In silent rooms, where shadows speak, A voice within feels faint, yet weak. The past, a ghost that lingers near, Breeding silence, feeding fear. Yet deep inside, a whisper's cry, Yearning to break free and fly. Speak your truth, let shadows part, Find your voice and heal your heart.

I'm overstimulated, which is a writer's worst nightmare. My thoughts have the zoomies, making them hard to catch or pinpoint. I feel overwhelmed by the vastness of human life. I've met so many new people this week at my new job. And I've seen even more people there that I haven't met. I keep thinking of how my grandma is driving across the country with my aunt and uncle. How people who don't know her will see her and only see an old woman, see her frailty. But that is just her body, that is not who she is. She may be an old woman now, but she was also once a little girl exploring the beaches of Lake Michigan with her best friends and neighbors Rae and Johnny. She was once a girl sitting on her older sister's stack of records in the basement while listening to the record player. She was once my grandpa's high school sweetheart. She was once a girlfriend left behind as my grandpa went to war in Korea. She once, newly married, and never having traveled out of her small town, moved with my grandpa to an Air Force Base in South Dakota where she gave birth to my mother far away from her family and friends. She was once the mother of five young children, raising them mostly on her own. She is a woman who lived through the death of her teenage son. She is a strong woman who lived with and loved an alcoholic man. She was a woman known to be vivacious and full of life, which if you look close enough, you'll see she still is. She is a woman who once filled the halls of her church with art and posters she created and hand-drew on her own. She is a woman who raised strong and fierce children into even stronger and fiercer adults. She is a woman who helped raise her grandchildren, telling them stories, singing them songs, teaching them art, and capturing their imaginations. She may be an old woman now, but she is still all these things. As I've met and seen so many new people at my new job this week, I've been struck again by how each of us has a story, each of us is more than what we seem on the surface. If we urge one another not to judge books by their covers, how much more should we not judge people by theirs? We all love and are loved; we all have people who see us for who we are. We all are more than the sum of our parts. It's shockingly easy to forget this, to merely see people as annoyances, or in our way. We can become so engrossed in our own lives, we forget everyone else is also experiencing life in different, yet very similar, ways. I, for one, am working on remembering.

At least be honest with me. I'm about as brittle as chalk-- you let me think-- you let me think-- but you never give an answer. echoing away-- like two puppets dancing a game around one another-- a sick form of tag-- trying to run from being near the people we love. Then, chasing again, and again, and again. "It's a cycle Liam, get used to it." That's what someone told me once. How sickening.

I have chosen the specific title for my text today, following my thoughts on a philosophical matter i kept in mind, which i would like to share. As we are born free human beings in life and we feel that no one has the right to interfere to our affairs or personal life or thoughts and beliefs, we need to be ourselves. Aren't we? Then why do people adopt other people's opinions or agree with them, with such easiness, just to be liked by them or gain their confidence? Do they feel being themselves when they act in "hypocrisy?" Don't they see the fact that they are sacrificing themselves and their ideals? Isnt it a better sacrifice to be yourself? Do you need so much other's approval?

A lot has changed since I wrote the post entitled "No Time to Write". Things fell apart with my old job, which was pretty stressful as you could imagine. But you know what they say? Sometimes things happen for a reason, so perhaps this was one of those times, or maybe I'm just a hopeless optimistic. Anyway, I started a new job just two weeks later. That meant I had two weeks of freedom. Open-ended freedom for me to basically do whatever the heck I wanted, despite the whole stress of searching for a new job and going through the whole interview process. As I had ironically complained about not having enough time, a plentitude of time was gracefully, well not so gracefully, given to me not long afterwards. At this point, I'm sure you're wondering what I did with my free time. Instead of writing, I used my time for making social plans and resting. As a matter of fact, as much as I hate to admit it, I ended up taking my free time a bit for granted. One day felt just like the next one, and there was no push each day to get up and get to work on any creative projects. It felt like I had all the time in the world. Since it was still summer, I took some long hikes in the sun, which absolutely rejuvenated my entire being. I also watched a lot of TV. I've been working full time again for almost 2 months now. After getting back into the rhythm of working, I miss freedom and regret that I didn't use the short time in between jobs to lean into my creative side that often gets neglected. I regret that I didn't wake up each morning, pour myself some coffee and immediately start grinding out creative project after project. Yet, maybe rest is exactly what I needed. A break from the urgency that time has placed on me. I wasn't thinking much about time and schedules, and it felt good. You could argue that there's always time if you make it. Maybe it's just self-discipline that's missing. For instance, some people say they have no time to read, yet these are the same people who spend at least two hours scrolling through social media every night before bed. I could always be more intentional with my time. However, it's okay to rest, and I think everyone needs this reminder. I think resting means not thinking about making time for things and just enjoying the present moment, whether that means taking a long walk or binge watching a TV series. If you needed the reminder that it's okay to rest sometimes, to not feel guilty about "wasting time", then here it is: it's okay. If you're going through a stressful time like I was, be gentle with yourself.

