One thing about me? I’m spiritual asf.

Ask my friends, and they’ll tell you how I’m always talking about my dreams and downloads. I’m also scientific and yes! I do know a thing or two of how the brain works with neuroplasticity, brain synapses and all that jazz.

While a side of me comes off as a hardcore party girl and as someone that will most definitely bring in science to explain everything under the sun, I still maintain the stance that everything is spiritual. That there are other realms distinct from our 3D physical plane.

Let me establish that first before I continue.

Are you with me now?

Ok, let me start with this opening statement then:

Drugs are portals into other dimensions.

How’s that for a start, ma?

For those of you saying, “Here we go again with that woo woo shit,” allow me to present my case at least… come on! You owe me that.

Let’s establish something first.

Drugs are mind-altering substances. There’s no doubt about that. At the surface level, they do, in fact, interact with how we perceive things.

I don’t think anyone would argue that drugs aren’t evil, because they absolutely are. People will lose everything they have, give up their kids and do horrible things to get these substances.

But do you believe they open a door to a demonic evil?

I believe drugs lift the veil and allow you to see into the other side. I mean, look at how shamans use them in different cultures. Misuse them, and you’re going to end up with a scene from Insidious.

You can call it demons, bad energy, vibrations or whatever you want to. But one thing we can contest is that they certainly change things around you.

Just because you didn’t see that shadow person or demon and I did, who’s to say it wasn’t truly there?

But on the medical side, the lack of sleep, drugs and all that mess can cause hallucinations, paranoia and psychosis. Logical explanations can bring all that up, especially when you consider how addictive these substances are and what they do to the body and brain.

Let me share my story and set the scene for you.

Picture this: four days of bingeing in a hotel with your mates. There’s booze and a cocktail of drugs: weed, coke, pills and the worst of them all, meth.

Everything was vibes… until Day 3.

You know, it is said in the “user community” that Day 3 is when the real demonic party starts.

I wasn’t a believer until last week.

I mean, I know how to set intentions before using drugs to short-circuit the brain into getting the trip that I want. Hell, I’ve even mastered tunnel visioning when I’m riding psychedelics or heavy D’s (which is a skill not a lot of users have mastered). I’m not new to this shit.

But what I experienced last week was truly very much real.

It’s the fuckin meth, I’m telling you.

I hate that drug with my every fibre of my being. No, honestly!

After about four days of being awake, I had an excruciatingly scary experience that I’m still not sure was a real paranormal event or just my mind being more powerful than I ever could have imagined.

Side note: On some level, I still maintain that meth and/or sleep deprivation may simply be paths towards a specific brain frequency. A frequency which allows human beings to interface with demons.

In other words, if you’re simply not on the right frequency, you won’t see them. These drugs just put you on that bandwidth.

— -

Here’s what happened.

It started on Day 3, Saturday night.

It’s around midnight, and we’re by the bar at Red Lounge. I see a beautiful man in the crowd staring at me, and he waves me to follow him.

I then tell Tyra, “Hey, I’m leaving early. Catch ya later, refrigerator,” and I leave the club.

I go straight back to the hotel. By this time, that man is gone to who knows where, and I am now in the room, in complete darkness, sitting by the balcony and staring out towards the St Annes school building across the street.

My eyes were fixed on a window on the 3rd floor, and I stood there just waiting for something to happen.

I can’t explain it, but I knew I was summoning something dark and evil with this level of focus and attention. I felt a relationship with the darkness, and I was beginning to scare myself, but I couldn’t stop.

After staring out at that window for 15 straight minutes, with zero movement from even my eyes, I finally broke my staring contest with the dark and looked away.

After a moment, I looked back out the fucking window again.

I can CLEARLY see a dark figure with a hat staring back at me.

I engage in this staring contest with this entity as if to challenge it without fear.

Whether that man I saw at Red Lounge was related to what I saw in that window? I have no idea. But I’ve heard stories about people having similar encounters in nightclubs growing up so I thought that’s worth mentioning.

Anywho…

By this time, my friends have returned to the room and shut me down with, “You’re just tripping,” when I describe my experience.

Ok, fair enough!

We continue with the tomfoolery well into Sunday.

By Sunday afternoon, in the midst of everything that’s happening (a repeat of the last three days), I snap out of it and get ready to return home to prepare for the new work week.

