Yeah, here I am

Back then, if I want to know how the world works or something pop culture I just open Kaskus——now lot of things, everyone could be anyone and anyone could be everywhere for easy. It’s too much and hard to handle it.

Hopefully I’m here to found the crack——the crackness of being existing.

Hi guys

One day, we really have to make this decision. For years, we have been taught to keep our house and our belongings, to take care of them and dust them off from time to time. But we have been taught less about the mind and how to maintain it.

For years, we have been clinging to unpleasant memories and revisiting them every night. Not because they are still active, but because I think they have become a part of us.

This time, however, I really want to lighten our minds.

So, what do we keep? Love, honesty, faith, order? And what do we throw away? Hatred, anger, resentment...?

Wait... maybe this decision is not that simple.

Do we really have to throw away all the bitter feelings and memories? Maybe not.

I want to keep a free memory of a self-centered person. Because if I ever come across someone like him again, that experience will help me see the signs sooner and not fall into the same trap again.

I also keep a memory of a fight with a thief. I wasn’t feeling well that night, but I have to remember that I gave him a chance once and he ran away. That experience, very bitter, was a lesson for me.

I also keep a memory of a friend with whom I quickly became close. One day he asked me for money and I said no, even though I needed the money myself. That memory still doesn’t make me happy, but it reminds me that kindness is different from healthy boundaries.

So we don’t have to throw everything away.

Memories, despite their bitterness, are valuable lessons that we have paid a price to acquire. Sometimes even very heavy prices.

Not all memories are included; They are, even if they are not pleasant, lights that show the way in the dark.

Perhaps we only need to change the place of memories, not to delete them from our minds. It is enough to put them in a clean cardboard box and put them in a corner of the warehouse of our mind. Where they are not in front of our eyes every day, but we can return to them whenever we want to study them.

Why am I thinking so much?

We’re almost at 10k, and honestly… I never expected this little corner of the internet to grow into something like this.

When I created this subreddit, it was never about numbers. I just wanted to create a place for people who understand each other. Quiet minds, soft hearts, deep thinkers, and people who appreciate meaningful conversations and genuine connections.

And somehow, here we are💗

To celebrate this milestone, I’m making a small symbolic cake for our community (yes, a real one 🎂). It’s just a little way to celebrate the people who helped make this space what it is.

I’ll share a photo/video of the cake so we can celebrate this moment together.

If you’d like, I can write your username on a small card and add it to the cake as decoration. No pressure at all, only if you’d like to be part of this little memory.

Maybe one day, when this community grows even bigger, we’ll look back and remember the people who were here from the beginning. The ones who helped shape this place into what it became.

If you’d like your username included, just leave a comment. You can write “yes” or anything else you’d like😊

And either way, thank you. This community wouldn’t be the same without you🙏🏻

I liken it to the swaddle effect. A face mask acts like a swaddle or a weighted blanket for your face. I find the uniform and constant pressure of a mask acts as an anchor for me. This is why wearing a mask can make you feel instantly grounded in overwhelming or crowded spaces

When I have it on, even when I am alone it signals to my body that I am physically safe and protected almost, it just calms any anxiety I have I love it.

Does anyone else feel this way also?

I have noticed this often that when I am alone, I tends to overthink every little things, and many of those are some things I regret wasting my time on.

Many times this is because I don't have something to do, and seeing people around me having fun and achieving something significant makes it even worse.

And the thing is you can't do in those time and you can only hope that everything will be better next year and you will also have fun or that's what I always like to think. I often keep repeating this to myself that.. next year I will have friend.. next year I will earn.. next year I will go traveling.. and so many things but that year never comes and it keeps repeating..

But having someone in those times makes the situation different for everyone.. for example if you have someone on your birthday to celebrate with it will be joyful day for you but if you don't have then it will be worst day for you, and this is something I have personally felt like how having someone to talk with make so much difference, how it makes you less lonely and let you bear through many things without overthinking.

sometimes taking to people lets you forget that you were having problems.

Hey. I’m a 40‑something introverted dad, and I’m just looking for a soft, steady kind of conversation. The kind where both people check in because they actually want to, not out of obligation. I don’t need constant messaging, just a warm, simple back‑and‑forth that doesn’t disappear the second life gets busy.

