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Still Becoming Still Becoming is a personal space for reflections on growth, purpose, and becoming who we're meant to be — one honest step at a time.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about money lately.Not because I worship it.But because the older I get, the more I un...
17/09/2026

I've spent a lot of time thinking about money lately.

Not because I worship it.

But because the older I get, the more I understand how powerful it really is.

Money can solve problems.

It can put food on the table.

It can pay the bills when someone gets sick.

It can put a roof over your children's heads.

It can buy a better computer, a better car, a better bed.

It can give you the ability to say no.

It can give you the ability to leave.

It can turn desperation into breathing room.

And perhaps most importantly, money can buy options.

When you have none, you are often forced to accept whatever life puts in front of you.

When you have enough, you can sometimes choose.

Where to live.

How to spend your time.

What kind of environment your children grow up in.

What kind of future you can build.

There is nothing insignificant about that.

So I don't want to pretend money doesn't matter.

It does.

A lot.

But somewhere along the way, I started noticing something strange.

The things I want money to give me aren't really things money can give me.

I want a house.

But why?

Not simply because I want walls, a roof, furniture, and electricity.

I want somewhere my family can breathe.

Somewhere my children can grow without carrying the tension of adults.

Somewhere I can come home and feel that I have actually arrived.

And then I realized something that caught me off guard.

Money can buy a house.

It cannot make the house feel like home.

It can buy a bed.

It cannot guarantee peaceful sleep.

It can buy food.

It cannot make someone grateful to be alive.

It can pay for a child's education.

It cannot manufacture the feeling of,

“Dad was there.”

It can buy medicine.

It cannot promise that someone will sit beside you when you're afraid.

It can buy a beautiful wedding.

It cannot create a loving marriage.

It can buy toys for a child.

It cannot give that child the memory of their father putting everything down just to listen to them.

It can buy photographs.

It cannot create the moments worth remembering.

And perhaps this is where money becomes dangerous.

Because money is so good at solving material problems that we can slowly begin asking it to solve problems that were never material to begin with.

We ask it to give us security.

Then status.

Then respect.

Then happiness.

Then meaning.

And eventually, without realizing it, we start asking:

“How much do I need before I can finally feel that my life is enough?”

I don't know the answer to that.

Maybe there isn't one.

I still want to earn more.

I still want to save.

I still want to invest.

I still want financial independence.

I still want to build something of my own.

I still want enough money that my family doesn't have to live at the mercy of every unexpected expense.

Those desires aren't wrong.

But I don't want to confuse the tool with the destination.

Money can help me build the house.

But I have to build the home.

Money can give my children opportunities.

But I have to give them my presence.

Money can create security around my family.

But I still have to create safety within it.

Money can buy me time.

But I have to decide who gets that time.

So perhaps the answer isn't to love money less.

And it isn't to hate money either.

Maybe it is simply to put it back in its proper place.

Don't worship it.

Don't despise it.

Use it.

Earn it honestly.

Save it.

Invest it.

Learn how it works.

Let it buy you options.

Let it protect the people you love.

Let it help you build the life you want.

But don't let your bank balance become the measurement of whether your existence has value.

Because money is extraordinarily powerful inside the economic world.

But you are a human being before you are an economic unit.

And maybe one day, when I finally have the house I spent so many years trying to afford, I will discover that the most valuable thing inside it was never the house at all.

Maybe it will be the sound of my children laughing.

My wife's voice from another room.

A quiet evening after a difficult day.

A meal where nobody is in a hurry.

And the simple feeling of looking around and thinking:

“We are home.”

Perhaps that's what I'm really working for.

Not to become rich enough to own everything.

But to have enough freedom to protect the things money could never buy.

And maybe that's the balance I'm still learning.

Money matters enormously.

That's precisely why I refuse to let it become everything.

Sometimes the people who disturb us the most are not necessarily the people who have done the greatest harm to us.Someti...
15/09/2026

Sometimes the people who disturb us the most are not necessarily the people who have done the greatest harm to us.

Sometimes they simply touch something inside us that we have not completely understood.

This morning, I found myself becoming uncomfortable with someone close to my family.

I saw qualities in him that I strongly dislike:

Dependence.

Laziness.

Carelessness.

A lack of responsibility.

And something inside me immediately became angry.

I thought:

*How can someone live like this?*

*Why should I have to carry someone else's chaos?*

I wanted distance.

I wanted peace.

And when I tried to explain that, it created friction with someone I love.

After the argument, however, I sat with the discomfort.

And I started wondering whether this was really only about that person.

Perhaps part of it was about me.

Perhaps I have spent so much of my life trying to become responsible, productive, independent, and capable of carrying the people who depend on me that seeing someone who appears to live differently touches something very deep within me.

Maybe that is why the reaction feels so much larger than the situation itself.

This is the uncomfortable part of shadow work.

