I went out with friends today. 

Beautycon 2025, to be exact. Did I have a great time? With my friends, yes. With the actual event, not so much. It was too crowded and too overwhelming for me. 

Look at this little extrovert complaining about too many people being too much. Haha. 

But that's another story for another day, I guess. 

Today, I'd like to share about a specific topic that my friends and I talked about. 

Our 5 "whys". 

As a team leader, I know what this is and I understand it. I have used it with my team members to figure them out. In the corpo world, I understand the "5 Whys". 

Never did I think to use it on myself though, until one of my best friends, Nigel, used it on me. 

He asked me the following questions (non-verbatim); 

"What's your purpose in creating content and uploading to the internet?"

My answer now is that because I want to immortalize myself. I want to leave a mark and proof that once upon a time, I existed in this world. I want to document my life and my progress and if my content resonates with people, then so be it. They are welcome to tag along my journey and experience life with me. 

"What got you to that point?"

It got to this point because there was a time that I got so deep into the numbers that my world revolved around reaching a certain amount of likes and comments and shares, and if I didn't achieve those within my self-appointed deadline, I would restart the process because I deem it a failure. 

I would spend endless hours curating my feed and the lifestyle that others got to see online even though it was so opposite of my real life standing. I burned out. I felt so... depleted. 

My online persona looked exactly like how I want her to look like, sure, but in reality, I was a shell of who I used to be. 

"Why did you feel the need to reach certain numbers?"

Because that was the only way I knew how to be noticed. By providing numbers and showing how good I can be. How in line I am. How high my standards are. 

My numbers were a testament to how hard I worked and how serious I was with what I do. That I mean business and that I mean to be taken seriously.

"Why did you want to be noticed?"

Because that's the only way I know to get attention. To rise above. To stand out. 

Exemplary numbers were the way I know how to be seen. 

"Why did you want attention in the first place?"

Because that's how I feel love. That's what love means to me. Being attended to. Being noticed. Being seen. Giving attention is how I show love.


And so that's why you create content, he said. 

Because of love. 


I totally agree. 

Because when I ask myself why I create, the first answer that comes is easy: I want to share.

But the truth is, it’s more complicated than that. For so long, I kept everything locked inside. I wrote in journals, yes -- but even then I didn’t fully trust the page. I held back. I edited myself even in private. I convinced myself no one wanted to hear what I had to say, and maybe I didn’t want to hear it either.

That silence… it made me feel so small. Like I was disappearing into myself.

Creating and making content and sustaining this blog became my way of clawing back space. It’s me saying: I exist. My voice matters. My story matters. Even if I’m shaking when I hit publish. Even if no one listens.

Even when I know my blog post is a nonsense ramble.

And yet... when someone does listen, when someone reaches back and says, “me too,” something inside me softens. Something heals. That’s when I realize I don’t just create for myself.

I create to connect.

Connection is what I’ve always longed for. The kind that makes you feel less alone in the mess of it all. The kind that says, your feelings make sense, your story has weight, you belong here. You can take space here. We saved you a seat.

That’s what creating and writing does for me. It heals me. And if I’m lucky, maybe it heals someone else too.


So here it is, in conclusion and finality, at least for now. 

I create to heal. I create to connect. I create to remind myself and anyone who stumbles across my words,

We are not alone.

It’s not about numbers. It’s not about chasing trends. It’s not about keeping up with everyone else. It’s about using my voice, shaky as it is, to build something that feels real.

And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s everything

Because if I can show up, even in doubt, even in fear, then I haven’t lost myself.

I’m still here. And I’ll keep creating (day after day, night after night, week and week, et al and so on) because somewhere out there, someone needs to be reminded that they’re still here too. 

We just wrapped up the last leg of Pixel Academy today.

I should feel nothing but happy. And I do.. I really do. But there’s this part of me that feels… lacking. Like I held back. Like there was more I could’ve given, more of myself I could’ve poured out. Now that I’m home, sitting with the silence, I can’t shake this strange heaviness in my chest. I really did feel joy. I felt fulfillment. But at the same time… I felt like I wasn’t enough. Like I could’ve done more, been more, shown up more fully.

I felt like I was not able to give my absolute best. It’s such a weird mix.. gratitude tangled up with longing.

But, it's not something that I see negatively.

Maybe this feeling is not a bad thing. Maybe this ache is what will keep me moving, what will keep reminding me that I’m not done yet. That I can still grow into the person I want to be.

A tug. Like my heart is telling me, "you’re not there yet, but you will be.." I want to reach that point where I can go home from something like this with no “what ifs.” Just joy. Just peace.

I see what I'm feeling as fuel towards what I want to achieve. I want to be able to reach a point that I will no longer feel this way. 

I want to go home from an event feeling fulfilled and happy and like I have done all that I can. 

Nevertheless, I am grateful that I met this community. 

I found something I never thought I’d find again. People. Real ones. The kind who make me feel like I can breathe, like I can drop the act, like I don’t always have to be composed and put-together.

A community. A place where my dreams aren't just seen, but nurtured. A place where I can show up, be messy, be real, and still be accepted.

Because at this point, I see the Pixel Creator community as one of my support systems and I can't believe that I have that now. I can't believe that I truly have one. That I fully trust that I have one. I have full confidence that I can talk to them and let them in my thoughts and they will be there to listen, connect with me, and set me straight if need be.

Human ears can be as patient as pen and paper, it seems.

They were the only ones patient enough to hold everything I couldn’t say out loud. But now… maybe human ears can be just as safe. Maybe hearts can, too.

With Pixel, I can laugh too loud. I can ramble about my ideas without fear they’ll be brushed off. I can say the things I used to only tell my journals, and instead of silence, I’m met with nods, smiles, understanding.