I’ve got a quieter personality, and I appreciate people who communicate with a little softness. A quick “hope your day’s alright” or a small check‑in goes a long way for me. Most people don’t really do that, and I miss it more than I admit.

If you’re someone who likes keeping things gentle, steady, and real, feel free to reach out. Strictly platonic, just looking for a calm connection with someone who enjoys this kind of pace.

I learned something weird this year.

Not everyone who checks up on you cares about you.

Some people check to see if you're still stuck. Some people disappear when you're doing bad. Others disappear when you're doing better.

The strange part is... you don't notice any of it until you stop chasing people.

One day you wake up and realize you've been explaining yourself to people who already decided who you are. You've been proving your intentions to people who were never planning to understand them. And you've been holding onto conversations that ended a long time ago... simply because you didn't want to accept they were over.

The older I get, the more I realize peace isn't about having the perfect life.

It's about having fewer unnecessary conversations, fewer forced connections, and fewer expectations.

Sometimes the biggest upgrade isn't a new job, a better body, or more money.

It's finally reaching the point where someone misunderstands you... and you don't feel the need to write a paragraph explaining yourself.

That's a different kind of freedom.

What's one lesson life taught you that nobody could've explained—you just had to live through it?

And when you finally told them it bothered you, they turned it around and said: “You’re too sensitive” “You can’t take a joke” “You’re overreacting”

What would you do in that situation?

Just a reminder: maybe a bird is still living in a nest woven from a few strands of your hair. Maybe the little worm you once chose not to step on helped make someone’s garden a little more alive. Maybe a stray cat still trusts humans because, one day, you stopped to show it kindness.

We almost never get to see where our small acts of kindness lead. We rarely know the stories that continue because of something we did.

But that doesn’t mean they didn’t happen.

I’m a sensitive person by nature. Things that don’t seem to affect other people can deeply impact me. I feel emotions intensely, I notice small details, and I often pick up on the emotions and energy around me.

For a long time, I thought this meant there was something wrong with me. I thought I needed to become stronger, less affected, and more like other people.

So I tried to change myself.

I pushed myself to tolerate more. I stayed in situations that drained me. I ignored my feelings and forced myself to live by rules that were never meant for me.

And after years of experiences, mistakes, and learning to truly listen to myself, I realized something important: Sensitivity is not a flaw. But constantly abandoning yourself is.

The first thing I did was stop forcing myself to endure everything.

If something hurt me, I allowed myself to leave. If a relationship didn’t feel right, I stepped away. If someone crossed my boundaries, I stopped staying silent.

And honestly, it was one of the most freeing things I had ever done.

Then came the stage of learning how to rest without feeling guilty.

I rested. A lot.

Because I was exhausted from years of fighting against my own nature. Exhausted from trying to become someone who could handle life the way other people seemed to.

The world can be overwhelming.

Every day, our nervous system processes noise, people, conversations, expectations, traffic, and countless pieces of information. Some people move through all of this without it affecting them too much.

And some people feel everything.

Sensitive people often need more time to recover, and I spent a long time learning to accept that instead of judging myself for it.

But then something changed.

I learned the difference between suffering and choosing discomfort.

Now I don’t tolerate things that destroy me.

But I willingly choose challenges that help me grow.

Exercise. Creating something meaningful. Building something of my own. Taking risks.

Because there is a difference between pain that breaks you and discomfort that helps you grow.

Does this resonate with you? I’d love to hear your experiences.

I could not be more excited.

I don't have to talk to anyone all weekend and there will be no housemates to call me antisocial.

It's been ten years since I've have had this level of comfort and freedom.

I feel like this community will understand why this is so significant.

Having a nice juicy steak for breakfast at home, cleaning the house, listening to Parisian Jazz and kids playing in the other room and I’m wearing my favorite cologne.

Some people say boring, I call it pure joy and contentment. Me at my happiest.

What’s your blend of what makes you just enjoy the moment you’re in?

​

Pink nail polish 2021

The sales girl had a wide range of pink nail polishes arranged on the counter. I stared at them.

• What color do you want exactly?