I am so preoccupied with fixing people. I ask so many questions, get to know them personally, give them advice. I am always a call and chat away when they need me. I love making them smile and laugh and just forget the burden on their shoulders or the pains in their hearts. I listen to their angst. I tolerate their pranks. And that is okay. I am always okay. Because I wanted them to know that there's someone out there who listens and understands. Turns out I do the things I do because I also want to be treated like that. Because I needed to be fixed too.

It would be a huge lie to say that there is a person on Earth whose life was not affected by the COVID-19 pandemic and its consequences. To greater or lesser extent everyone's lives were divided into “before” and “after”. Of course, each of us will draw own lessons and own conclusions. But, since there is already enough sad and devastating things happened on Earth these days, I would like to concentrate on more positive things in my story. I would like to start with the fact that before the global lockdown my life could not be called any unusual or extraordinary. Like many of my peers, I went to university, worked out in the gym – you can me “generic” if you want. For me being at home is one of the best ways to spend time. I see nothing wrong with staying at home instead of going to the cinema and reading a book or watching the same movie while lying on the couch. So, I can't say that after the announcement of restrictions on attending events and everything else, my life rotated 180 degrees. “Loneliness” in this case gives you a lot of time and space to think, and sometimes you find your train of thoughts in the most unexpected place. And I found mine here, reflecting on what's changed in my life during the lockdown. Being all by myself allowed me to learn and rethink some things in my life. Here are some of them: 1. Cooking. Frankly, kitchen was the last place where I expected to find myself. But as it turned out, I'm not completely hopeless at cooking, and sometimes it's even very exciting to cook, especially if you set some goal, like, to treat yourself or your close ones. It can be anything, really. For me, it was about switching to more healthy food and simple recipes. 2. Languages. The pandemic allowed me to register for the Finnish language course, which I had wanted to study for a long time. The course, by the way, turned out to be very informative and contains many additional resources to continue learning the language. So, I hope to stick to my routine of learning Finnish as long as I can understand a word 😊 3. New training routines. Working out is what keeps me sane during my whole life. Therefore, when trainings at the stadium were canceled, I had to look for a replacement in order to keep my body ready for future competitions. As a result, I concentrated on basic exercises and techniques, and also included exercises to strengthen my weaknesses, for example, footwork, which is essential in order to increase your strength, and maximize your performance. Now I understand more about how my body should work during the run. 4. Planning. Of course, when you build huge plans in your head about how to spend the time during the pandemic as productively as possible, there will always be a confusion about their implementation of you lack time-management skills. Planning comes to the rescue here. As it turned out, all these nice little books can really help in the proper preparation of your schedule, and not just collect dust on your desk. 5. Last but not least is my realization that the thought expressed on paper sometimes helps to clear and reload my head. Therefore, for me, writing this post is a kind of catharsis, through the text I can see a retrospective and, having put on it the existing knowledge, draw the right conclusions in order to make my life better. I am in no way saying that this is the only true way, no. But it really worked for me. Keeping journals or diaries is like a therapy session in my case. If you are afraid to share your thoughts with someone else or can't talk about such things without being accused of whining, I suppose, this'll work for you, too. So, what I want to say is that, in the end of the day, I would like to see the people in the world being happy rather than depressed all the time. Therefore, it is so important and necessary to look for positive aspects in any situation, because in the end you are the sum of choices made in your whole life. And it is very short to spend it on doubts, suffering and distress over the fact that you did not try something or did not learn. Therefore, it is not so important that my experience cannot be fully applied to others, because this is a normal process, since we are all unique. The most important thing is to think about whether you are really happy with how your life goes. Because now is the high time to do it.

