I haven’t blogged in a long time.

Not because I didn’t have things to say…
but because I kept waiting to feel ready.

I told myself I would write again when my energy was back to 100%.
…When my emotions were settled.
…When my health felt more stable.
…When life felt lighter.

But the truth is…

my energy hasn’t been 100% in a very long time.

Between being a mom, a wife, a business owner, and everything in between—
managing daily responsibilities, tending to my health, and doing the slow, ongoing work of emotional healing—
there never seemed to be a moment where I felt fully ready to return to blogging.

So I stopped.

And maybe that was never the point.

Blogging Was Never About Being “Ready”

I’m realizing now that blogging, for me, was never about performance.
It was never about views, reach, or readership.

It was always a diary.

A place where I could show up as I am…
tired, reflective, unfinished.

Waiting for 100% meant waiting for a version of myself that may never come.
And in the process, I left behind something that actually made me happy.

So today, I’m choosing to write again, not because I feel energetic or inspired, but because I want to return to myself.

The News That Shook Me

A few days ago, Hanz told me that Sophie Kinsella had passed away.

I couldn’t believe it.

She’s one of my favorite authors of all time.
In my mind, she felt young. Alive. Eternal.

I read her Shopaholic series obsessively in my 20s and 30s, and honestly, she may be one of the culprits why I became a shopaholic myself during those years (and maybe even until today… lol).

Her stories lived with me.
They were light, funny, comforting—like a familiar friend.

Then I read Romi Neustadt’s email mentioning Sophie’s diagnosis. (Romi is another fave author of mine. I read her book, You Can have It All Just Not at The Same Damn Time, twice!!!)

Anyway, I Googled Sophie.

She had been diagnosed with glioblastoma—a highly aggressive brain tumor.
One of the most aggressive there is.

She died peacefully a few days ago.
At age 55.

Her real name was Madeleine Sophie Wickham.

Fifty-five.

That number shook me to my core.

I’m 47.
And I’m not exactly the picture of perfect health.

It was sobering.
And scary.
And grounding all at once.

The Quote That Brought Me Back

Around the same time, I read a quote from Sophie—shared in Romi’s email—that made me cry.

In October 2024, Zibby Owens interviewed Sophie on the Totally Booked podcast. She talked about her journey since diagnosis and how her book came to be:

“You get a diagnosis, then you make your bucket list, then you go and meet a celebrity, or you swim with the dolphins, or you trek up a mountain, and these are going to create amazing memories for you and for the people that you’re with. And I found that I just resisted that kind of a thing. Everything that my husband would suggest to me, I’d be like, ‘well, no, I don’t really want to do that.’ And I felt like a spoilsport, you know. I need to be putting on my Lycra and climbing up Everest. But really, what I wanted to do is just lead my life, but just make it a bit nicer.

I don’t need to be doing the big, grand stuff, you know, give me just a little treat. I mean, one of my treats that I give myself is that I love things that smell lovely. So I’ll have like pillow spray or I’ll have a scented body lotion and I’ll treat myself to something small that really does impact my life but isn’t dramatic, doesn’t require me to get on a plane. It’s just a small pleasure, and I really do find this a valuable way to go about it.

I think we can all just increase our quality of life incrementally with just a little treat here, a little treat there. And what I’ve really learned is that you can make your life better by just framing it, by just appreciating it, by just going over the day.”

She spoke about how, after a diagnosis, people often feel pressured to do something big.
Make a bucket list.
Climb mountains.
Meet celebrities.
Create “memories” that look impressive.

But she admitted something deeply honest:

She didn’t want the grand stuff.
She just wanted to live her life—but make it a bit nicer.

Small pleasures.
Simple comforts.
Things that didn’t require a plane ticket or a performance.

That landed so deeply in me.

When Grand Dreams Become Heavy

For years, I tried to live big.
I filled my life with plans, goals, and future versions of myself:

• doing local and Asian travels even if I am an extremely introverted person, a homebody and deathly scared of riding airplanes, lol!
• my dream beach wedding
• being happily married
• having a child after decades of not wanting a child
• being a great mom
• being a great wife
• owning small businesses
• owning properties
• a master’s degree
• a PhD
• the perfectly healed marriage
• the ideal version of love
• creating new products and services
• hosting a podcast
• and more…

Some of those goals have already come true and I’m eternally grateful! As for the others, while I still honor those dreams, something has shifted.

Taking my medicines every day has become a quiet reminder that life is fragile.
That tomorrow is not promised.

There may not be a perfect time for academic dreams,
or for becoming the “perfect” anything.

And instead of panicking…
I feel myself slowing down.

Small Pleasures, Real Life

What if a good life isn’t made of milestones,
but of moments that feel kind to live inside?

A pillow spray before bed.
A scent you love.
A few honest paragraphs written without pressure.

Small things.
Ordinary things.

They don’t look impressive.
But they change how a day feels.

I’m learning that quality of life doesn’t come from dramatic reinvention—
it comes from gentle framing, from noticing, from appreciating what’s already here.

Writing as a Small Act of Care

Coming back to blogging this way,
writing like I would in a diary, without expectations,
feels like one of those small treats Sophie talked about.

It doesn’t require perfect energy.
It doesn’t require an audience.

It just requires honesty.

A Quiet Grief for the Books I Lost

There’s also a quiet sadness I carry.

Over the many house transfers we’ve had in the last decade, I lost so many of my books! From what I remember, I lost 9 books of Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events, my complete Harry Potter collection, so many hardbound Marvel and DC graphic novels, all those encyclopedic books I ordered from Reader’s Digest more than a decade ago, my Paolo Coelho collection, and so many more, including most of my Sophie Kinsella collection.

The Shopaholic series was part of my life for years.
Those books lived with me through different seasons, different versions of myself.

I only have three left with me now.

And someday, when I get the chance, I’ll buy the book she wrote before she died… (Maybe, I’ll even buy again those books I’ve lost starting with all the Harry Potter books which I’m gifting Tuz this Christmas since he’s so obsessed with the Harry Potter movies and Harry Potter Lego toys.) …not just to read it, but to reclaim a small piece of who I was when books felt like home.(And yes, with all the books I’ve been bringing home from Doulos Hope and Big Bad Wolf, I’m intentionally inviting more reading back into my life next year.)

Choosing What Feels True Now

This season of my life isn’t about doing more.
It’s about doing what feels aligned.

Writing again—even imperfectly.
Choosing small joys.
Sleeping right (Oh what a pain it has been since 2008! I hope to really re-start and continue sleeping better…)
Letting go of the pressure to be “ready.”

If this is all I do today, it’s enough… Writing and sleeping right.

And if tomorrow never comes, I want to know that today,
I chose something that made me happy.