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Have you ever heard this song?

In Napoli beside the sea
It happened on a night like this
In Napoli our hearts were free
And we surrendered to a kiss

How about this one?

When the stars make you drool
Just like a pasta e fasule, that’s amore
When you dance down the street
With a cloud at your feet, you’re in love
When you walk in a dream
But you know, you’re not dreaming, signore
Scusami, but you see
Back in old Napoli, that’s amore

I heard Dean Martin’s words, and they were like magic to me.

Italy, Greece, with a dash of Spain.
I always dream about moving there, about a calmer life, more cozy, more warm, more alive.

And I don’t know why. Is Italy a place for me? Or is it just a concept?

Is it the thing I’m moving towards, or is it the thing that’s numbing me and delaying my “living”?

It’s not just me. I’m not that special... Have you seen the movies? The shows? The videos? The social media posts?

We, as a civilization, are so in love with Italy, yet we’re stuck here, in our lives, clocking in and out every single day, even when we’re not working.
Paying our dues. Waiting to be worthy enough of the promise of Italy.

Because we don’t think we’re worthy of Italy. Maybe we’re worthy of a taste every now and then. To dream, to fantasize, to visit for two weeks. But not to hold that feeling forever.

And that’s devastating to me. I want to live in this version of me. The man in Italy. The one who is happy and at peace. The one who dances and walks and feels and smiles at a random stranger, the one who’s not obsessed with money. The one who’s not always worried. The one who’s not angry. The one who’s still passionate about something.

The one who feels for himself, not the one who lets the world tell him how to feel.

The man with a soul, not the one who sold it.

Italy is peace, creativity, soul, hope. It’s life. Even if I haven’t set foot there.

Because for now I’m dead. Trying to make my way out of this grave, digging through the dirt. Dreaming of breathing that Italian air.

The air I don’t deserve, because I’m not enough. Not yet. Not Italy enough.

Somehow, Italy became, for me, heaven on earth, and my current life is purgatory.

And maybe Italy is that for you too, or maybe you have your own version.

But I don’t think the answer is Italy. The answer is to choose to be the man I am in Italy now, whether I’m there or not. The answer is to believe that I deserve peace, I deserve happiness, I deserve hope.

We’re not banned from entering heaven, we just think we are.

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I’m also building a weekly comedy publication about how modern life is becoming increasingly ridiculous.
You can check it out here and hopefully subscribe here.

Laugh with me and support me, maybe.

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The external world looks so similar. The internal is still screaming.
Loud. Very, very loud. Can I survive? Can I tolerate it?? I don’t know.

Out of the blue. It comes. It shakes my whole existence. And leaves me wondering what’s next? After a few minutes, I forget that it even happened.

And we go back to living. Until the next wave. Until the next shock.
But living is a big word here. This is not life, not even a good rehearsal.

This is just sitting in the lobby, until the day is over, then saying... maybe tomorrow will be different. Will it? I don’t know.

But words don’t need to know, not now. They just need to ease the pain. To clear the mind. To help me breathe and think. Their magic is not shiny. It’s not big.

It’s calm and quiet. But when it works, it’s extraordinary.
It’s one of those things we can’t explain, we can only feel... I know... Ironic.

We forget the point of words when everything is about stealing attention.
When everything is about playing. Using the right words to convince someone to buy something, or do something, or convince algorithms that our words are worthy.

What makes words worthy? What makes any of this make sense? The chase, the lies, the pain, the tricks, the hacks... the... the... the...

Words don’t lose or gain their power. They’re just here to help us process life. They’re here to help us live.

And they do that when we stop trying to make them into something they’re not. Just to satisfy the needs of a broken system. So let your words be words.

Let them break the pattern, not become part of it. Break the machine, not fuel it.
Only then will we learn how to live again.

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Distractions, can we live without them?

You sit alone for a few minutes, then all of your thoughts catch up with you.
All of those feelings... You thought you could outrun them. You thought you could hide... But you can’t now.

You’re stuck.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. You are the prey. The victim. The one who’s doomed to suffer.

Quick, you need to do something about this. Play a song, scroll social media, open Netflix, play a game. ANYTHING. Anything but sitting alone with yourself.

Look around you. How many industries have been built on this idea... the idea of us needing distractions to survive. The idea that spending time with ourselves is just insufferable.