I can't say I was envious of the man that sat so eloquently before me – who smiled and chitted at a woman beyond me. Nor was I spiteful toward the dubious child that would grow into certain knowledge eventually. No, it wasn't that at all but that of a hornet perched on that hand carved vase - slipping its slender feelers through the cracks and flitting its wings ever so slightly. It's a wonder, you see – in its own world of silence. Unconcerned of what this or that could mean or how he or she felt this morning. It didn't know the lot of us and I'd think it fair to say that it didn't care to. The feeling was mutual at the moment – hardly noticed by those at the table. Though once seen, it's certain that man would jump from his seat. You see, if you stayed still – and I do mean ever so still – they'd likely carry on. But, instead, you'll swat and cry – perhaps from fear – perhaps from anger that it's even there. A reaction they wouldn't have at the sight of you. But it's that of a bother. It's a hated being, but accepts your perception and leaves at ease. Not till you provoke the small being does it latch and lash your skin. See – I wish I could be that small – only defensive when my life is at stake. Unknown to the idea of the great unknown. Satisfied with a life of living – one that's beyond desires of my own. But, instead, you see – I'm envious. Envious with knowledge and a simple truth: I could never sit so still, quiet and listen. I could never be blessed with the ears of a hornet, a rabbit or a bird; whose identity is none but that of a hornet, a rabbit or a bird. No. I'll likely understand my part in the death of Ms. Nature. I'll likely notice and rage at your suffering – yes, quite rightly –but it'll dim before I could do a thing. I'll likely want more than I need and scream when that man has more than me. I'll likely know all about it. And I'll likely lie to ease the aches of guilt in me. I'd admit there's one thing that hornet does desire – a life well lived and a day well done. However, so simple. Quite a wonder doing that – I wonder how that'd be. You say – I want a life too! Ah, but what does that mean? For you or for me? It's beyond survival now, isn't it? You want more than what you need. You're defending it now, aren't you? You have the ability to do that – a pity, isn't it? Yes, we can lie to ourselves just as to others. We know it – and that's what I see! That's what we all see, but do we do anything? I'm envious of that hornet – it can't do all that. It doesn't bare the weight of that responsibility. And look at me! Envious of a hornet – you'd think it insane! But he doesn't know what that means. Yes, I'd rather be as that. I wonder if it'd be me? My curiosities grew (another burden I reckon) with the table's incessant chit-chat. It rattled and sharpened as the hornet's presence grew greater yet quieter. It stayed unnoticed until the man before me stuttered his speech, gargled and heaved. He grabbed his napkin and aimed to crush it, swat it, simply be rid of it. Almost as if he knew his impending fate, the hornet rumbled and took to the sky – carrying my thoughts on its frail wings. The man sighed, readjusted and continued his conversation without another thought. And I wonder, if re-joining the chattering would make me forget too. It's a wonder we can do that.

Long walks- an everyday habit I picked up from my father-are my thought process. My calm down. My pump up. My escape. My whatever-I-need them to be. Growing up, the first place I was allowed to walk solo was to the neighborhood coffee shop. I remember the first sip of my sister's chai from there. Ew. What a weird notion that I would grow to love it. However, as I was frequently in need of a walking destination, I found my space there. (Although, it would be years before I gave chai the second chance it deserves.) Introduced to mocha granitas, coffee disguised in frozen chocolate milk, my current coffee addiction began. This, by itself, is a strange idea to reflect on. What has become so much of my daily routine, my work history, my fascination, and my hobby began with such a simple foundation. Such a seemingly small thing at the time that grew into so much of my life. See, the strange part though, is that the same can be said of my friendships. I know, right? Like I'm really about to compare my growth into coffee addiction to my growth as a human… (I am though, so just hang tight.) One of the most common things I heard as I prepared to leave for college was that I would always love my high school friends but that eventually we would leave each other behind…that my “best” friends would be made in college. Because that's “when people really start to figure out who they are.” Um, okay. I mean, don't get me wrong- I've met several of my best friends post high school. But, the majority of my closest friendships were formed during those high school years, and yes, we spread out far and wide geographically. (And hell, wait do I even know who I am now? Do people ever really feel like they're finished figuring themselves out, and they're just like chill, yeah, done growing, bro?) So, anyways, here's the concept of strong foundation again. As I transitioned to college, my coffee order began to change with me. For starters, frozen coffee was not included in my meal plan. And there were always late nights studying or freshman mornings that required just a little more kick. Maybe my coffee could be a little stronger. A little less milk. In addition, coffee walks remained my escape. And depending on the day, I could jam to the newest playlist my bestie had sent or bring a book and get lost in one of my favorite adventures. All with my comforting coffee in my hand. And eventually, I found love in just black cold brew. What a radical change from my initial order, but the love was still there. The way I came to drink and work with and find comfort in my brew changed but never the love for the brew. So many humans that I love I have seen change their order, their interests, their hobbies, their goals and aspirations, their fears, and their hopes. In those early college years, coming home to an old coffee hangout with a new order, I could only wonder if the relationships I had formed had changed too. It was a hollow fear. Although we were already far from being the same people that we once were, the original love remained. My friendships and my coffee have unquestioningly known the worst of my days. And both have only gained strength through my growth. Now, however, in my late twenties, I would never argue that I no longer know the person I was. The person that somehow stumbled upon those small, sweet moments that turned into the strongest of foundations. I can point out that I am no longer the same, nor am I proud of many parts of my past, but I still know that person, she is a foundation as well, of who I am today. I am often asked when dating to describe myself. To lay myself out on the line. But who do you want to know? I can tell you who I am in this moment, who I used to be, how I hope to grow, and yet, who I am remains difficult to define. I am fluctuating. Mornings that I have work I'm a chug-my-cold-brew-as-fast-as-I-can kind of person. Casual mornings with known or new humans, I'm more of a sit back and sip it kind of person. Often my coffee comes on adventures with me, giving me comfort when I'm lost in a story. Frequently, a coffee means a coffee and walk. Sometimes, it's an oat milk dirty chai kind of moment. And others, it's a black, so very black, add a double shot day. It's a fluctuation. With a basic, strong foundation- my love for the brew. My love for coffee is honest but not always simple. Humans are the same. We're forever fluctuating in who we are, each moment an addition to our own definition. And sometimes, we are fortunate enough to collide with another human, in such a small way and create this foundation for love that lasts through the ages.