Everything is going smoothly at this point…

Until I’m alone at home Sunday night, getting ready for bed.

Somehow, I have this lingering feeling that something is off, like something has latched onto me (for lack of a better explanation).

I feel like I’m being watched, so I turn on the night lamp. Moments before I doze off, I feel the atmosphere of the room get heavy.

That same demonic frequency I felt the previous night is charging up the room again.

I didn’t care much for it, and I successfully fell asleep.

It’s not even five minutes into my sleep when I see this invisible force enter the room.

Its energy is so overpowering, and I’m paralysed in complete terror.

I don’t see anything, but I feel it in my spirit.

And I’m screaming with complete terror and crying. And it felt like I was being tormented. Not in the body, but in the mind.

The energy felt like the vibration coming from the flapping of butterfly wings, if I can describe the whole ordeal.

Whatever this was, it was telepathically feeding on my terror, paralysing me.

Like a freaking Dementor.

It was feeding off my fear and terror. I got the sense that this thing was totally amused by my human fear and was laughing at me for being so shocked and weak.

I don’t know how I knew this, but the more scared I got, the more empowered it became.

While all of this is happening, I’m getting auditory hallucinations: hearing voices of people calling out my name, laughing at me, jestering even, and seeing shadow people. The classic one trip. 10 points to me haha.

But in all seriousness, that experience alone stood out to my analytical mind. And I will never forget it.

This is the third time this has happened to me, and I’ve noticed a pattern with visitations like this after I binge with alcohol, either alone or with other substances for that matter. Another 10 points to me for noticing this pattern yay!

— -

So, naturally, I hit the web.

As soon as I recover from this whole ordeal, I hit the web and research this entire phenomenon.

I wanted to know if this was an experience unique to me, based on my subconscious reality, or whether other users around the world experienced the same thing.

If the latter is true, then this proved my hypothesis that this drug (meth) really does open doors that you’re not supposed to be opening.

I’m running late, so I won’t dive deeper into my research (you’ll have to dig on your own, sorry).

But I can tell you this much:

I don’t have all the answers, and perhaps that’s what makes this entire experience so fascinating.

But I’ve read enough accounts from all around the world to know that I’m not alone in describing these experiences.

Whether we’re looking at shared neurological responses, the architecture of human consciousness or something we haven’t fully understood, I find the similarities fascinating.

What I do know is that I’m never touching that demonic drug ever again…

There’s something strangely comforting about how quickly I can make a hotel room feel like mine. I unpack my suitcase, hang my clothes in the closet, place my toiletries neatly on the bathroom counter, and settle into the space as though I’ve always belonged there.

Then, just as quickly, I leave.

I pack everything away, return the room to its original state, and, as corny as it sounds, I always pause at the doorway before checking out. I quietly say, “Thank you,” and “Goodbye.”

I’ve started calling these the in-between places.

This is for the people who understand them.

I think there are certain kinds of people in the world who fall in love with places that were never meant to be permanent. Airports. Hotels. Bars. Books, in a more internal sense. Places we pass through rather than settle in. They exist between one chapter and the next, between departures and arrivals, between who we were and who we might become.

Some people are perfectly content living one life.

Others are haunted by the feeling that there are countless other lives they could have lived.

The in-between places seem to whisper those possibilities. Every airport suggests another destination. Every hotel room hints at another version of yourself. Every book lets you inhabit a different mind for a while. They’re reminders that life is larger than the one we’re currently living.

Maybe that’s why I moved to Korovou.

Korovou feels like an in-between place. People arrive, stay for a season, then leave. Most never settle permanently. The days rarely feel identical, and there’s always the quiet sense that something new could happen tomorrow.

I think that’s why it feels like home to me.

Perhaps some people are meant to plant deep roots in one place. To build one career, master one craft, and tell one story.

But maybe others are meant to live in the in-between.

Always dreaming.

Always reading.

Always travelling.

Always searching.

The strange thing is, I’m not even sure I’m searching for something. I think I simply love the search itself.

I’ve often wondered if this is why commitment has always felt difficult for me. Not commitment to people, but commitment to permanence. One city. One career. One identity. One lifelong answer to the question, “What’s your favourite thing?”

It explains why I’ve never been able to narrow myself down to a single passion. Every new interest feels like another doorway worth opening.