I saw what the FIFA World Cup 2026 did, for example... releasing an entire album... 18 songs and about 10 music videos... why? To not allow people to think about anything? I don’t know, maybe it’s just part of the system. Part of how things work.

Maybe we all are. Nothing is wrong with entertainment, of course. I’m not here to say that watching a movie, a match, or scrolling social media is our problem.

I’m just wondering if we really need to be distracted 24/7, or are we so used to being distracted that we forgot how to just sit still and feel our feelings.

It’s crazy how scrolling social media is more common than just sitting. It’s crazy how many people roll their eyes when someone says they like to sit and do nothing or just meditate. Because... WHAT???? That’s not normal!! You know what’s normal?? Binge-watching 17 episodes in one day.

Maybe we need distractions because we’re so afraid of what would happen without them. Or maybe we need them because we’re scared of silence.

Or maybe we’re just scared of ourselves.

I know I won’t stop watching... stuff. I won’t stop scrolling. I won’t stop distracting myself... not completely.

But I wonder what would happen to me if I just sat in that discomfort.
If I learned to be with myself with no agendas, with no distractions.
Just reconnecting. Just being. No more. No less.

I tried games, movies, shows, sports, social media, etc.
Why not try this too? Maybe I already had the answer. Maybe I just needed to sit with it. With me. Alone. With no distractions.

Every Wednesday I try to make sense of life’s weirdness by Recapping the weirdest things happening in life and on the internet... with thoughts, jokes, and occasional feelings.

Become a member for $1/Month

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Our world is overwhelming. The news... Social media.
Content, content, content, content. EVERYWHERE.

Our limited attention can’t keep up. We want to know some stuff; we want to stay updated. But we can’t spend hours and hours trying to find that one golden piece of information.

So what if you could get a weekly summary of the weirdest headlines, social media posts, plus memes and funny-ish commentary? Wouldn’t that be good? A little bit? Maybe?

Come on, say yes!! Say it for me! Say it for us! Say it for humanity!

I’ve been testing a mini version of this for months on LinkedIn.

So here are some of these posts:

Sun May 31 2026
Sun May 24 2026
Sun May 17 2026
Sun May 10 2026
Sun May 03 2026
Sun Apr 26 2026
Sun Apr 19 2026
Sun Apr 12 2026

Isn’t that amazing? SAY YES DAMMIT!

Anyway, for now, this will only cost you $1/month for a weekly article that comes out every Wednesday.

What a deal?!! It’s so worth it, right???

Unfortunately, I can’t enable paid subscriptions on Substack.
And the lowest subscription value on Substack is $5, so it won’t work anyway.
But I can do it on Patreon.

Subscribe for $1/month

Will it stay at this price forever? Idk. Maybe it’ll go a bit higher, maybe no one will care and it’ll just be deleted next month. Who knows?!

Finally, if you think it’s a terrible idea, please be honest with me! Stab me in the heart!

The amount of bad jokes here is CRAZY! I’m so sorry about that.

And please resist the urge to unsubscribe! This won’t be a regular thing. We’ll go back to normal next week.

Until then, have a wonderful life!

I don’t really know why, but somehow all roads lead to this:

Thinking I’m not good enough for love. Not good enough for life. Not good enough to talk with people. Not good enough for people.

For writing. For music. For work. Or even to pass an interview. To make it in this world. or even to survive.

Not good enough. Not good at all for anything.
A sad past, a dark present, and a doomed future.

How could I ever win when there are a million better options?
Why would I be the lucky one? Why would life smile for me? Why me? It doesn’t make any sense.

I missed out on a lot, and it seems like I’m going to miss even more.

But when I really examine what’s happening, I see that the only benefit of these thoughts is to limit me. To stop me. To kill my dreams. To kill my happiness.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re certainly not perfect.

But is it wise to always choose the dark, miserable road?
To always be stuck in fear of things that didn’t happen yet, or already went by?
To always miss the moment because we’re stuck in another mental loop?

I’m not perfect, but obsessing over it won’t change anything.

There are things I can’t control, some things I can, and I’m willing to control only a portion of those.

We need to change our inner dialogue. I need to change it.
Recognize the negative, and move past it.

And we have the choice to either be optimistic, trust ourselves and our uniqueness, or lose everything and become the same sad, pessimistic shell who can’t get over life’s challenges.

