2 clowns, 1 relationship

episode 1: the chaos begins

look at them. again. mingle, kiss, fight, rinse, repeat.

somehow, they always convince themselves it’s “true love,” even though everyone else watching can see the chaos from space.

they break up, find new partners, and then inevitably collide again — like magnets powered by drama and ego instead of compatibility. oversharing? endless. cryptic posts? check. late-night essays about betrayal? you bet.

cheating, flings, jealousy, overblown apologies — it all blends into a cocktail of nostalgia and denial. they reminisce about high school like it was some epic saga, blissfully unaware of how rocky, messy, and frankly gross their relationship history really was.

pattern predictable: fight, post, kiss, patch up, repeat. it’s like watching a slow-motion circus act: entertaining, exhausting, and slightly horrifying — all at the same time.

episode 2: ego olympics

classic routine.

he’s whining about never finding a chick who truly gets him, while she’s off chasing anyone who gives her attention. irony escapes him: the self-proclaimed prize complains he isn’t being treated like one.

she’s histrionic — drama is her cardio. every slight becomes a theatrical performance, and heaven help anyone trying to reason with her. meanwhile, he’s a narcissist in training: ego bruised? check. self-absorbed lecture? double check. he can’t tolerate attention outside his orbit.

they collide like asteroids on a cosmic scale.

he laments her wandering eyes, blind to his own ego pushing her away. she flares, screams, posts cryptic messages that make soap opera writers blush. and the rest of us? we watch, popcorn in hand, as the honeymoon-breakup cycle spins again.

episode 3: the "icky" honeymoon phase

after every fight, a reconciliation worthy of broadway...

he sends grandiose apologies; she responds with dramatic forgiveness — convincing themselves it’s romantic while the rest of us recover from emotional whiplash.

public gestures, cryptic quotes, “forever and always” proclamations flood feeds and chats alike. exhausting, ridiculous, and exactly why we can’t look away. the honeymoon may be short-lived, but it’s loud, colorful, and utterly performative — like the rest of their relationship.

episode 4: social media circus

their online presence is a spectacle. oversharing, cryptic posts, jealousy subtweets, and over-the-top loyalty declarations — all for the world to witness.

likes, shares, reactions become currency in a game only they think matters. every small interaction escalates into a full-blown production. and yet, they persist, believing the world cares about the minutiae of their ego-fueled saga.

episode 5: the final act

perfectly imperfect, and so it ends — or, more accurately, it never ends.

these two may have met in middle school, committed in high school, and in the blink of an eye, could sign the legal divorce papers right in front of the judge, all while arguing over who really started the drama.

to the outside world, they are bullies — masters of chaos, experts in ego bruising, champions of oversharing. yet, against all odds, they settle on each other, perfectly matched in flaw and fury. he can’t stand his ego being challenged; she can’t handle life without an audience. together, they are unstoppable… or unhinged, depending on perspective.

epilogue: the rose duelist — a new challenger

and then — the rose duelist arrived. not in armor, not for spectacle, but to crack the shell of the past, challenge the norms, fight for rightful love, self-righteousness, and clarity.

he finally realizes what he lost: the quiet, steadfast compassion of his former rival, who is now the duelist that challenges both of them — the one he should have preserved.

she glimpses her own reflection, seeing the insecurities and drama she carried like armor.

and i? i am the duelist they could never defeat.

the new challenger, the rose duelist, the perspicacious iconoclast the stadium cheered for behind the scenes.

i am the past memory he should have fought to preserve, the opposition that could never be beaten.

and then, with triumph, i transform. my body becomes a machine sports car, sleek and unstoppable, drifting away in glory. the chaos and drama of these two clowns fall behind me like dust in the rearview mirror.

i am free. unbound. victorious.

it’s poetic. it’s metaphorical. and it’s final. while they recycle heartbreaks, flings, and overblown apologies, the duelist remains undefeated.

a new challenger has appeared, and this saga — this story — is mine to narrate.

i got suspended, XD... 4 nothing!!!

 i thought i was just going to have a cozy little corner on tumblr — maybe make a cute blog, play with a macos-style theme, and enjoy the aesthetics. i did not expect to get banned in roughly 10–20 minutes of editing. but here we are.

here’s the timeline:

09:10 pm — i created my tumblr account, full of excitement.

09:12 pm — i verified my email. the blog was brand new, untouched, pristine.

09:15–09:35 pm — i opened the theme editor to paste a custom macos theme i found. i updated my html, saved a few times, and admired how my blog could finally look cute.

around 09:31 pm — i noticed my page wasn’t showing up in third-person view. confused, i sent an appeal immediately.

and then… boom. account terminated. in roughly 10–20 minutes of actual activity. no posts. no reblogs. no interaction. just me being… me — a human, curious, and apparently too competent.

looking back, i think i know why. tumblr’s automated system probably saw:

• a brand-new account.
• rapid html edits in a short burst.
• possibly external links or assets in the theme.
• an almost-immediate appeal after verification.