"When you truly reflect on life, you come up with such creations. I like the way Adiela has weaved simple poetic stories out of the complex strings of life in which humans remain entangled. From social to soul exploration, all has been done and depicted neatly in this poetic beauty. As a poet, I especially relate to the poetry style that is made very understandable, yet churned out of an ocean's depth." - Ruchika Pahwa Available here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

On June 26, 2019 at 6PM I gave birth to a handsome little human named Joseph. Nobody can ever prepare you for the mental state that Motherhood can place you in. When I first laid eyes on that little boy he was and still is the purest form of love that I have ever had the chance to be in the presence of. When I found out that I was going into labor I was in disbelief. See JoJo (as I like to call him) is my rainbow baby. I miscarried an angel last year April 28, 2018. After losing that little angel I told myself that I didn't want to be pregnant again until I had reached this point of financial stability but I guess God had other plans in mind. Some days I look at him and I am so completely and utterly afraid of failing him because in my head, I was supposed to be much more prepared for him than what I am but the truth is you're never really “prepared” for motherhood. I look at him some days and I remember the innocence that I used to hold and how life kind of snatched that away from me and I dread the thought that it'll do the same to him. When I look at JoJo, I see someone that is carefree and taken care of, not a worry in the world and I wonder about the man that he will grow up to be. I wonder will I be able to truly teach him how to be a man when I am a single mother and I have no male influences to be around him. JoJo is only 3 months old at this moment and I am afraid, I am happy but I am afraid. There is so much going on in this world and it hurts that I won't always be able to protect him like my mother wasn't always able to protect me. I watch him as he constantly smiles and I pray that that smile never fades away, I pray that he always remains happy although I am very aware that some days he'll find it hard to smile but I can't help but to hold on to the hope that his good days will forever outweigh the not-so good days. I imagine the motivating things that I will tell him when he gets to the point that he can respond to me. Nobody can prepare you for the sleepless nights that you may encounter, not because he's up crying but because you're up crying because your worried about what kind of future can you help create for him when you don't have much. I look at other mothers that have husbands and I think of how lucky they are to have someone to reassure them that everything is going to be alright, someone that can pick up the slack when you're having an off day. I find it funny how even though we are truly never alone in our feelings and emotions that somehow, we still feel as though we are even though there are many women out in the world at this very moment dealing with the same thoughts and feelings. We have taught ourselves to bottle those feelings up because we must remain strong, we must wear this mask, a mask that says, “Everything is okay!” when it's not, a mask that says, “I have adequate finances to take care of everyone!” when you really don't, a mask that says, “I'm completely energized!” when you're tired and emotionally drained. Someone once approached me and said that I smile a lot and seeing my smile made them happy and brought joy to them because I radiated and I thought to myself, “Well I guess I wear this mask pretty well.” The most insane part about Motherhood is that even though sometimes you don't feel like you're enough, to that little kid, you are their everything and that alone gives you purpose. My heart melts every time I see my little human. In fact, these worries only exist because I love him so much and I want him to have more than what I had growing up and the thought of not being able to provide him with better is a very scary thought to me. I want to tell mothers that it is okay to have these thoughts, they are so natural to have and nothing to be ashamed of. We must take each day one at a time and know that we've got this, that we are Superwomen to them and if our kids can think that highly of us then we should be able to think that highly of ourselves as well. So, have your mom thoughts but remember to pick yourself up at the end of it and genuinely know in your heart that you're doing a great job.

