Life Lately

Things that were never supposed to happen became reality, and most of my expectations—well, they simply never came to life.

Everyone goes through a time when they feel completely incapable of making any kind of decision. Every step feels wrong. Promises you made seem impossible to keep, and you start to lose yourself in a timeline that doesn’t seem to move at all. The answer—you might find it. Or not.

I haven’t found it yet neither.

If you do, please let me know. While the answer might still be completely unknown, there are things one can do to make this period a little easier. I haven’t figured those out yet neither.

I know that when you're reading a magazine, you kind of expect to find all the answers you’re looking for buried between the pages you barely skim.

The reader secretly hopes they'll stumble upon a line, a quote, a conversation—something they can casually reference from that magazine they only pretended to read yesterday. We’re all a little lost in life.

The answers that seem right are often just relative to the moment—they shift with context, and they’re never set in stone.

When I was in middle school, I thought I wanted to be an economist.

It made sense: good income, solid career options, a stable life.

But I was unhappy.

The minute I started university, I realized that the question I used to ask—“What do you want to be?”—had a new answer.

Now, it was: “A publicist.”

Maybe we should stop asking questions on life?

It is radical, I know but hear me out…

Even if you ask questions about your future self and try to find answers in magazines, journals, books, or films that have shaped you, you’ll eventually realize this: the promises you made—to yourself and to others—based on those borrowed answers are most likely not going to be kept.

This magazine is my life.

I—who will not disclose her name (yes, her)—am writing to forget myself. Or maybe to write myself out of the way. And hopefully, in reading this, you’ll begin to figure yourselves out.

This is a Random Tuesday idea.

Everyone is confused. And yet, as a society, we pretend. We perform. We curate. We subscribe to the mythology of the “clean girl”—the girl with the perfect 5 a.m. morning routine, the girl who does Pilates before checking her phone, who journals with immaculate handwriting in beige notebooks, who sips on matcha lattes (which, let’s be real, are wildly overpriced and mildly disappointing). The girl who always smells like Glossier and coconut sunscreen. The girl who never spirals. We know her. She’s everywhere. She’s nowhere.

But most of us are not that girl.

Most of us are waking up too late and feeling guilty about it. Most of us are skipping meals or eating cereal for dinner.

Most of us are scrolling endlessly while trying to remember what joy felt like in motion. Most of us are not trying to escape the mess—we’re trying to understand it. To live inside it without losing ourselves.

Our lives are not aesthetic Pinterest boards. They are notebooks half-filled, deadlines missed, late-night calls to people we probably shouldn’t talk to, Spotify playlists that we won’t admit we made. They are sticky kitchens, long showers we can’t afford to take, and dreams that shift shape before we can grab hold of them.

And still—we’re here.

Still figuring it out.

Still showing up, even if showing up looks like texting your best friend at 1 a.m. that you're not okay.

Still writing, creating, surviving. Not for perfection. But for presence.

That’s what Random Tuesday is about.

It’s not a guide to becoming the person you should be.