We need to believe that we can and we will. We need to stop being powerless and start fucking wielding the power.

We’re all worth the same.

And you can reach any height. You can be great. You can have a great life.
You can deal with any situation, with any difficulty, and you can prevail.

There is a good side, you just need to see it.

After-all, we only live each moment once, however terrible it is.

So don’t waste it. Don’t let it pass you by.
You are not less. You are who you are.

And inside you is a uniqueness that will never be repeated again.

Build that character. Build that personality. Build a version of yourself you’ll be proud to meet.

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They say what's dead is dead, but I've been dead for years now, and to the world's surprise, I am still alive... though it's dark here... so goddamn dark.

I had striking confidence once. I believed I was meant for greatness. I know almost everyone thinks that before life hits hard.

Still, it’s so strange to think about it now. How did this soul believe and find joy, and yet the same soul can’t find anything but the ability to numb the pain... to hide and run away from any chance or a challenge?

What happened to you, man? How the fuck did you lose your joy? How did you lose every bit of hope and optimism? And how did you become that dead undead person...

With no fire inside.
With almost no existence.
Afraid of trying.
Afraid of dreaming.

Sitting here in the dark... trying to figure out what the hell that was.

From a person who was having fun and giving it his all... at least from his point of view... to what? A guy who does nothing.

You were thinking to yourself: “Oh, I’m going to be a huge success.” And now what? Where is the fire?

I guess it didn’t take long for the poet inside me to give up to the pessimistic hell we live in.

I just gave in, and maybe it was the loneliness, or maybe it just was what it was.
All I know is that it happened somehow.

The one who fought for greatness just fought to survive, and every try, every plan, every glimpse of hope that came after that ended up freezing in the cool breeze of this unbearable version of myself... the joyless one, the coward, the dead.

And I truly wish I could go back in time and change it all...
to go back to believing in everything and knowing nothing at all.

I guess some could argue that without a dream, I became nothing.
Nothing to look forward to... but time, and that’s terrible.

And then came the doubts, crashing in, crushing anything that was magically left. And all the “never have I ever” piled one after another, and I created a futuristic version too... I mean, you gotta keep the meter running. A prisoner that has two cells: the things I never did, and the things I’ll never do.

And all that’s left is to get on my knees and admit defeat.

What’s the point of arguing? What’s the point of trying when, in the end, I will fall, I will fail? That’s what’s written in the stars. The dude that is me is doomed... and a lot of evil laughter.

But if this is the ending... that means the moral of the story is: if you think your dream is pretty far-fetched, then why dream at all? How can this be what life is about?

I consider many points of my short life rock bottom, but the thing is... rock bottom is rarely the “final” rock bottom... you can always go lower.

What I forgot in all of those times is that I can also dig my way out.
That the slow steps matter. That we can’t allow hope to die. We can’t let this be the ending.

So I’m standing back up. I won’t try to clean my knees or forget where I am... because I can’t. I’m in this mess. I am this mess.

But I don’t have to stay dead. The blood in my veins is still hot. My heart is still pumping. My soul is still there... somewhere.

And yes, I can’t go back in time. I can’t change everything that happened. But I can ask my old self, “Why did you believe?”

And I can ask myself now, “Why don’t you believe?”

Can I answer those questions? Can you?

I’m committed to make this practical. I’m committed to dig myself out of this hell.
So I decided that for a week, at least, I’ll do what my younger self would do.

I’ll let the believer take the wheel... even if I don’t believe right now. Even if I’m dead.

Because maybe he can bring me back to life. Maybe he’s the only one who can.

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Or I can be louder. I can attack. I can make your skin crawl.
Make you so angry that you want to break this whole world into pieces.
Make you want to remove me from existence.

Or I can make stuff up, or maybe tell you real stories that no one asked for.
Or maybe I can’t do any of that.

Inspire, make you happy, make you sad, make you laugh, make you feel, make you take action, make you change.

I can’t.

But wait, why do I write? Why do we write? Why do we share?
I know writing was part of me before I ever decided to share it.
But then everything shifted.

I started writing for you, for algorithms, for attention, for others.
I abandoned my main reason. I neglected myself.

Just for applause, just to make you happy.
Ironically... I didn’t.

