A little life update (of what I feel)

It’s been two months since my last blog update! Life has been a whirlwind of wedding planning — but honestly, I’ve also been busy focusing on my body. A while ago, I found out that my muscle strength was below normal levels, and my low muscle mass had caused my body fat percentage to rise higher than it should be. So, over the past two months, I decided to dedicate my time to rebuilding my body composition and regaining my strength. My goal wasn’t just to look better for the wedding, but to become a healthier and stronger version of myself for the long run.

Anyway, time really does fly — my wedding is now just two months away! I can already feel the bridezilla in me slowly making an appearance. Thankfully, most of the checklists are ticked off, and so far, everything seems to be on track.

If you ask me, the hardest part has been figuring out what I truly love (and don’t love). My preferences change every few weeks — sometimes even days! One moment I’m obsessed with clean, minimalist designs, and the next I’m completely drawn to intricate floral details. It’s been a constant back and forth, but I guess that’s part of the fun (and chaos) of wedding planning!

Still, there are moments when wedding planning feels a little lonely — and I sometimes can’t help but feel like I’m falling behind. My friends’ lives are constantly changing: they’re getting pregnant, having babies, moving forward with new milestones… and here I am, still buried in wedding checklists. At times, it feels like this whole year has revolved around the wedding, and nothing else in my life is really progressing.

But I’m holding onto the hope that once the wedding is over, I can return to my old rhythm — updating my blog, creating content, and sharing more with all of you again. I already have a few ideas in mind, and I can’t wait to bring them to life soon!

Letting Go Without Losing Yourself

Detachment was never something that came naturally to me. As a child, goodbyes always felt heavy — whether it was parting with the nannies who cared for me, saying farewell to old friends, walking away from past relationships, or facing the loss of loved ones. Letting go wasn’t just difficult; it was painful.

One of the most defining lessons in detachment came when I moved to the United States to study. I hadn’t realized how deeply my roots had grown into the soil of my hometown — into my culture, my language, and even the comforting taste of the food I’d grown up with. Living abroad forced me to loosen my grip on the familiar and open my hands to the unknown. It was uncomfortable, even lonely at times, but it shaped me. And it taught me a truth I carry to this day: nothing in this world is permanent, and everything — in its own time — must change.

Now, with my wedding just four months away, I find myself in another season of letting go. Slowly, I’m preparing to detach — from my family, from the daily joy of being with my dogs, from the small rituals that make home feel like home. The process is bittersweet: part sadness, part anticipation. Each step away from my parents is a step toward the life I am about to build — toward the moment I’ll meet the children I hope to have one day.

But here’s what I’ve come to realize: life never waits until we feel ready. It keeps moving forward, quietly and relentlessly. It takes the people we love, the things we treasure, and in time, it will take us too. Nothing — not joy, not pain, not even us — will last forever. We’re only here for a little while, aren’t we?

And so, I find myself returning to one question, again and again:
Is it selfish to guard my heart by detaching, just enough, so that if someone hurts me, it doesn’t pierce so deeply? Or so that when they leave, they don’t take a piece of me with them?

I don’t know the answer yet. Perhaps detachment is self-protection. Or perhaps it’s simply learning to love in a way that doesn’t cling — to hold people close, but not so tightly that we lose ourselves when they’re gone.

Maybe letting go isn’t about caring less. Maybe it’s about trusting more — trusting that even when something ends, life has a way of unfolding into something new.

And so, I will keep loving fully, releasing gently, and walking forward — knowing that every goodbye is also an opening to what comes next.

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