Oscar Wilde once said:

“If you know exactly what you want to be, then you will become it, and that is your punishment.”

Whether or not those are his exact words, the idea has stayed with me. There is something freeing about not becoming a fixed noun. About refusing to define yourself once and for all.

Instead, perhaps the privilege is to become a verb.

To keep moving.

To keep changing.

To reinvent yourself every morning.

It’s not always an easy way to live. There are moments when uncertainty feels heavy, when you envy people whose paths seem wonderfully clear.

But there is also extraordinary freedom in remaining unfinished.

If you can, be a permanent student.

Not necessarily in a classroom, but in your mind.

Keep learning. Keep wandering. Keep collecting temporary homes, fleeting conversations, unfamiliar streets, and stories that reshape who you are.

Some of us were never meant to arrive.

Some of us were made to fall in love with the beautiful, unfinished space in between.

I’m feeling so emotional right now. I can’t quite name this feeling. It feels like I’m in an “in-between” zone. I’m asking myself whether I made the right decision or not and it’s super weird because I feel like I did but at the same time I feel like I didn’t. I guess doubt is naturally synonymous with the unknown and confusion can give way to doubt. The person I’ve become and the bricks I’ve built for myself in Savusavu is now confronted with the unknown. And it feels sad because I will now have to start again from scratch and build new bricks as I move to an entirely different town. Does that mean I forget everything and who I’ve become in savusavu? Honestly, I don’t think so. I think that’s the beauty of the whole human experience. We get to always start again and reinvent ourselves. I mean why be the same person your whole life when you can pick as many figs from the fig tree right? Well I don’t think anyone told Sylvia Plath you have to survive the emotional customs checkpoint before you get to pick the figs. People often expect relocation to feel exciting and cinematic, but the reality can be weirdly disorienting. Even when the move is “good” in theory, but in practice, it’s quite the opposite because you’ll have to confront so many emotions. It’s like environmental jet lag. Your body arrived before your emotions did.

But scientifically speaking, I think this is just my brain doing another one of its numbers on the whole familiarity thing. The brain loves familiarity. Familiarity signals safety. I know. This is only just my brain’s way of comparing Korovou’s raw first draft against Savusavu’s fully decorated penthouse suite of memories. And It’s so hard for me to understand as I process these emotions but let me sit in my feelings for a second babe.

Can you believe it? One minute ago, I was in a beachside town, frolicking in crystal blue waters , then suddenly now I find myself unpacking toiletries in a new bathroom in the middle of pine trees wondering if I made a catastrophic life choice while staring at a different ceiling fan. I find it so funny us humans you know? We are strange little migratory birds with these big emotions and feelings. On the other side of things I find it so beautiful that these feelings come in waves. The wave of confusion comes first, then doubt, then hope, then peace, then gratitude.

And honestly, I’m so into this shit. I can’t really explain it. It’s beautiful in a bittersweet way. Can you relate too reader? You know what? I’ll give Korovou time to reveal its hidden corridors. You know one thing I’ve learnt in life is that some places don’t seduce immediately. They unfold slowly, like those songs you skip at first and then six months later they become your entire personality. Like a Lykke Li song. Stay tuned reader you’re in for a spectacular ride. I love you.

The older I get, the more I catch myself laughing at the wild realization that going to a Christian school was basically the unofficial version of PR training. We didn’t call it that. Back then it was just “school rules” and “good manners” and “don’t embarrass the institution.” But looking at how I move through life now? Yeah… we were being shaped on a whole other level.

By nine years old we were already giving full speeches in assembly like tiny CEOs. Didn’t matter if you were shy. You were going up there. And you’d better speak clearly or they’d make you do it again in front of everyone. At the time it felt like suffering. Now I look back and think… wow, they actually trained us to be public speakers before we even had baby teeth in the right places.

You also learn strategy early. When to speak. When not to speak. When to soften your tone. When an opinion is worth saying and when it’s smarter to tuck it away. Christian school lowkey teaches you social diplomacy without ever naming it that. And it becomes second nature. To this day, I will never give my full, raw opinion in a room unless I trust everyone there with my life. That’s Christian school trauma right there. You learn early that one tiny comment can be misquoted to ten different aunties before you even reach home.