…which, in algorithm-speak, screams: “suspicious bot activity detected.”

so here i am, banned for literally just trying to make my blog look cute. nothing offensive, nothing nsfw, nothing against the rules. just… too fast, too curious, too human.

it’s wild, frustrating, and kind of hilarious when you think about it. compared to the endless chaos of instagram, reels, and tiktok, tumblr could have been the perfect cozy corner for creativity. instead, i got ai-terminated before i could even settle in.

moral of the story?

if you’re a human who actually knows html, loves aesthetics, or just wants to tinker, maybe give the ai a few hours before going full wizard mode. or stick to platforms that respect your speed and creativity — blogger, neocities, friendproject, spacehey, and the like.

lesson learned: being competent on the internet is apparently a crime.

Why I'm Done With Roblox

I no longer enjoy Roblox because the platform doesn’t respect adults or provide meaningful freedom.

I first saw Roblox ads on cable in 2011, and while I technically made an account in 2016, I had been engaging as a guest for several years before that. Counting those early years, I’ve been involved with the platform for over a decade. Despite that long history, I only keep four friends and never add anyone else, partly because there’s no auto-reject feature for friend requests.

Unsolicited requests—mostly from minors—are a constant annoyance, and the social system feels broken for someone who wants a private, controlled experience. Even with chats turned off and grayscale mode enabled, Roblox forces me to interact on its terms, which makes the platform feel restrictive and frustrating.

The platform’s chat filters and voice chat restrictions are another major problem. Even in private servers with only my friends, I can’t swear or speak naturally.

Arbitrary rules like the 21+ threshold for language infantilize adults and make “mature” or 17+ games feel pointless, since you can still get warned or reported for harmless speech. Roblox punishes responsible adult behavior while failing to offer any real autonomy, which turns play into a chore rather than an enjoyable experience.

Roblox also mishandles safety in ways that affect both kids and adults.

Nazis, KKK groups, and other hateful clans can bypass moderation, while users who call out this behavior are often silenced. At the same time, minors are exposed to predatory behavior, including manipulative sexualized avatars. The system over-censors harmless adult activity yet fails to protect users from actual risks.

This combination leaves everyone—adults and kids alike—feeling unsafe.

My own experience reflects these problems.

I regret giving Roblox my ID after being pressured by a fake friend, which highlighted the platform’s lack of protection for users and its exploitative practices. Over the years, I’ve disengaged from games entirely.

I haven’t found a Roblox game I genuinely enjoyed since 2020, and now I mostly log in just to collect login bonuses. The platform’s repetitive, kid-focused, and monetization-heavy design no longer aligns with my maturity or interests.

By contrast, adult forums and 18+ platforms provide the freedom Roblox claims to offer but fails to deliver.

Everyone over 18 is treated equally, rules are based on behavior rather than arbitrary age restrictions, and conversations can happen naturally without constant fear of moderation. NSFW content is controlled and consensual, and communities are able to self-police in ways Roblox cannot.

These spaces respect autonomy, allow responsible adults to interact meaningfully, and feel far safer than Roblox ever has.

Ultimately, Roblox doesn’t allow adults to exist as adults.

I’ve had to adapt just to survive—limiting friends, creating private servers, turning off chat, and using grayscale mode—but even then, the platform infantilizes and restricts me. Between overbearing censorship, exposure to predatory or hateful users, arbitrary rules, and meaningless moderation, Roblox is no longer a platform I can engage with safely or enjoyably.

I’ve outgrown it, and there’s no way to reclaim the sense of exploration or freedom I had when I first played years ago.

꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ || why the #$@% would i want to be sober in front of a group of teenagers??!

high school dances like homecoming and prom are supposed to be milestones.

in reality?

gymnasiums, fluorescent lights, chaperones, and teenagers glued to their phones are not milestones — they’re a form of surveillance.

and honestly — why would i want to be sober in front of a group of teenagers?

i’ve always dressed for myself, not for approval. low-rise pants, tank tops, retro 2000s vibes — that’s my energy, my armor, my signature.

being forced into a skimpy, ill-fitting dress would have felt like something straight out of a utena tenjou moment: stripped of agency, put in a role i never auditioned for. 

if i’m going to dress up, i’m not doing it halfway. i better look like elizabeth taylor, claudette colbert, or a young coco chanel — sculpted, tailored, iconic. if it’s not going to be that moment, why even bother?

so yes, i skipped prom. and no, i don’t regret it. glamour isn’t about following a checklist or appeasing fluorescent lights; it’s about creating your moment.

my tailored “new dior-inspired” dress sits quietly in my closet, waiting for occasions worthy of the effort: nights out with friends, curated photo archives, weddings, vintage-themed occasions… and yes, the club.

the club is where the magic happens. loud music, tipsy chaos, neon lights, and me fully owning bimbo hottie energy — the kind that would make a 50s film star raise an eyebrow. we’ll take wild photos on retro phones, archive them, maybe even show my future spouse someday — who will undoubtedly be like: “???!!!!” (when they see the chaos and glamour colliding perfectly).

and yes — until i reach a new life stage, like becoming a mom or stepping into another symbolically mature moment — i’ll mostly avoid longer, formal dresses. the day i choose to wear more dresses post-mom will be my way of saying: i’ve grown as a lady by choice.