Because in my attempt to do so, I made everything tasteless. I lost sight, I lost purpose, I lost me.

So the person who wrote to feel and think and organize the madness inside of his soul and mind... ended up more lost, more afraid, more distracted.

And if you were kind enough to read my posts, to keep up with this mad mind... thank you so much for that, btw... but I bet you noticed something too.

You noticed the emptiness. The distraction. The slight admission of guilt.

Maybe I owe you your time back. I can’t do that. But if it makes you feel any better, I owe myself a lot too.

So what’s the answer here? I don’t know for sure, but I know writing for a machine is not working, writing for myself alone is not helping...

So maybe healing starts when we stop writing for one side, and start writing for both. Writing for us. (Confusing, I know)

Something internal. Something real. Something directed at my mess... but also practical enough to make you care.

So maybe Brilliantly Dark needs to be Practically Dark (more like cheerful... hopefully).

Not just me dumping problems on you, not an edited version of the truth.
But real pain... and hopefully real solutions.

Would you be willing to move this road with me? If not, totally cool... but don’t you dare hit that unsubscribe button. NOT TODAY! Please.

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I’ve always tried to stay hidden, even though I had big dreams.
So I slew dragons, turned into dragons, became best friends with dragons...

Daydreamed for hours every day... about that version of me.
The one who’s very brave. Effortless. Loved and respected.

But then, when the time came to talk... to say something... to participate...

I shrank. Hid. Went away. Then went back to my perfect dreamland.
Because there, I can always win... even after defeat... I can always change narratives.

I can always make the story mine. Or so I thought.

Because with time, real life became the virus... it infiltrated my utopia.
It destroyed my fantasies.

What used to be effortless... became dark comedy... then a bad parody... then a very bad joke. (No laugh track needed.)

Imagine reaching the point where you can’t even fantasize about winning.

But then I decided to show up, to write my thoughts, to try to make sense of everything.

Of the virus I call reality. I wrote, I talked, I learned. I met people I would have never met if I didn’t try to “discover myself” publicly.

Brilliant people, amazing personalities... they were me in my fantasy versions... the ones that used to work.

But they were actually real. They talk, they make the world better, they make you feel something real. But they also had doubts, they also had insecurities, they also had flaws... they also related to my broken thoughts and my lost spirit.

The difference was, they still had the ability to believe... to dream... without breaking the scene.

Long story short, I got better... the more I showed up... the more I believed... the more I interacted with their energy and brilliance... the more mine grew.

I even quit my job. I bet on myself. I won, right? Well... in a way.

But behind my showing up... I was hiding. I’m still hiding.

At this point, I have two personalities living at the same moment.
The one that believes, the one that writes and jokes and... other things.

And the one hiding in the shadows, hiding behind showing up, behind the words.

Afraid to show its face, afraid to speak loudly, afraid to stand tall, afraid to make risky moves... of calls, of pictures, of videos... of many things.

The one who can barely tolerate the mirror.
The one that cringes when it hears its voice or sees its face.

But the only way for me to be one again, to dream again... to fantasize again... to be one of those brilliant people... not perfect, but able to show up, to dream, and fight for my dreams... is if I get over this part too.

It’ll take a long time, I know... but I have to.

I have to love myself first. All of it.
I have to show myself. All of it.
I have to be me. The full version.

So dear “part 2”, your time has come.
We’re not enemies, we just forgot we’re the same.
Come out of the shadows... let’s play this game.

Did you lose it again? Your hope… your desire… or maybe you lost this moral compass you keep talking about.

So here you are… in the darkness again.

Taking another leap.
Standing still.
Are you afraid?
Are you terrified?
Are you even alive?

I wanted to make sense of it. I wanted to walk. I wanted to move forward.

But I’ve been trying… for at least 11 years…
to get my confidence back,
to resurrect my hope… sometimes it works… then it dies shortly after.

Because let’s be honest, I’m not changing it. I’m not reminding myself of anything… I’m just… delaying cycles.

The same way I overuse those ellipses…
a pause… a moment of silence… a moment of relief.

I forgot who I am. I let them tell me my story. I let them control my narrative.

And I’ve said it before… I’ll take back control… I’ll write my story!! Then what… then we’re here again.

Is this the end? No, it’s not.

And you know it.

Because the most beautiful thing about us is that we don’t give up.