And honestly, learning to respect people with different views was one of the most valuable parts of it. You get used to moving through spaces where everyone doesn’t think like you, and you pick up the ability to disagree without losing your cool. That’s a skill adults struggle with today.

Image management? Oh, please. That was our Olympics. We were literally trained to carry ourselves well everywhere. Even after school, you couldn’t just roam the town in your uniform looking messy. People actually got into trouble for that. I used to change clothes before going to town like I was switching into a whole new persona. We were taught to live multiple lives before social media ever made that normal (is this why I have 2 Facebook accounts- one for business and one for pleasure?)

And now that I work in environments where communication matters, I hear myself in conversations and catch these little moments where I go, “Wait… this is that training.” The tone control. The awareness. The way I can hold a room or shape a conversation without thinking too hard about it.

Meanwhile, my friends who went to public school will say the wildest things out loud with no warning, no filter, no internal PR team. I’ll be sitting there clutching my pearls like, “Omg, You said that? In front of people? Voluntarily?” The other day, a friend recently shared with me how they were smoking back in primary school. My response? “Like, baby, in primary school? I was being cared for”.

It’s hilarious because I never made the connection until now. But genuinely, Christian school gave me the weirdest but most useful toolkit. Polished communication. Emotional intelligence. Crisis management. The ability to smile while plotting my exit. The art of saying nothing while looking like I’m saying everything.

Not what I expected to gain from memorizing scripture and dodging prefects for wearing the wrong socks… but here we are.

And honestly? I’m kind of thankful for the accidental PR degree.

Every so often, a song comes along and it courses through your veins. Chappell Roan’s latest single, The Subway, is exactly that: a track that feels both liberating and devastating, ethereal and grounded, nostalgic and brand new all at once.

From the very first listen, The Subway transported me. There’s a haunting, Cranberries-like shimmer in its jangle-pop textures, echoing the late ‘90s alt-dream sound but carried forward by Chappell’s powerhouse vocals. It’s a sound that makes you want to roll down your car windows and just let go. I imagine myself driving down the Hibiscus Highway, the August full moon reflecting off the sea, the night air sharp and clear and this track blaring as I sing along to its hypnotic outro.

But what makes The Subway more than just a pretty song is the emotional punch it carries. When you’ve been through so much in life, from drug abuse, to abusive relationships, near death experiences, loses of loved ones and even your ‘forever’ person, The Subway hits SO hard. Chappell captures that universal ache of loving and losing, and somehow makes it feel freeing.

The genius lies in her lyrics. My favorite part is the catchy outro where “She’s got a way” turns into “She got away” .. so brutal and heartbreaking and beautiful.

And then I watched the music video. Wow! finally, a real music video again. Cinematic, longer than three minutes, dripping with late-90s dream pop aesthetics, and showcasing vocals that feel otherworldly. It’s a reminder of when artists created experiences, not just quick content. I’m here for it .

Of course, as with every true artist, Chappell Roan has her critics. But that’s nothing new. Madonna endured it in the ‘90s, Lady Gaga in the 2010s and look where they are now. Chappell’s boldness, her metaphors, her refusal to fit into a safe mold..this is what sets her apart. Different doesn’t just sell, it defines eras.

And perhaps the most impressive part? She wrote it herself. In a time when authentic songwriting can feel scarce, The Subway shines all the brighter.

Chappell Roan gives us a story, an emotion, a moment in time. If she keeps this up, she won’t just be another pop name on the charts, she’ll be one of the greats.

⭐ Verdict: A modern classic in the making. Play it loud, sing it loud, feel it deeply.

I highly recommend you listen to this song while reading 🥰

I did not expect to be flung into a wave of nostalgia and emotions and deep reflection early this afternoon. I blame Taylor Swift. Her Daylight song in particular was the wild card track in my playlist.

Well, I’m glad I hit the smart shuffle button because what came after completely changed me in a way, yes. A lot of tears and reflection happened while I was in the middle of washing dishes. Oh dear…

This is my feeble attempt at interpreting the lyrics, or at least I’ll attempt to paint for you whatever was playing in my head as I listened to every line and lyric.

“My love was as cruel as the cities I lived in…”

When I heard this line, it made me think of how I once believed love had to be wild to be real.

That I had to fake it to belong.

That chaos meant passion.