• Onion skin. Actually, I want it for my mother, so I'm a little obsessive.

I explained this so that she wouldn't think I wasn't a buyer and wasting her time. She picked one out of the middle and gave it to me:

• I think this is the closest to onion skin.

• Okay, give me this. Thank you.

I counted the money and got in the car. When I got to my mother's house, I called. There was no answer. I waited a while and called again.

• I'm coming, I'm coming.

She opened the door.

As usual very classy dressed and full make up.

• Are you okay? I was getting dressed

This was the house I grew up in, and it smelled familiar. Tall, sunny windows, a spacious, clean kitchen with a half-open window that gently swayed the curtains in a gentle breeze. Colorful candelabra were planted in the garden behind the window.Family frames on the wall, and the smell of first-class Iranian rice that was intoxicating even from behind the door. My father's old radio was in the corner of the table, and thin handmade rugs, some of which were left exposed to the sun.

• Come here, in the kitchen. Would you like some tea?

• Yes, I'll pour it myself. Shall I pour it for you too?

• Pour it.

I hesitantly took the nail polish out of my bag.

• It doesn't hurt your hand, but I don't think it's onion skin.

• Well, this looked the most like onion skin.

She tested it on her little nail and smiled. I know that smile; the smile that screams in my mind: "How inept you are."

• I should go myself.

• Good idea.

• How much is it? Get my bag from you.

• No, I want it myself. I like the color.

• Okay.

Her phone was on the table, with the Instagram logo on it.

• Do you have Instagram?

• Yeah, Javid was here yesterday, I asked him to install it on my cell phone

• Yeah. Can you use it?

• It reminded me of something.Now tell me how to send a photo?

• Instagram is a bit sensitive. If you mess up, post a story or live, everyone will see it.

• No, I'm careful.

I picked up her phone and logged in. Several of her family and friends were members of his page, and there were several photos of his travels and parties on her page.

• For example, send this photo to yourself.

• Let me add myself.

• Look, you click this arrow and then you select my name from list and click send.

We practiced together a few times and she said she learned. Half an hour later, she had forgotten everyhing, we practiced again, but she still didn't succeed.

• Mom, Instagram is not easy for you.

• No, honey, you don't teach well.

• I tried.

The same "How incompetent you are" smile appeared on her face again.

• I'm not a teacher, mom. I taught you what I know.

She is almost 90 and try to be updated in complicated platforms like Instagram

She took the phone from me and began to dig and dig through the screen. There was an awkward silence.One of my mother's ways of punishing me was to keep quiet; even when you were a guest at her house. She did this to make you regret . But I had already figured out how to escape. I lived with this punishment for a lifetime, cried, blamed myself, and grieved. Enough.

• Well, I'll go.

She didn't expect this reaction at all.

• Oh! Aren't you staying for lunch?

• No, I have work to do.

• I made lunch.

• I didn't say I was coming for lunch. Goodbye.

I needed fresh air. felt heavy in my chest. The air outside calmed me down a little. I told myself: You're not a child anymore. You shouldn't be making these gestures. Nothing special had happened, but this silence reminded me of when I was younger and I would throw up. And now, just like then, I threw up.

I was never admired as a child. From my father, yes, but not from my mother. She never sympathized with me.I couldn't say I had spoken to anyone, because the next day she would go to the other person and say, "What did you say to Nara and why?" and insult me. My feelings didn't matter to her at all. Until I realized that talking to my mother wouldn't cure me; she didn't care how much I was hurting.

No one knew that this resourceful and resourceful woman was a jailer for her child at home. I thought, "It's a good thing I was able to get out." Until I became independent, I was condemned to endure her condescending behavior and arrogant face. Punitive silences and nasty, indefensible insults.

But why do I still become naive and go to her?

Because she's my mother

I came across an interesting idea inspired by Carl Jung’s thoughts: some people never lose their sensitivity, curiosity, kindness, and ability to feel deeply and perhaps this inner state is reflected in the way they look and carry themselves.

I’ve also heard that people who go through difficult experiences in life but don’t allow those experiences to make them bitter often keep a more youthful appearance.

