John Green captured the lived experience of OCD. Clinically, OCD is defined by two main features: (1) Obsessions - unwanted, intrusive thoughts, images, or urges that cause distress. These includes fears of contamination, doubts, or seeking reassurance. Then we have, (2) Compulsions - repetitive behaviors or mental rituals performed to reduce anxiety, such as checking, cleaning, counting, or seeking reassurance.  People with OCD often recognize that their thoughts and behaviors are excessive, yet feel powerless to stop them. Research s...

Why is forgiveness treated like a moral duty, something we owe to those who have wronged us? Why does society place such heavy pressure on us to let go, to move on, to release the pain — even when the wound is still fresh, even when the apology never came? Forgiveness is often painted as the “right ” thing to do, the noble path. We’re told it’s the key to peace, to healing, to freedom. And maybe, sometimes, it is. But what if forgiveness feels impossible? What if it feels unfair? What if it feels like another burden placed on the shoulders of the one who was already hurt? There’s a quiet cruelty in the way society romanticizes forgiveness. It can make us feel guilty for holding on to anger, for protecting ourselves, for saying "no, I’m not ready" . It can silence the complexity of our emotions, reducing them to a simple binary: forgive, or remain bitter . But life isn’t that simple. Healing isn’t that linear. Forgiveness isn’t a switch we can flip just because others expect ...

Two weeks after I officially moved in to my coastal apartment, I felt bored. Bored in a sense that my life is hauntingly quiet and peaceful. I  have always prayed for this life. I begged God to give me peace and when peace came --- I didn't know how to react. I am grateful for it and I thank God for giving me peace, actually. I've resolved to find the beauty in the mundane. Yesterday, Pat and I agreed to go for a walk to the spot he recommended the day I moved in. But the plan changed and we decided to take a dip in the sea near my apartment. We talked, looked for shells (I am now collecting shells and is planning to illustrate it) , and watched the sun set. The waves were forgiving enough to console us in our woes and disappointments for this year. I’ve also started my 2026 curriculum. I curated what media to consume, what books to read, and who to be friends with. I don't have the energy and time for unnecessary silent competitions between my friends and I certainly don...

I’ve been out shell collecting almost every morning since moving near the sea. There’s something meditative about it: walking along the shoreline, listening to the waves, letting my eyes catch the small glimmers of shape and color scattered in the sand. One morning, I found a tiny shell that felt too cute to leave behind. I placed it inside my case, together with the shells I’ve collected over the past few days, thinking it was just another addition to my collection. Later that day, I discovered I wasn’t the only one who thought the shell was worth keeping—a hermit crab had been living inside it. I let the shell go after telling Pat about it, not expecting anything. It felt like the right thing to do: to return a home to its rightful owner—the crab, and nature itself. But when I came back from dinner, I found the crab had returned, leaving the shell behind for me. As if the sea had instructed it to share a little joy and beauty to me.  Hermit crabs don’t make their own shells; they...