We say it sometimes… we feel it sometimes… but eventually, we never give up.

We get back up, we try again, and we fight.

The road to fixing this starts now… again… 11+ years later.

And I may fall down. I may “give up”, but let me say it again—

I’ll keep trying until the last day of my life.

So let’s take a deep breath and remember… we’re not broken. We’re not weak. We’re not a glitch in the matrix.

We’re perfection. We’re us. And being us is enough.
Always and forever.

What is happening? I asked my mind.
Or maybe my mind asked me.
We’re not losing it; we’re just not sure what “it” was from the start.

The world is moving. The sun does its thing.
Everyone has something to do, somewhere to go.
And I’m still here. I say the words. I shout them.

But I’m still insecure.

Still making excuses, playing it small, burying my head in the sand... or under my bed covers.

They won’t stop moving. They won’t notice. They won’t care. They’re making their moves. And I’m doing nothing. I’m just spending my energy watching others live.

People fear shadows. They think monsters and dangers are living there. But here I am, in the shadows... only a danger to myself. Fearing the light, fearing the sun, fearing the stars.

Why am I writing this? I asked my soul, tears building up in my eyes.
I’m writing this because I’m done with the shadows.

I hate it here.

I’m done with fear. I want to feel excitement.
I’m done with pain. I want to feel comfort.
I’m done with anxiety. I want to be at peace.
I’m done watching. I want to start living.

“They” may always be “cooler” than me. They may always have better odds or more advantages... or maybe all of these are lies I kept repeating to avoid the pain of the truth.

They’re trying, and I’m not. That’s the truth. That’s the difference. At least the big one.

I need to try. You need to try. We need to act. We need to take our chances. Take our shots. We need to live.

We have to.

The sidelines are not for us. They’re not for anyone.
Get out. Stand up. And fight.

Because, like it or not, you’re always a masterpiece.

And them is the obvious choice, right? Soooooo why try?

We love to say, “Don’t compare,” but let’s be honest... most of us still do.
We compare even when we don’t realize it.
Even if it’s not a classical comparison.
Even if it’s envy.
Or anger.
Or even when it’s coated with a sarcastic comment.

But we do.
Maybe it’s even as subtle as an extra push while scrolling.

The thing is, learning to stop this is not as easy as flipping a switch.
It takes time. And it takes something very important:
understanding and truly believing in your worth.

Behind all the status, power, looks, luxury, money, beauty, or all of that...
there’s this thing that makes you you: your worth... maybe... your flame.
And you need to believe that it’s priceless.
Incomparable. One of a kind.

It’s not easy to believe in that part of you, and it takes a long time.
But the moment you do is the moment comparison eases its grip.

You still recognize their levels, but you’re not attached to this imaginary poll.
Because you know you.
You understand that this comparison is valid on the surface,
but it’s not valid on a deeper level.

Sure, there are other factors that make this easier.
We’re all at different parts of our stories.
We all lived different lives.
So again… it’s never a fair comparison.

But without believing in your own worth and uniqueness,
these would sound good…
but still sting a little.

And even after putting all the keys in their right place,
you still need to do one more thing…
turn them.

You need to separate yourself from society’s ideals,
from its definitions of worth and good…
from its shoulds and musts.

This process is also long.
Because every time you think you’re out…
someone will reinstall the program with a comment, a remark, or a strong belief.

You’ll have to get very good at uninstalling these programs
and running on your own.

So the point here is… be gentler to yourself.

Being the cool person who doesn’t care about comparison
is not as easy as reading one quote, drinking Matcha,
and looking like you just finished filming the next Oscar winner.

It’s a long process… you’ll get there… we’ll get there.

We will figure it out.
Because as always… you are a masterpiece.

Naive, but happy.
Smiling because I don’t know any other option.
No tears in this world, no heartache, and certainly, no heartbreak.

But I can’t.

No one can.

And maybe that’s a good thing. Because the scars, the tears, the pain, they’re all part of me... part of us. They make us who we are.

Our goal shouldn’t be erasing what already happened, our goal should be finding a way to use it... all of it, to evolve to move forward... to become fully us.

Staring at the wound won’t heal it. Cursing it won’t heal it. Wishing it never existed won’t heal it. You know what will?
Healing it... and yes, we are healers... not magically...