My 20s were fire red, burning, reckless.

I tried to find home in people, in highs, in distractions. I roamed the city squares like a soul calling out for love any form it took, I embraced her.

But not all love is right for you, and I had to learn that the hard way.

I lost things as a result. Precious things.

My childlike spark.

My best friend.

My innocence.

“Everyone looked worse in the light”

That line reminded me of the hard lessons I’ve learnt through heartbreak, through betrayal.

I’ve learnt about giving love to people. That some of it takes more than it gives. And people will surprise you.

It sucks, I know, but this is human nature. We are neither good nor bad, but somewhere in between.

“I wounded the good and I trusted the wicked”

It made me think of how I’d always spend most of my time with my friends instead of with family (people that mattered the most).

“Maybe I ran with the wolves and refused to settle down”.. yes, that’s how I related to her following lines.

“Maybe I’ve stormed out of every single room in this town.”

Woah. That line? Cut really deep.

After I turned 25, something cracked open

I kept dancing in the same rooms, surrounded by drunk faces and senseless laughter, but a quiet awareness began to grow inside me.

I’d catch myself looking around and thinking:

This used to feel like home. It doesn’t anymore.

The substances I once clung to for peace stopped working.

Maybe I outgrew them.

So I started searching

I turned to sailing, to meditation, to the open road.

I moved to a new town at 27.. a leap most people are too afraid to take at that age.

But I did it.

I packed up not just my things, but my entire identity, and left the city behind.

I left the glossy, chaotic boy who always had to be at the center.

It’s not every day that you get to be hit by something so profoundly strange and wise, as if Taylor Swift herself was reading my palm.

“I’ve been sleepin’ so long in a twenty-year dark night…”

I look back on my twenties, and all I see is a long dark night.

A twenty-year night full of roaming, searching, falling in and out of masks I wore to survive.

I tried everything. Love in all its chaotic forms.

I was the clown.

The center of the chaos.

The boy who wanted to belong so badly he broke himself into pieces to be understood.

And yet, would not change a thing.

“I’ll tell you the truth but never goodbye.”

Honestly, I’m happy where I am now.

I’m at peace, yes.

Taylor reminded me of this, right after she took me down the dark halls of my 20-year dark night. Hehe.

It’s refreshing to walk down memory lane every once in a while, right?

Well that was until the song hit the 2:10 time stamp and the tempo changed. Then it hit me. Another wave of sobbing ugrh. Don’t worry, tears of joy and deep appreciation of my journey.

Red vs Daylight

I once believed love would be burning red, but it’s golden.. like daylight.

When Taylor painted those colors of the sunset, comparing them to change and growth and “daylight” I felt like this explained my walking-into-my-30s rite of passage.

If I’m being honest, just turning 30 feels like you’re 0 years old as an adult. I’ve always said your 20s are your teen years of adulthood, and now I’m experiencing it. Wow!

And now it just feels different, like you’re breathing a different air from children or people in their 20s.

Closing the chapter

I’m so looking forward to taking the wisdom and lessons I’ve learnt from my 20s into this new decade.

Thank you, Taylor Swift. I’m officially a Swifitie now.

Exactly a year ago, I was juggling chaos, hangovers, and social obligations like I was Kris Jenner with a clipboard. I found myself smacked up in the middle of one of the most unintentionally iconic weekends of my life , and let me just say: Savusavu nightlife + Taveuni waterfalls + zero sleep = the stuff of legends.

Let me take you back.

Thursday: The Invasion Begins

It was a regular Savusavu Thursday. Or so I thought.

Fabi and Jerry had just arrived from Suva. They pulled in at 7am sharp, and just as luck would have it, I ran into them on my way to work. Naturally, I walked them home like the saint I am (duh) it helps that I live 20 seconds from town. (Yes, I’ve timed it. Yes, I’ve counted.)

I drop them off, slap on my “employee of the year” hat, and dash back to work. Meanwhile, another friend from LTA , just happened to be in town with their legal team. Cue the “Hey, let’s grab a few drinks before I catch the ferry back to Suva” text.

Sigh.

Living in Savusavu comes with its own silent rulebook: If friends are in town, you host. Period. No questions, no excuses, just vibes. And as much as I wanted to crawl under my blanket and pretend to be busy, I had to channel my inner Hostess With the Mostest™.

