Maybe humans really are made of 60% water
or more. 

I never believed that until now. 
Not until I cried for over two hours, 
                                                                      and somehow, I’m still crying.






I used to think that 
happy moments didn’t belong to any one person. 
That 
joy could be recreated, 
reimagined, 
shared again with someone new. 
I believed memories were more about the feeling than the people in them
that what mattered was the warmth, 
the laughter, 
the lightness
and those things could be rebuilt.







But the moment everything ended, 
I realized how wrong I was. 
Because even in those new moments, 
even when everything looked different, 
my thoughts still led back to you.


 

Now, even in the quiet, you echo and I hate that.








                                                I’ve always thought of myself as a basic person. 
                       Nothing extraordinary. 
                                                       To be honest,
                                                           I don’t think anyone is that special. 
                                          We’re all born from a womb and eventually die in silence, 
leaving behind traces that are soon forgotten.



When I first started learning to code, 
I became fascinated by the concept of functions
how complex systems could be broken down, 
categorized, 
and manipulated with just a slight change in input. 
There was something strangely comforting about it. 


Predictable. 
Precise.


I used to wonder what it would be like if humans could process emotions the same way. 
If we could 
        write a function for grief or heartbreak, 
                      input the variables: loss, rejection, disappointment
                                and get a clean, manageable output. 
                                                     
No chaos. 
No spiraling. 
Just a return value:
you will be okay in 3 to 5 business days.


A friend once told me that the more disappointment I experience, 
the better I’ll become at dealing with it.
I wonder if it’s true. 
If emotional pain works like code, 
repeat the pattern often enough, 
and your system adapts. 
You develop a template, 



a list of steps: 
                               - cry, 
                               - isolate, 
                               - journal, 
                               - recover.










Maybe that’s what being an “adult” really is. 
Not becoming stronger, 
just becoming more efficient at feeling less.



















Notes From Above-Ground