Well, it’s magical in a way, but not by reciting words in a specific order or drinking the secret potion. We heal ourselves by accepting ourselves, by understanding, and breaking the rotten patterns.

By standing up to our darkest doubts, and our doubters.
Sometimes our biggest doubters are our closest friends, sometimes they’re family, and sometimes they’re us.

But we can heal, we can remember, we can see clearly behind all of this fog.
We’re so many things, but we’re not broken beyond repair. We’re not even broken.
We just accepted a part... a role that was never meant for us.

I’m not a coach, I’m not wise, I’m not sure I’m even a writer even though it’s in my headline now.

But I’m human, I’m a man, I’m someone who was lost... and now is determined to find their way back to themselves.

The first step was a declaration. We’re at a different step now.

Now it’s time to accept your wounds and love them. Stop trying to erase yourself. Start appreciating everything about you.

Because... trust me, you are and you’ll always be a masterpiece.

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I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time, looking into my eyes.
No words to say, just waiting. A few smiles came, but they were quickly lost.
So many stories here, but no way to tell them.

Who gets to decide my worth? Who gets to decide my reason for being?
I walked the same road so many times before... and here I am.

These same hands wrote similar lines before, maybe too similar.
It promised that I’ll break my patterns... I’ll find a way... yet, the promises were also part of the same pattern.

It’s all part of the same system, I appear in control, but am I?
What is even control? Is this it? Is that it? Words. Words. Words. Shut up.

We go cryptic, not because cryptic is wiser or better, but because we’re tired of hearing the obvious shit in an obvious way... so we make it harder... hoping that when we finally understand the point... we’ll feel so happy that it’ll finally sink in.

Did it work before? I don’t know.
Will it work again? No idea.

So let’s ditch this.
Let’s go back... to staring. to writing. to smiling. to whatever.
Why are we here again?

We’re in the world. The one that’s on fire. The mad men are playing the same vicious games, and I’m here staring.
Am I powerless? Are we powerless? Can AI fix this? Can anything fix this? Am I that out of options?

I don’t know.

I’m not an idiot, I see the patterns, I hear the words. I feel the pain, and I understand... even when I’m being cryptic.

It’s so heavy, so we choose to pretend like none of it matters. But it all does.
You didn’t forget how to be awesome, they just convinced you that you never were.
They convinced you, that they are the authority. That’s why you gave up on trying.

Isn’t it time to remember?

The man in the mirror is not the enemy, the ones who do everything to keep us caged are.

Consider this my first chapter. My declaration of independence. My one courageous act.

I will be awesome again. I’ll find my way. I’ll find my voice. I’ll find my power.

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Let it all out...
Talk, sing, dance... whatever you need to do to feel your feelings.
Whatever you need to do to get past them.
Isn’t that the whole point of writing?

I feel like both my heart and my mind are under intense pressure now.
They’re trying to say something... anything.
Maybe they’re just trying to remind me that they exist.

Yet, I suppress them.
I fight back; I resist.

Because I’m not ready, am I?
And I get it: the most logical question now is...

ready for f***ing what?

Dude, what the hell are you doing?
Are you wasting time again?
Are you running in circles again?

Are you lying to yourself... again?

You said it loud and clear: let me out!
Liberate me!
I want to be free, I want to quit my job!
You acted like you found the answer to everything.
“Sorry, Stephen Hawking, no hard feelings.”
But maybe you didn’t.

And maybe you’re not as talented as you once thought you were.
Can you put some words together? Sure...
Are they making any difference, though?
Are you living now?
Or is the pretender your identity now?

No answers? Naturally.

You’re feeling the pull...
We’re feeling the pull... and it’s so strong.

Don’t go with it! FIGHT BACK!! I’M BEGGING YOU!
Fight back.
We need to fight back.

Where’s your fire?
Can you hear your melody?
Is this it?
Roll the end credits and get out of the damn cinema?

Well, NO F***ING WAY!

I won’t let you; I won’t let us.
Stand up!
You won’t give up now!
Play that song again.
Feel something!
Take a deep breath; feel the blood running through your veins.

You didn’t quit just to give up.
You’re not a quitter...
You quit to build something.
To feel something.
To contribute to the world.
To create something that can truly help you... and hopefully others.

It wasn’t about shiny lights and applause;
it wasn’t about instant fame and a bed made of pure gold.