it won’t be about obligation or expectation — it will be a deliberate celebration of maturity, intention, and evolution from my carefree, rebellious younger self.

plus, let’s be real: post-mom, jeans and tight pants might hurt my pelvic floor — dresses will actually be a comfort choice as much as a style one.

that said, whether or not i become a mom, chances are you still won’t see me wearing many dresses.

i love my laidback, retro, low-rise clothes too much — they’re the armor i’ve built to move freely, feel confident, and be fully myself.

if i somehow end up childless — fine.

i’ll just keep rocking loose, worn-in jeans, trucker caps, and weekend comfort fits like a low-key dad, tech-geek style.

dresses will always be intentional, reserved for moments that actually deserve them. and here’s the ultimate rule: if you somehow see me in 10–to-15 years wearing a dress, chances are i’ve got a ring on my finger and tied the knot.

otherwise? not happening. glamour isn’t casual.

it’s purposeful & deliberate.

and it’s mine to decide when, where, and why.

i skipped prom not because i reject femininity, glam, or fun — but because those things demand intentionality, tailoring, and agency. i’ll dress up when it matters. i’ll be messy when i choose. i’ll archive chaos for my own enjoyment. i’ll create the vintage moment every single time.

because the truth is simple:
glamour isn’t just clothes — it’s power, choice, context, and making sure every inch of you is worth the attention you actually want.

and no lame, organized high school event can ever give me that.

°❀.ೃ࿔* || my metamorphosis — from being masked to transforming into a mermaid

i navigated a whirlwind of identity, social drama, and self-discovery during my early-to-mid adolescence.

my teenage years were a rollercoaster — boyish, androgynous, hyper-feminine, and eventually, embracing classic feminine beauty.

the boyish experiment

before my growth spurt, i avoided pink — despite loving it — and wore blacks and navys, wanting to present as male. it wasn’t rebellion; it was exploration.

i experimented with masking, even crossdressing one day when my brother gifted me a polo beanie. with a black mask to hide my profile, i pulled off a convincing boyish look. people, even my ex, noticed. i got compliments for the way i could blend and adapt, while others, like my bully, tried to copy me — unsuccessfully, of course.

the hyper-feminine phase

as my body changed, i leaned into hyper-femininity — pinks, frills, and high energy. i was learning to navigate validation, romantic attention, and the constant social pressure of high school. i apologized for not being feminine enough to someone i cared about, only to realize later that my self-worth should never hinge on someone else’s approval.

i never chased anyone, asked for likes, or curated a social media persona. i was solo, and it wasn’t lonely — i carried an aura of self-sufficiency that made my presence undeniable.

toxic crushes and lessons in ego

my ex-boyfriend: he chased multiple girls, pitted us against each other, and assumed everything i did was flirting or an attempt to win him back.

i tried kindness, fairness, and equal footing — and he framed it as “humiliation.” i snapped. i set boundaries.

i asserted myself. i became the “lone wolf” — independent, respected, and unbothered by his manipulations. he feared me, glanced at me from afar, but ultimately couldn’t control the one thing i’d learned to own: myself.

scrutiny was constant: every outfit, gesture, or smile was dissected by peers and teachers alike. but i leaned into it.

during my classic beauty era, i embraced 2000s fashion — the tailored pieces, delicate accessories, and confident styling — as armor and expression.

over time, the same people who once scrutinized me began to respect me: not for appearances alone, but for the intelligence, composure, and quiet strength i carried beneath the surface.

the glow-up

through all of it, i evolved: from boyish experimentation to hyper-femininity to classic feminine beauty. my hair is now long and wavy, my confidence self-earned, and my sense of self independent of anyone else’s ego. i’ve accepted my body, my cycles, and my choices. i no longer need validation — i radiate it naturally.

i plucked my brows thin and arched not just for style, but to maintain composure and elegance — a subtle signal that i paid attention to harmony and balance in my appearance. compared to peers who didn’t prioritize these details, it set me apart. every choice, from my makeup to posture, was a reflection of my self-respect and quiet confidence.

my style evolved just as much as i did. i went from men’s-sized clothing, exploring androgyny and boyish experimentation, to feminine kogal-inspired outfits, embracing playful, hyper-feminine energy during my teenage years. finally, i transitioned into relaxed 2000s-inspired clothing — chic, confident, and effortlessly expressive — as i embraced classic feminine beauty.

fashion wasn’t just about appearances; it was armor, self-expression, and a reflection of my growth. each phase mirrored who i was learning to be: experimental, bold, and finally, self-possessed.

reflections on power and growth

looking back, i realize that every challenge — the bullying, the toxic relationships, the insecurity — was part of building resilience, emotional intelligence, and self-possession. i was the heroine of my own story, the lone wolf who saved herself.

closing thoughts

adolescence is messy, confusing, and sometimes painful. but it’s also where we learn to navigate identity, assert boundaries, and emerge empowered. looking back, i’m proud of the girl who experimented, the one who fought, and the one who ultimately embraced herself fully.