It is easy to look at another person and say:

*He is the problem.*

It is much harder to ask:

*Why does this person have so much power over my peace?*

I don't want to pretend that everything I feel is wrong.

I am still allowed to have boundaries.

I am still allowed to choose who I spend time with.

I am still allowed to say that someone's behavior makes me uncomfortable.

But perhaps I don't need to turn that person into a monster in my mind just because I don't understand or respect the way he lives.

And perhaps being awakened—or whatever word we want to use for it—doesn't mean becoming someone who is never angry.

Maybe it means becoming curious about the anger.

Where did it come from?

What is it protecting?

What does it remind me of?

What part of myself am I afraid of seeing?

I don't have the answers.

I only know that today I was hurt.

I became angry.

I wanted to withdraw.

And later, I wondered whether the person who triggered me had also revealed something about me.

Maybe that is another part of being human.

We spend so much time looking into the darkness of other people...

that sometimes we forget to turn the light toward ourselves.

11/09/2026

I have no idea what I'm doing tomorrow.

Someone didn't try to fix that.

They just said, how exciting.

I am still becoming.

So let's see what happens.

30/08/2026

I read *Vinland Saga*, and something touched a very deep part of my core.

It was when Thorfinn saved a child who had become caught in the middle of a feud between Norse families.

And then no one wanted the child.

They were afraid that if the child survived, the hatred would continue. That one day he might grow up and seek revenge for everything that had been done to his family.

And someone asked, in essence:

What happens if this child does not seek revenge?

Perhaps the people around him will call him a coward.

Perhaps his entire world will teach him that he is supposed to avenge the people who came before him.

And what happens if he does seek revenge?

Then perhaps his entire life becomes consumed by hatred, violence, fear, and the endless responsibility of paying back something that was done before he was even old enough to understand it.

Either way, the child is born into a world where someone else has already decided what his life should become.

And then it hit me.

The frightening part is that this isn't ancient history.

We still do this.

Different countries.

Different religions.

Different families.

Different political beliefs.

Different tribes.

We inherit hatred.

We inherit fear.

We inherit pride.

Sometimes we hurt people simply because someone once hurt us.

And then we call it justice.

We teach the next generation the things that wounded us.

We tell them who to hate.

Who to fear.

Who deserves revenge.

Who the enemy is.

And sometimes they don't even know why anymore.

They simply inherited it.

We are still the same.

And for a moment, I saw how broken the world was.

But I don't know what the answer is.

I don't know if humanity can truly escape this.

I don't know if I am any better than the people I judge.

I don't know whether I could forgive everything if I were placed in the same circumstances.

I don't know whether I could break the cycle if the hatred were directed at the people I loved.

That is perhaps what disturbed me the most.

It is easy to talk about peace when we are not the ones bleeding.

It is easy to say "forgive" when we are not the ones who lost someone.

It is easy to say "it ends with me" when we have never been asked to pay the price for ending it.

I don't know.

I am still trying to understand.

But perhaps this is why Thorfinn's journey touches me so deeply.

Not because I think I have awakened.

Not because I have found the answer.

But because I am beginning to wonder whether there could be another way.

Whether suffering really has to be passed forward.

Whether hatred really has to be inherited.

Whether the pain of one generation has to become the burden of the next.

I don't know if redemption is possible.

I only know that I desperately want it to be.

And perhaps that is where my own question begins:

**If the world is this broken, what can one human being actually do with the darkness that reaches him?**

I don't know the answer.

But I think I want to keep searching.

I've been thinking about suffering lately.There is a strange paradox in life:Suffering can make us wiser, stronger, and ...
13/08/2026

I've been thinking about suffering lately.

There is a strange paradox in life:

Suffering can make us wiser, stronger, and more compassionate.

But that doesn't mean we should deliberately create suffering for ourselves or for the people around us.

Fire can forge steel, but fire can also burn a house down.

The same is true of suffering.

Some people go through hardship and become stronger. Others become bitter, fearful, or broken by it.

Suffering itself doesn't automatically create wisdom. What we do with suffering is what can transform it into wisdom.

Perhaps this is why we shouldn't romanticize suffering.

We don't have to make someone struggle unnecessarily just because we think hardship will make them stronger.

We don't have to withhold kindness because we believe people need to "learn their lesson."

We don't have to watch someone suffer when we have the ability to help simply because "suffering builds character."

But at the same time, we shouldn't try to remove every difficulty from someone's life either.

Sometimes people need to struggle.

Sometimes they need to experience consequences.

Sometimes they need to fail.

Sometimes we need to step back and allow life to teach what we cannot teach for them.

Perhaps wisdom is knowing the difference.

Reduce unnecessary suffering.
Allow necessary struggle.
Offer help when you can.
Give people room to grow.

And when suffering inevitably arrives—as it eventually does for all of us—perhaps we can ask:

"What can this teach me?"

I don't want to seek suffering.

I don't want to fear it either.

