Serendipity

Imagine a crowded room, voices clashing and overlapping, each one demanding your attention. Some whisper doubts, others shout insecurities, and a few linger, persistent and unshakable. This is my mind—a relentless space, filled with simultaneous thoughts of the past, present, and future.

What I wish I could have done better. Whether what I’m doing now is something I can be proud of. And what all of this will lead to one day. These thoughts don’t take turns; they arrive all at once, waiting for the perfect moment to flood in.

The challenge isn’t understanding my thoughts—I know them well. It’s the sheer velocity at which they invade, the way they wait for my mind to find calm, only to break through the moment I let my guard down. Like a door being kicked open, they rush in, overwhelming every corner of my mind.

I often wake up at 4 or 5 in the morning. The world is quiet then, still at peace. But this is when my mind speaks the loudest. The silence outside amplifies the noise within.

“Are you capable of doing what you say you want to do?”
“You’re a fool for believing you could be more than this.”
“They don’t care about you. You’re nothing to them.”

These are just fragments of the conversations I have with myself, uninvited and relentless. To quiet them, I try to drown them out by reading, writing, or working—anything to exhaust my brain. But by doing so, I fall into another trap: starting my day drained before it even begins.

This is my mind. This is the curse I bear. For all its sharpness and willingness to learn, it is fueled by the deep insecurities of how weak I sometimes find myself.

Yet, in this chaos lies a paradox. My ability to reflect, to grow, and to keep pushing forward comes from the same space that feeds my doubts. The voices that question my worth are the same ones that drive me to seek more.

Perhaps this is the double-edged sword of having a mind like mine. It’s loud, messy, and at times unbearable. But it’s also what makes me strive to be better, to learn, to create, and to grow.

For now, I continue to wrestle with the noise, knowing that even in the darkest hours of doubt, there’s always a sliver of light. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.