5pm: The Double Life Begins

It’s 5pm. Time to clock out. Dash to the hotel for quick catch-ups and borderline tipsy convos with the LTA crew. Meanwhile, back at my flat , Fabi, Jerry, and Sereana were already priming like their lives depended on it. I was being pulled in two directions and had to teleport emotionally between “corporate consultation drinks” and “pre-party hype squad.” Eventually, I send my LTA friend (now very tipsy) to the bus terminal and run back home to continue my duties as resident glamazon slash party captain.

We decided to head out for dinner at Nawi Island, where my friends casually dropped the idea of testing the waters of Savusavu nightlife.

Spoiler: The water was deep. Very, very deep.

Friday Morning: Hangover Olympics Begin

The plan? Catch the 8am barge from Natuvu to Taveuni.

The reality? Us waking up to the news:
"Yadra si’a, sa biubiu oti a basi ma."
Translation: “Good morning, the bus already left.” FML.

We had set the alarm to 5am. I also snoozed the alarm. Repeatedly. Ain’t nobody interrupting my hangover beauty sleep… until Fabi shouts out abruptly “F&#%$, we missed the bus, wake up!!!”

So what now? TAXAAAAY! We grab our bags, hail a taxi, and speed-run through the morning like our lives depended on it. We made it to the barge by the skin of our teeth, thank the heavens.

Thus began the Team No Sleep era.

Taveuni

Once we landed on Taveuni, our spirits were willing but our bodies were not. The itinerary we planned sober didn’t stand a chance against our hungover shells.

There were hikes, waterfalls, and scenic drives on the agenda. But there was also reality:

Jerry was driving like he was in a meditative trance.

Fabi was literally drooling over the Taveuni hunks.

I was battling nausea, regret, and the crushing weight of being the only person with a functional brain cell.

In desperation, I text my local friend Kim to help us salvage the day. Thank God for Kim .. he turned into our unofficial tour guide/driver/guardian angel.

We made it to the Lavena Waterfalls, caught the last possible tour slot of the day, and somehow managed to take some cute pics that made it all look effortless. (Fake it till you make it, right?)

The Final Plot Twist

Just when I thought the saga was over, I get a call from the LTA legal team.

Apparently, my friend, the same guy I drank with the night before , got so drunk on the ferry he rang the bus bell to get off in the middle of nowhere en route to Nabouwalu.

What the actual %@%#^ ?

---

Final Thoughts: Lessons From the Madness

• Never plan a hike while you're sober if you’re also planning to drink the night before.
• Alarms are suggestions, not guarantees.
• If you’re the responsible friend, you’re also the logistics coordinator.
• There is no nightlife quite like Savusavu nightlife. It will humble you.
• Hangovers are temporary, but memories like this are forever.

So today, as I sip my tea and scroll through old photos, I raise a toast to Team No Sleep. The island adventurers who proved that friendship, spontaneity, and a little bit of drama make for one hell of a good time.

And if anyone ever needs an event planner, club promoter, or emotional support tour guide... you know who to call.

Hey Keli,

You’re in high school now, huh? Wild. I swear it was just yesterday we were chasing each other around the house and arguing over who gets the last pancake. You’re growing fast, and with that, I feel this pull in my spirit to pass on a little something. A nugget of wisdom that could, if you let it, change your life. I want you to grow and thrive and bloom in life in case you didn’t know small bro. So here’s my proverbial letter of wisdom hehe..

Think of this letter like a cheat code for leveling up in the game of life.

Let me tell you something I’ve learned, not from a textbook, but from being out here in the world, stumbling, rising, learning:

You will go farther, faster, if you join communities.

Let me explain.

There are countless bubbles floating around us: each one a little universe of its own. Some are loud and proud, others are quiet and tender. Some meet every Sunday, others every Thursday. But they’re all communities. And here’s the truth, Keli: each community you join stretches you. It adds new colors to your spirit, new tools to your toolbox, new people to your path.

When you walk into a new community, whether it’s a Toastmasters club, a sports team, a youth group, a book club, or even an online forum, you’re expanding. You’re growing your network. You’re planting seeds in soil that could one day bloom into job offers, friendships, partnerships, or even healing.

