Last August changed me.

A storm I didn’t expect forced me to walk away, to another country, another space, another version of myself. I needed peace, and I realized I might never find it in the place I called home.

Sometimes, the loudest noise comes from the people closest to you. Sometimes, love is there but never in the language you need. So I left, not to escape, but to breathe.

That journey taught me this:

Peace matters more than bloodlines. Water and oil will never blend, no matter how much you stir. Some things just aren’t meant to fit, and forcing them only breaks you.

Since then, I’ve made peace with not seeking validation. I don’t need to be understood by everyone, or to live a version of life that doesn’t feel like mine.

I don’t need acknowledgment to know my value. I’ve seen what dependence can do to people, how it drains joy and silences self-worth. That’s not the life I want.

I don’t hate love; I just no longer worship it. I don’t hate men; I just protect my energy from the wrong ones.

What I truly crave is respect. Quiet, genuine, mutual respect. Not the kind that comes with conditions or control, but the kind that allows me to exist freely as who I am.

Independence has always been my survival. And maybe that’s why the word family still feels complicated.

Because sometimes, peace asks you to walk away from what once defined you. Sometimes, love wounds deeper than silence ever could.

There are nights I still replay everything, the words, the faces, the walls that turned cold. There are moments I wish they could see how much it hurt, how hard I tried to be enough.

But I’ve learned that not everyone wants to understand; some people only want to be right.

So I whisper to the girl I was, the one who left with a trembling heart and swollen eyes:

Reen. You did the right thing. You chose peace when love failed to protect you. You chose yourself when no one else did. And even if some pieces will never heal perfectly, at least now, they belong entirely to me.

~ Reendiana