It’s about something far bigger.
It’s about doing your part in this big, beautiful symphony.

Can you feel it?
This half-smile... it’s hope... it’s coming back.

Some people will hate you, some will attack you, some won’t allow you to sit at their tables...
It’s all okay.

Others will see you, they’ll accept you, and they’ll adore you with open arms.

That’s life, dear Mahmoud, that’s life.
So chin up.
The road is still long, and it won’t be easy.

But today, my friend, is not the day we’ll throw in the towel...
We’ll never do that.

We’ll keep writing.
Even if our words are just for us.

Barely alive...
walking the streets...
the unknown road is making everything darker somehow...
even though the sun is shining.

Even zombies have a goal, a purpose, a mission...
but he’s aimlessly walking.

He’s trying to find himself, he claims,
but he’s just burying it deep.

Because he knows every decision
affects someone else’s life...
ironic, isn’t it?

Caring so deeply about other people’s stories,
but not his own story...

So content living the background character arc...
maybe promoted to the best friend
in a rom-com someday.

But never the hero.
He can’t be the hero...
how can a hero be that soulless,
that broken...
a shell of a human being?

Unable to love…
not because he can’t,
and not because he doesn’t want to
but because he doesn’t think he deserves it.

Walking, walking, walking...
are those tears or just sweat?

The sun comes and goes,
faces change...
but he... he walks.

Like a candle burning himself
just to light the room for others...
one day he won’t be able to do it...
not anymore...

And they’ll just find another candle.

If only he knew
that he can actually live his life for himself
and still be valuable...
and still be loved.

In the dark alley, alone at night.

You’re paralyzed even though you’re walking,
enjoying the breeze... but your heart is scared.

You feel the loneliness creeping in, and you try to forget.

Maybe you whistle, maybe you sing, or maybe you try to call someone to comfort you.

But you won’t... you don’t want to worry them,
and you don’t want to look weak.

You want to keep up appearances... you are powerful, you are strong, you don’t scare easily.

So you keep walking in the sea of darkness.

You hear voices. Something is moving... Is it a dog, a cat, a rat? Who knows?

Or maybe it’s a ghost, a vampire, a monster... or maybe someone is about to mug you... or worse.

You start walking faster. The smell of your fear is very strong now... and the night... the dark alley... loves this smell.

It craves it. It wants you weak, scared, rushing, unable to think... it wants you alone.

Because only when you’re truly desperate will you surrender, sell out... do what the alley commands... just to survive.

It’s funny, isn’t it? We isolate ourselves to appear strong... and that makes us weaker than ever.

You’ll survive the dark alley alone once, twice, ten times...
but you can’t survive life alone.

Find your people.

Build a life worth living.

My book: You should totally buy it.

It was noon; the sun decided to unleash its full power, burning everything... like a teaser for hell.

Millions of people on the streets, trying to live... to survive. Going to work, coming from work... doing this and that. Mostly on autopilot, hardly enjoyable... barely alive.

And he was sitting on the bus, sweating like a leaky shower. “I just wish this moment would pass so fast,” he said to himself.

“Be over already,” he said to his day.

But time, in its cruelest nature, slowed down... this commute felt like eternity.

By the end of it, he survived... but he reached a new low, mentally and physically.

After work that day, he got comfortable. Sipping his cold drink, enjoying the cool air on his comfy sofa, and he said to himself, “I just wish this moment never ends.”

“Please God, make this night last forever. I’m not ready for tomorrow,” he added.

But time is still time, cruel as usual... the night flew by like it was just seconds.

The next morning, he kept wondering, “Where did the night go? Why is life so unfair to me? Why is time so cruel?” Staring at his clock, counting the seconds, he realized time wasn’t cruel.

Time didn’t care... it was always him. Instead of living his moments as they came, he kept wishing for the impossible. His perception was his downfall.

“Feeling bad or good is inevitable, but each moment is unique; it won’t be repeated ever again. Isn’t that fact enough to try and live each moment fully?” he asked himself.

“Every second may not be pleasurable, and I will feel pain, but time will be time... and it’s time for me to make friends with it instead of defying it,” he said, smiling.

No one knows if he will keep up the promise he made to himself, but like it or not, an hour will always be 60 minutes. Maybe... that’s the beauty of it after all.