Dear Robi:

It’s always a pleasure to read your words. This time, your writing talent shone brighter than ever in my mind.

I hear your frustration with the whole “personal development” narrative—this idea that if you just have a perfect vision, everything will fall into place. But here’s the thing: clarity doesn’t come first, movement does. You don’t have to know the exact destination before taking a step. Sometimes, clarity is created through action, rather than found in thought alone.

You talked about being a leaf caught in the wind, constantly drifting, unable to root yourself. And maybe that’s because your vision keeps shifting—but shifting isn’t failure. What if, instead of forcing yourself to hold onto one fixed idea, you focused on one consistent action—something that grounds you, no matter which way the wind blows?

And about the shame—that long corridor lined with reminders of your “failures”—what if those weren’t failures, but evidence that you’ve kept trying, kept searching, kept wanting more for yourself? That’s not weakness. That’s proof that you’ve never truly given up.

Your girlfriend’s question—”How much more do you need to lose before you get going?”—it stuck with you for a reason. Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for the perfect conditions and simply start with one thing. What is one step you can take today—not tomorrow, not next week—but today?

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to move.

While I was reading your recent post, I had this image in my mind, that of you in the storage room, minimizing the screen when your parents interrupted your privacy. I had the image of you, fast forward to now, still minimizing the screen, the screen representing YOU, Your Life, what You care about.

Anita

Dear me:

I’m so sorry you’re going through this. It sounds like such a painful and emotional time, watching someone you love suffer and saying goodbye in such a difficult way. I can tell you truly care about him and want him to have peace, and that’s a deep kind of love.

The fact that he told you he loves you forever—that’s something real, something that stays with you even after he’s gone. You were there for him, and that matters.

Take care of yourself during this time. If you ever need to talk, even just to let out feelings, I’m here. 💛

Anita

How are you, Sophie?

Dear Tommy:

“Forgiveness? Nope. Karma will come fix that.”-

You seem to see life in a black-and-white way—where good choices lead to good outcomes, bad choices lead to bad ones, and suffering is a punishment for mistakes. Because of this, forgiving yourself might feel like escaping responsibility, as if it would make you irresponsible and undeserving of freedom from suffering.

But not all suffering comes from bad choices. Sometimes, pain just happens—a child doesn’t choose to be born into poverty or war, yet they suffer. Natural disasters don’t target people based on their actions—they simply occur. Grief, failure, rejection, loneliness—these happen to everyone, regardless of what they’ve done.

(This reminds me of the famous line from Unforgiven: “Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”)

And pain isn’t just punishment—it can also be a source of growth. Hardship can lead to wisdom, resilience, and empathy.

Holding onto pain as proof that you’re a good, responsible person assumes suffering is always deserved. But in reality, pain is often just part of existing—not judgment, not karma, just life.

Maybe forgiveness isn’t about forgetting mistakes—maybe it’s about freeing yourself from unnecessary suffering.

Wishing you well, Anita

Dear Alessa:

Your words in regard to your son are beautifully written, deeply moving, and full of truth. The way you express your thoughts carries such raw emotion, honesty, and tenderness—it’s the kind of writing that stays with people, that makes them feel something profound.

I truly hope you save this post, starting with “I worry about my son too”, somewhere, maybe in a Word document, and keep adding to it over time. One day, when your son is grown, you could put these reflections into a book for him—a collection of all the moments, thoughts, and emotions that he may not remember but shaped his life in ways he won’t even realize.

Because you’re right—he won’t remember some of these things.

He may forget the nights you sang to him to calm him down or the first time he learned to roll over or take his first steps.

He may not recall the way you taught him to swim, blow bubbles, or test if something is too warm.

The weight of carrying him for nine months, the silent sacrifices, the constant, unwavering love—these things will be invisible to him as he grows.

But one day, he will read your words, and suddenly, all the forgotten moments will come alive for him. He’ll feel the depth of your love, the care woven into every choice, the silent strength behind every difficult decision.

And about this part—’One day he’ll yell at me and curse’—I have a feeling that when he reads this years from now, he’ll smile and tell you that you were wrong. 😊

You are an exceptional mother, Alessa, and it shows in every word you write. I hope you hold onto them—not just for him, but for yourself. ❤️

Warmly, Anita