I don't want to create unnecessary suffering for others.

And I don't want my own suffering to become an excuse for causing more suffering in the world.

Maybe becoming stronger isn't about becoming someone who never hurts.

Maybe it's about becoming someone who can encounter pain without passing that pain on to someone else.

Don't seek suffering.
Don't fear suffering.
Don't create unnecessary suffering.
And when unavoidable suffering comes, learn what you can from it.

Perhaps that's one of the quiet responsibilities of being human.

13/06/2026

Love is one of the purposes of life, but suffering exists because humans are imperfect at giving and receiving it.

12/06/2026

🌌 The Storm That Promised Forever

A few hours ago, my mind convinced me of something.

It told me the pain would never leave.

It told me the heaviness in my chest was reality itself.

It told me I was trapped.

The strange thing about emotions is that when we are inside them, they do not feel temporary.

They feel permanent.

A bad day feels like a bad life.

A painful moment feels like a painful future.

A passing storm feels like the entire sky.

So we start believing the stories our minds create.

We think we are broken.

We think we are weak.

We think we will feel this way forever.

But today reminded me of something important.

The feeling passed.

Not because all my problems disappeared.

Not because life suddenly became easy.

Not because everyone understood me.

The feeling simply passed.

And when it did, I realized that what felt like an endless night was actually just a storm moving through.

Maybe that is why we should be careful about the conclusions we make during our darkest moments.

A tired mind can sound very convincing.

A hurting heart can make temporary pain look permanent.

Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is stay.

Stay long enough to see if the storm tells the truth.

Today, mine didn't.

💜🌌

02/06/2026

🔥 The Things We Could Not See

Today, while reading a manga about boxing, a line stayed with me.

It spoke about two kinds of people: the strong and the weak.

As I sat with that idea, an old memory surfaced from somewhere deep in childhood.

I can still see it clearly.

A group of us were outside playing beneath the afternoon sun. The ground was dusty, our slippers were worn out, and life felt simple in the way only childhood can feel simple.

I was eating a small bag of junk food while laughing and talking with a few neighborhood friends.

At one point, a few pieces fell from my hand onto the ground.

One of the boys bent down, picked them up, and jokingly ate them.

The sight caught me completely off guard.

I laughed.

The kind of laugh that comes naturally to a child who thinks everything is funny.

Thinking he was playing along and that we were all sharing the same joke, I intentionally let a few more pieces fall.

Again, he picked them up.

Again, I laughed.

Then something happened that I never understood at the time.

Another friend suddenly stepped on the fallen pieces.

No words.

No argument.

No explanation.

Just a foot coming down on the food scattered on the dirt.

I remember him looking annoyed.

Almost angry.

At the time, I thought nothing of it.

We were just kids.

The memory disappeared for years.

Until today.

Looking back now, I know something important.

I never intended to humiliate my friend.

Not even for a second.

I was a child laughing at what I thought was a funny moment.

But intention and impact are not always the same thing.

What if, without realizing it, I had participated in something that made another child feel small?

What if my laughter was innocent to me but felt different to someone else?

What if the friend who stepped on the food saw something I could not yet see?

Perhaps he saw that a joke had become something else.

Perhaps he was protecting another child in the only way he knew how.

I do not know what that boy felt.

I do not know what the other boy saw.

I do not know if I am remembering the moment correctly after all these years.

What I do know is that I was crying today.

Not because I discovered I was evil.

Not because I discovered I was good.

But because I realized how little I knew then.

And how much I may still be missing now.

That childhood memory felt so simple when it happened.

Yet decades later it returned carrying questions I cannot answer.

Maybe there are moments in all of our lives that we have not fully understood yet.

Moments we will only see differently years later.

Moments where we were certain of what was happening, only to discover there was more beneath the surface.

We do not know.

One thing I know is that being present and aware helps us see life as it happens, and gently reminds us not to miss it or unknowingly cause harm to others in the process.

💜🌌

01/06/2026

🔥 The Action Is Simple. The Feeling Is Not.

One realization that has been following me lately:

Many things in life are actually simple.

Send the message.
Ask the question.
Set the boundary.
Have the difficult conversation.

The action itself may only take a few seconds.

Yet sometimes we spend hours, days, or even weeks carrying the weight of it in our minds.

Not because the action is difficult.

Because the emotions around it are.

We imagine outcomes.
We worry about hurting people.
We fear being misunderstood.
We wonder if we are being unfair.
We create stories from uncertainty.

And before we know it, a simple conversation has become a mountain inside our heads.

Perhaps this is part of being human.

Reality is often simple.

Living through reality is often difficult.

The goal may not be to stop feeling fear, guilt, uncertainty, or discomfort.

The goal may simply be to feel them fully...

and still take the next step.

Still send the message.

Still have the conversation.

Still move forward.

Maybe courage is not the absence of emotion.

Maybe courage is carrying the emotion and acting anyway.

💜🌌

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