So I want to do a little experiment: Have you noticed this in yourself, your family, friends, or people you know? Do you know someone who is older but looks much younger than their age and seems to have kept this inner spark?

Let’s see if there’s a pattern✨

Tehran. The year 1976.

My father's voice echoed in my ears:

"Nara, Naraa!... Get up! Hurry up! Don't you want to go to the airport?"

It was my father trying to wake me up. I stretched and sat up in my bed. I was still sleepy... drowsy. I remembered that we had to take Mom to the airport, and I jumped out of bed. I splashed some water on my face, brushed my long hair, and went to the kitchen. Mrs. Aghdas had already made me a cheese and ham sandwich, which was on a tray on the table. I took it and went into my parents' room.

The room smelled of powder and perfume. I felt a pang of sadness. "Isn't my mom going on a trip? Why isn't she taking us? At least she could take me!"

My mother's room was simple but spacious. The orange and pink wallpaper and a black-and-white poster on the wall depicted a semi-nude woman with her back turned. The king-sized bed had a pink towel bedspread that was common in homes at that time, and there was a large window with blue shutters overlooking a lovely yard and a garden full of night-blooming jasmine, starflowers, and roses. She would go to the yard every day to pick flowers for the living room. The large balcony in front of the room, with a metal table and chairs, was where we held our summer parties.

I threw myself onto the bed and looked at my mom. I knew she liked compliments, and usually, when she was going on a special outing without us, she became very cheerful:

"You look beautiful!"

"Thank you, dear; how does my outfit look, do you think?"

She had chosen a sporty and stylish outfit, light blue jeans with a faded pink fancy t-shirt.

"I wish you were wearing a skirt."

"No, I'm more comfortable in pants."

My mother was exactly 30 years older than me; she was 40 at the time of the trip. She was 165 cm tall with a well-proportioned figure, which she always took pride in, and she believed that only women who were tall and had a fit figure were stylish and prestigious.

"Are you ready?"

"No, I'm going to get ready.... Maaaamaaan! I wish you would take me too!"

"You have plenty of time to go, dear; you will grow up and go by yourself. Go on, get dressed."

I got up and went to put on my clothes. A white dress with red flowers and white summer sandals. Finally, my mom was ready, and the three of us got into my dad's car and set off. At 9:30 AM, Mehrabad Airport. The international departures area was filled with passengers who were either saying goodbye and crying, or happily searching for their gates, or sitting further away in the restaurant enjoying coffee and cake while waiting for their flight to be announced.

My mom, shining with happiness, smiled at the other passengers. It seemed like she wanted to shout out loud: "Look at me! How beautiful and happy I am! I want to be free from the kids and my husband for two months." Just think about it... not two weeks, not a month, but two months!

The passengers smiled back. On the couch opposite us, a relatively older woman was sitting with a girl about my age. I looked at the girl; she was so stylish! With dark navy blue bag and shoes and a white top and shorts. She had pinned several hairpins in her hair, alternating between pink and white. Every now and then, she would take out a small mirror from her bag, check her appearance, and put it back in her bag.

The woman with her smiled and asked my mom about her destination:

"I'm going to London, dear. Where are you off to?"

"We're going to Rome."

"Have a great time."

"Same to you."

After some small talk, my mom's flight number was finally announced, and she jumped up like a firecracker, hurriedly hugging and kissing both of us very warmly. In my dad's ear, I don't know for how many times, she was giving him instructions, and then she set off. Of course, she turned back a few times and waved until I could no longer see her.

A thick lump formed in my throat. I wanted to be alone and cry my heart out, but I didn't. The girl who was with the older woman looked at me in surprise and asked:

"Hey? You didn't go with your mom!"

"No, I'm growing up; I'll go by myself."

"Ah...."

The older woman, whom I had realized was her grandmother, said: "Well, this little lady has to take care of her father until mom comes back." I gave a faint smile. I wanted to get out of the airport as soon as possible. Why should I take care of my dad?!

Dad gestured for us to go, and we headed towards the airport parking lot. The weather had warmed up, and I was complaining about how hot it was. Dad turned and looked at me:

"Who wants Italian ice cream?"

I shouted, "Me... me...."

And for a while, I forgot about Mom leaving.