Through the Pixel community, I was able to find like-minded people and I was able to start trusting people again. I was able to slowly open up to people and have faith that they will be on my side and that they will be willing to listen to what I have to say.

I didn’t realize how much I missed trusting people. I didn’t realize how much I missed being heard. Slowly, piece by piece, Pixel is teaching me it’s okay to open up again. That maybe not everyone will leave. That maybe when I speak, someone will actually care enough to listen.

That maybe, just maybe, people can be safe too.

I am grateful that my potential was recognized and that I was able to do something about it.

Is this how it feels to have friends?

To have a community you can lean on? To know.. really know and believe.. that there are people rooting for you, watching you, waiting to cheer when you finally make it?

Is this what it feels like to have friends?

To really have them? Friends who don’t just make you comfortable, but also push you to grow? Because that’s what they do. Pixel isn’t just a comfort zone... it’s a mirror and a challenge. They make me want to be better. Not just for myself, but because I know they’re watching, rooting for me, waiting to celebrate with me when I finally get there.

They give me a sense of responsibility that I need to make sure to keep on working on myself and my craft because there are people who are rooting for me and watching me, waiting to cheer for me when I finally achieve my dreams.

I think "grateful" is an understatement at this point. I think I can no longer describe what or how I feel about this community. 

I feel safe. I feel seen. I feel acknowledged. 

I feel that I can be myself with them and I can be unfiltered. 

I do not feel the need to be so composed all the time. 

I feel free to be simply Nessa.

Pixel Babies, thank you. For holding space for me. For reminding me what it’s like to trust. Thank you for seeing me. For letting me in. For reminding me I’m not as alone as I thought.

From the bottom of my (used-to) stone cold heart, thank you, Pixel, and love y'all to the moon and back.. love y'all more than these words can hold. 

This era is one of the few moments that I am unable to figure out who I really am. 

Am I a Team Leader?
Am I a blogger?
Am I a working student? 

I do not recognize this stage of my life. 

I used to be so sure of who I was, and yet.. here I am questioning my very being.

I guess it comes with the territory of starting over. It's also time to redefine myself, and rediscover who I truly am. Maybe this is what starting over truly feels like.. when the old definitions no longer fit, and the new ones haven’t fully formed yet.

A strange in-between.

At my very core, I am a writer. I've always said, my pen and paper will always be more patient than human ears. 

I used to write about everything that I was going through, but somehow I lost that as I went along this life. I became a lot more guarded with my thoughts and feelings. I became more distrustful of the people around me and eventually, distrustful of myself. 

I learned to keep my thoughts and ideas to myself. I learned to silence myself. To keep my ideas locked away, not even trusting the journals that had once been my closest companions. I even started doubting that I was still a writer.

I felt that if I wasn’t sharing my words, or even allowing myself to put them down at all, then maybe the title didn’t belong to me anymore.

Because if I wasn’t writing, did I still deserve to call myself one?

Every time I needed a moment to myself, however, every time there is a quiet moment.. I still look for pen and paper. I still keep a tiny steno pad and a green pen in my bag. I still keep mementoes from every moment in my life in a brown envelope, waiting for the right moment to be pasted down and remembered. I guess it's still there, somewhere. The Writer in me may not have left after all. 

What I think now, writing doesn’t leave me, even when I turn my back on it. It waits. Patiently. Quietly. Until I’m ready to return. 

Perhaps that's why I have that tiny journal in my bag, after all? 
Why I keep collecting mini notepads?

Why nothing compares to the joy of being gifted a good pen or a blank journal.

The Writer in me bid her time. 

Now, it's time for her to return. 

This season, this integration of all of me.. it’s a way of reclaiming the pieces I’ve scattered over the years. I am not just a team leader. Not just a student. Not just a blogger. I am all of those things, pieced together, informed by every stage of who I’ve been and who I am becoming.

Woven together by the writer in me, who has always been there, through every version of myself. The good ones, the bad ones, and even the ones I couldn't even remember anymore.

So maybe this moment isn’t about having all the answers. Maybe it’s about learning how to hold all the questions.

Maybe it’s about remembering that being a writer isn’t about never doubting... it’s about writing anyway.

And if I can do that, then perhaps I’ve never lost myself at all.

Since I'm treating this as a new era, seems fitting that I also start a brand new blogging challenge. 

This time though, I'll keep the mechanics simple -- the only rule I'm giving myself is to show up and post daily for 30 days. No strict themes, no perfect outlines, no deadlines... just consistency.

And no better time than to start now.

I mean, today is better than any day, right? 

Starting over doesn't always have to be on the first of every month or on Mondays or on New Year's Day.

My truth is, starting over doesn’t need a calendar date. It begins the moment you decide:

“This is the day I choose myself. This is the day I start again.”

So, yeah. 

To add a little fluff, I guess, I also wanna share why I want to start a 30-day blog challenge. 

The reason's pretty simple. 

I just want to.

I don't want to spend another day or month or year waiting for the right moment to bring my blog back to life or to start sharing my thoughts again. 

I feel like I have spent so much time waiting and wanting for the right moment that I have missed the whole point of starting over. 

Waiting has only kept me stuck. And if there’s one thing I’ve realized, it’s this: the act of starting is already a win. 

Starting over means choosing yourself, and continuing to choose yourself everyday. 

Starting over means choosing to honor the promise you made. 

For me, starting over means remembering to love myself, by doing the things that I love every single day. 

This challenge is my way of coming back home to myself. And like all things, we all start somewhere. For me, that “somewhere” is here.

Today. 

Today, I dared.

Today, I won. 

--

Starting over is never about perfection, it’s about showing up. Now, I’d love to hear from you: How are you choosing yourself today?