What makes this mother is what drives her madder. A little bit madder and oh, never better! She sings lullabyes when the children cries kissing her own younger self goodbye. Her daily game is surviving the mundane while her handful kids drive her insane. In better days she's a lesser mom, hustled and worried and always on the run. As the world turns in a crazier round this madder mother stands firm on the ground.

A friend who is so close to my heart made a comment about me that truly broke my heart. I know it was only a joke but the sharpness of his words pierced deeply into my heart. I was trying to ignore but the pain is so real that instantly my tears started to fall. He said sorry but then it did not ease the pain I felt. What made it so hurtful it is because those words came from a friend who knows almost everything about you. It won't really matter to me if it came from someone I do not know. I suddenly feel so insecure. As what Proverbs 18:21 says with these two different translations: English Standard Version Proverbs 18:21 (ESV) Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits. Good News Translation Proverbs 18:21 (GNT) What you say can preserve life or destroy it; so you must accept the consequences of your words. It is so important that we know how to tame our tongue. How we choose appropriate words that will lift the heart of those who will receive it. If words are just nothing but dead words I will never find myself crying. There were times in the past that I was not able to control myself and say everything I wanted to say. It hurts more when you see the person crying because of the hurtful words you throw at him/her. We need to understand the importance of words. If we discern that we are about to speak a not-so-good words let us remain silent, instead. We need to exercise empathy. Since, part of humanity is to fall into sin let us ask forgiveness to those we hurt and to God. if we are the one who has been hurt then let's release forgiveness. Choose love over hurt. Ephesians 4: 32 Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.

Still in PT to get stronger and more help to breath. Have been here 4 months , miss my Blitzkrieg ( my wife Annegret) talk later

Isn't it the most frustrating thing to have the persistent feeling that you need to write, but for the life of you, your always rampaging mind can't seem to come up with something suitable for your emotions today? I'm sure all writing enthusiast out there can relate to the situation I feel right now. Like an itch you can't seem to get under control unless you start typing, I can say for sure that writer's block is at its worst when you feel the urge to have words flowing onto the page by any means necessary. I wasn't always like this. In fact, I still find those horrendously boring topics they force us to write on in school to be a big encouragement to give up the writing gig for good. But, recently, it's become like my drug I can't escape from. Whenever I write about what my heart desires that day, I'm forever floating in a relentless high, entirely at peace with myself and the words that stream across the page in an unstoppable torrential rush. It's the one thing that makes me feel free of everything: judgment, restrictions, deadlines, worries, pain, limitations. Time. I can travel wherever I please without fail. From the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean to the highest, brightest, stars in the galaxy and beyond. All are mine for the taking. Pencil, pen, keyboard; the medium doesn't matter so long as I can let my mind soar into my wildest imaginations. I could revisit the past without worries of disrupting the future. I could be the first to confirm that black holes indeed lead somewhere reachable. I could be the version of myself I hope and forever wish to be and start shaping my Now to chase after that Tomorrow. The possibilities indeed are endless, with our only limit being how far our mind's eye is willing to see. Who knows; perhaps one day we will discover what some perceive to be impossible to comprehend. That all the “fiction” we've created is really other universes “non-fiction.” Who's to say that every time we create a book, we've indeed created a new universe? Or further yet, what if the ideas we have that lead us to the pieces we create are downloads about other worlds that exist somewhere in the infinite vastness that is space. For all I know, I could be the main character of someone's book right now. Now that is something the reflect one for sure. Well, how strange is this? I could've sworn I had no idea what to write about a few moments ago. The itch, my persistent need, has finally been quelled. But that only happens when I've written about the right thing. How interesting. How'd did my perfect something come from absolutely nothing? Where did the words arrive from? Our mind is one strange entity. It makes me wonder how much we truly understand about ourselves.