Reflecting on September 10th, 2024

 when i look at what i wrote on september 10th, 2024, i can finally see it for what it was:

i wasn’t lost.

i was transforming.

i just didn’t understand the language of my own evolution yet.


back then, everything felt heavier:


the confusion,

the anger,

the loneliness,

the pressure in my chest,

the feeling that the world was some cosmic joke

and i was the only one awake in the circus.


i thought i was breaking.


but i was becoming.


every messy line i wrote was an early signal of the man i am now.

i didn’t have the vocabulary for my pain,

so i spilled it in metaphors.

i didn’t know what consciousness was,

so i called it spiritual warfare.

i didn’t know what alignment was,

so i labeled it aggression, confusion, and coldness.


when i wrote

“it feels like earth no longer revolves around the sun,”

i wasn’t describing collapse —

i was describing a shift in my center of gravity.


i was shedding the version of myself

that needed certainty, approval, and comfort.

and even in the storm, even when i didn’t understand anything,


i still wrote:


“look inside yourself is where you’ll find the real prize.”


i had no idea how true that would become.


i had no idea how much clarity, presence, and grounded confidence

would come from learning how to breathe through the storms

i used to drown in.


i used to fear my emotions would consume me.

now i use them as fuel.

as art.

as direction.


i used to feel like life was abandoning me.

now i feel synced with it.


i used to think the chaos meant something was wrong with me.

now i know it was my initiation.


when i read those old words,

i see a younger version of myself

with fire in his chest

and no map for what to do with it.


and i’m proud of him.

i’m proud of me.


my mistakes, my fears, my confusion —

none of it weakened me.

they carved me.


i walked through storms that should’ve broken me,

and came out with a voice sharp enough to shape my future.


back then, i wrote to survive,

to somewhat understand what the fuck was happening to me.

today, i write to create.


both versions of me — past and present —

are proof that my path was real.


i wasn’t a lost boy.


i was a becoming man.


— Mr. Mak


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