Some people go through life with only three circles: work, family, and church. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But I want more for you, little bro. I want your world to be wide. I want your life to hum with different songs and smells and voices and vibes. I want you to meet people who think differently, believe differently, and live differently, because that’s how you’ll evolve and grow.

Life is bigger than our backyard.

I’ve learned that my aura, my energy, my charisma, my power, has only grown because I’ve said yes to stepping into unfamiliar rooms. I’ve met mentors who saw gold in me I didn’t even know existed. I’ve sat with strangers who spoke one sentence that shifted my entire mindset. I’ve gained access to rooms I didn’t know I’d ever enter... just because I showed up. That’s it. I showed up.

So here’s my advice to you, little one:
Say yes more. Join more. Be curious.
Step out of your comfort zone, even if your voice shakes. Even if your shirt’s wrinkled. Even if you feel like the odd one out. That feeling won’t last forever, but the connections you make? Some of them will.

I want you to remember this when you join new communities that require you to harness your skills or form new ones like public speaking:

Embarrassment is the cost of entry. You have to be willing to look like a foolish beginner in order to become a skillful master.

Don’t wait for life to knock on your door. Go knock on life’s doors. Every community you enter is a potential launchpad.

Your future investor might be at the local Rotary Club.
Your soulmate friend might be at volleyball practice.
Your next big idea might come while listening to someone speak at a youth meet.
You never know until you go.

Think of yourself as a student of life. Every network offers you learning and growth. Every encounter adds to your aura points.

So go shine, Maikeli.
Join that club. Volunteer for that project. Sit in the front row of that random seminar. Try that weird thing no one else wants to try. Be the guy who says, “Yeah, I’ll come.” Because that’s how your world grows wider.

And if you ever feel scared or awkward or like you don’t belong, just remember: every wise person you’ll ever meet once felt the same way. The only difference is that, they stayed.

So stay.
Grow.
And when it’s your turn, pass this hack down to someone younger than you. Keep the ripple going.

Love you always,
Your big brother.

Source: haickudeck.com

Last weekend, I went clubbing for the first time in almost a year.

But this time was different.I went completely sober.

No shots. No cocktails. Just Fiji water and Red Bulls.

It wasn’t some social experiment or an attempt to be above it all. I just wanted to see how it felt- to step into a scene I used to frequent, but with clear eyes and a clear mind. And honestly? It hit different. Way different.

I noticed things I’d never seen before or maybe things I had just ignored when I was tipsy and laughing along.

People really do act stupid drunk. I get it, they’re having fun, they’re letting loose. But watching it all unfold without the blur of alcohol was eye-opening. The slurred banter, the dramatic arguments, the exaggerated displays of confidence..it all started to feel a bit hollow. Performative, even.

Every weekend, it’s the same story. Same bars. Same playlists. Same faces swaying under dim lights, clutching taki glasses of forgetfulness. We call it “fun,” and sometimes, it really is. But lately, I’ve been wondering, what happens when the music fades and the drinks stop flowing?

Take away the alcohol… and who are you?

I also observed the groups, the so-called “squads.”

The way they moved together, laughed together, toasted every other minute. And I had this quiet thought: Take away the alcohol, and watch how this squad crumbles. Because when the drinks stop flowing, will they still have things to talk about? Like who was out last weekend? Which guy said so and so? Who saw what she wore? That sort of stuff, you know the de-briefs post weekend. I wonder to myself: Will they still vibe, still connect, still show up for each other if we took away the alcohol friendship glue?

Or is this just a weekly ritual masking the absence of real depth?

As I stood among the drunk bodies rubbing up against each other, the booming music, and the chaotic energy, I couldn’t help but ask:

What else do these people have going on in their lives outside of this?

Im not judging, I’m just making an observation. Some people truly center their identities, their weekends, even their friendships around this scene. And that’s their choice. But for me, something about it felt… sad. Empty. Like living for the weekend is just another way of running from the rest of life.

It sort of reminded me of that part in Percy Jackson & the Lightning Thief when they went to the Lotus Hotel and were caught up in the endless loop of hedonistic distractions.

Nightclubs can feel a bit like that sometimes. A loop of the same music, the same drinks, the same faces, where the focus is just on escaping reality instead of living it fully. The danger is losing sight of who you are outside the “lotus” of weekend parties.

