This isn’t my first blog.

It’s probably my fourth. Maybe fifth if we count that one I deleted in a fit of cringe.

Back then, I didn’t really know what I wanted to say — so I wrote about my friends. Which, in hindsight, was actually kind of sweet. But I was also writing in a way that felt safe. Filtered. Like I needed to package everything nicely before anyone else could see it.

Over time, though, I realized something: I have a lot of thoughts.
Not always organized, not always asked for — but when I do share them, especially with the right people, they listen. And sometimes, they leave the conversation a little more certain, or a little more comforted. Even my unsolicited advice seems to land more often than not.

That’s when I started wondering… why am I still waiting for permission to speak?

These days, I don’t filter myself as much. I tell people what I think — plainly, messily, lovingly. And I figured I might as well do that here too.

So yes, this is blog attempt #4.
But this time, I’m not trying to “get it right.”
This space isn’t about polished takes or perfect pacing. It’s about saying what I mean, when I feel it — even if it’s sour, sharp, or hard to swallow.