Finding some inspiration

 My life is something that constantly needs motivation and inspiration to keep moving forward.

At 28, I often find it difficult to spark the self-driven motivation that seems to come naturally to some.

I’ve always seen the world in a colorful way—alive, vibrant, and full of possibilities. But these colors are never static.

They shift in hue, from warm to cold, depending on my mood, the challenges I face, and the work I’m immersed in.

I believe that it’s perfectly normal and even okay for these shifts to happen and its part of building a better tomorrow. I’ve learned that finding inspiration isn’t a one-time event; it’s a daily practice. Sometimes, simply waking up and showing up for the activity itself is an act of self-motivation.

Kokoro is one of my all-time favorite books, a beautifully crafted classic Japanese novel by Natsume Soseki that I discovered during my trip to Japan in 2017. Deeply introspective and quietly powerful, it delves into themes of friendship, loneliness, guilt, and the unspoken tensions between generations.

Recently, I picked up another of Soseki’s celebrated works, Botchan, a sharp, witty classic of Japanese literature.

Noise

Noise is anything that enters uninvited.

It startles, scatters, stretches you thin.
And it’s everywhere.

Around me, noise hangs like dust in the air,
never settling, never leaving.
I rarely get a moment quiet enough to write,
to hear myself think.

What I crave, more than productivity or praise,
is a moment without irritation.
A stretch of silence
where my mind hums with clarity
and my hands move with purpose.
In those rare pauses, something electric stirs:
a quiet energy, an aliveness - a motivation to stay active.

But here’s what often stands in the way:
The inner chatter, a mind that won’t sit still.
Then there is the impatient scream of horns,
just out my window and always nonstop.
Phones that ping and ring,
slicing through thought like a dull knife.

Voices from reels, loud and coarse, trying too hard to be heard.
Not just bad audio, but bad tone and vocals;
the kind that demands attention without offering connection. I miss the old radio days—
when voices were warm and meant something;
the kind that never demands nor bluffs.

The fan’s endless whir,
like a soft drill in the background of everything.
And the invisible noise:
clutter of facts, opinions, algorithms,
the heavy saturation of too much,
all the time. Just too noisy to handle.

In a world that never shuts up,
silence feels like rebellion.
And clarity?
A rare and precious gift,
almost sacred.

There is hole in the whole.

Even when something looks fully covered,

there’s always a hole somewhere.
You may not see it, but it’s there.
And everything that you don't see, doesn't mean it's absent.

That made me wonder:
Could the word whole actually include a hole on purpose?
Maybe being whole doesn’t mean having no gaps.
Maybe it means living with them.

WHOLE = With a HOLE

Wholeness isn’t about perfection; it’s about embracing the gaps.