I used to be part of it. Heck, I was at the center of it all. But in all honesty, after a night out sober, I realized how much we rely on alcohol to feel connected, to feel confident, to feel something.

But I want more than that. I want friendships that thrive in silence, not just in noise. I want joy that isn’t measured by drink count. I want to wake up with clarity, no honestly, I’ve grown tired of measuring life in weekends. In events that have alcohol as the common denominator. Wow! I can’t believe I’m actually saying this. But real talk? I crave conversations that don’t need a buzz to begin. I want to know people who are alive on Monday mornings, not just Friday nights. I want experiences that fill me, not just distract me.

What if we started asking: Who are you outside the club? What inspires you, what scares you, what are you building when the world isn’t watching? Because that’s where the good stuff is. That’s where real friendship lives.

Drinks don’t define us. Nightlife isn’t the only way to feel alive.

So the next time the weekend rolls around, I’ll still love the music. I’ll still love my people. But I’ll be asking more of myself and of the world around me. Because I want a life that doesn’t need a hangover to be memorable.

And I think I’m not alone.

Image sourced from Pinterest

I’m listening to M83’s Outro as I write this, and I’m instantly transported to the first time I watched my favorite film: Cloud Atlas.

No movie has ever moved me quite like this one. I have to admit: it changed me.

Cloud Atlas is about the interconnectedness of time; past, present, and future. It’s about parallel lives, reincarnation, and the ripple effects of every action and inaction. But it goes beyond that. It explores the essence of what it means to be human. Every decision, struggle, passion, regret, and moment of bravery impacts not only the individual, but generations across time. As the film’s tagline says: Everything is connected.

It’s the kindness between a free Black stowaway and a morally conflicted lawyer.

It’s the bravery of a clone who sparks a revolution in the future.

It’s a group of friends escaping a controlling nursing home.

It’s a journalist risking everything to expose a cover-up.

It’s the fight to dismantle the “natural order” designed to control and suppress.

Each storyline, set between the 1850s and a post-apocalyptic future threads together into something bold, ambitious, and unforgettable.

I had to rewatch the film several times to fully grasp it. The first viewing is overwhelming. You’re asked to juggle multiple narratives, centuries apart, with recurring actors in different roles and sometimes different races or genders. It’s not for everyone. It demands patience, an open mind, and a willingness to let go of conventional storytelling. Some storylines wrap up neatly; others feel deliberately incomplete. And yet, it all fits.

This film made me realize how deeply important our choices are in shaping not just our own lives, but the lives of others, often in ways we’ll never see. Every encounter becomes a thread in a larger tapestry. It reminded me that there are no coincidences. And one quote from the film continues to echo in my mind:

“Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.”

Even in the face of technological evolution, societal decay, and oppressive systems, the power of words, stories, and belief remain the ultimate force for change. Through their narratives, the characters shape entire timelines. In one life, they might be a villain. In the next, a hero. Reincarnation becomes a vehicle to explore the evolution of the soul.. our potential to grow, heal, and rebel.

But above all, Cloud Atlas is a film about hope. It’s about love. It’s about resistance.

My favorite arc? Adam Ewing.

The moment that took my breath away was Adam’s moral transformation. He begins as a naïve notary in the 1800s, aligned with the colonial elite. But after witnessing the cruelty of slavery and being saved by a stowaway named Autua, Adam rejects his family’s legacy and commits himself to the abolitionist cause.

The confrontation with his father-in-law, Haskell Moore, is one of the most powerful scenes I’ve ever witnessed. Let me paint it:

Adam, changed from his voyage, sits in a warm, quiet room. The air is heavy with decision. Haskell Moore enters- tall, stern, the embodiment of tradition and power. He attempts to persuade Adam to abandon his idealism, to return to the status quo. He delivers the line with scorn:

“For what? No matter what you do, it will never amount to anything but a single drop in a limitless ocean.”

Adam listens, calm and steady. And then, with quiet defiance, he responds:

“Yet what is an ocean but a multitude of drops?”

I get chills just thinking about it.

This film reminds me that we’re never too small to make an impact. It teaches us that every act of bravery, love, or resistance, no matter how small, is part of something larger. Even when we don’t see the results, the ripple remains.

Cloud Atlas is, without question, my favorite movie of all time.

10/10. Would recommend. Again and again.