Daily Writing Page

             Hypocrisy—perhaps the finest talent humanity has ever perfected. It’s a delicate art, really, saying one thing while doing another, wearing masks with such ease that even the wearer forgets what lies beneath. And if there’s anyone who has mastered this craft to an almost admirable degree, it’s Jules. With a smile that could light up a room and eyes that promised sincerity, she walked through life like a saint among sinners—offering advice she never followed, preaching values she had long since abandoned. She could condemn lies while spinning her own, advocate kindness while slipping daggers behind unsuspecting backs. To the world, she was a model of virtue; in private, she was something else entirely. But that was the brilliance of it. Jules didn’t just practice hypocrisy—she wore it like a tailored suit, flawless and convincing, stitched from charm, intellect, and just the right amount of deceit. As the first and oldest daughter in h...

  Is enrolling in a college really worth it? Many would argue that it is. From an academic perspective, attending university opens the door to a wealth of knowledge, resources, and opportunities that can shape a person’s career and personal growth. You gain access to professionals in your chosen field, participate in engaging discussions, and challenge your mind in ways high school never quite managed to do. Do you get a lot of benefits by entering university? Absolutely. There are scholarships, networking events, internships, career fairs, and even access to mental health services and extracurricular activities that can help you grow as a well-rounded individual. And what about friendship—those lifelong bonds people talk about? Is it true that by joining college, you’ll get so many friends and connections? Well, that depends on the person. For some, socializing is as natural as breathing. For others, it takes effort and time. Still, college can be a place where people from all wal...

          Robert still remembers it was 6 years ago when his parents decided to visit a “distant” relative for once in a century. And when Robert said distant, he didn’t mean the kind you see once every few years during weddings or funerals. No, he meant distant distant, the kind of relative his parents only met when they were still young and don’t have any children yet. Which makes him think, “by what logic I should take part in this visiting agenda? I don’t even know them.” Robert frowned, clearly showing dissatisfaction and disagreement about the idea. But what can he do? He was still under his parents’ roof, still legally and emotionally tethered to their will. And like any obedient — albeit begrudging — child, he had to tag along, even if every fiber of his being screamed otherwise. If he were allowed to be completely honest, he would say it outright: having this many relatives was a hassle. A chaotic web of names, faces, and obligations he never aske...

It all started with a younger brother, a boy of relentless energy and unfiltered excitement who wouldn’t stop begging their parents to take him to the beach. Morning, noon, and night, his voice rang through the house like a broken record, “Let’s go! I want to build a sandcastle! We never go anywhere fun!” . The story happened on one of those days between long holidays, a family of four decided to go home to their father’s hometown and stayed there for a week. Robert, as the family’s oldest child could only sighed while packing his clothes. Everyone in his family seemed excited for their trip but him, he’s a pathetic child who doesn’t talk much and socializing is not his cup of tea. His expression was a blend of resignation and irritation, the kind that only a teenager who is straddling the line between child and adult could perfect. He always has a thought, ‘what if I just asked them to stay at home? They can go, for sure. No need to drag me along, I’m an adult now, technically.’ which...

The orphanage sat at the end of a winding road, hidden behind tall iron gates and a curtain of ever-falling mist. Time didn't seem to move there. The trees were always half-bare, the grass always damp, and the building walls always smelled of old paper and candle wax. Clem, short for Clemens, had been there for as long as he could remember. Most of his memories felt like mist too, slipping between his fingers whenever he tried to hold on to them. He remembered he had a favorite color once. Maybe yellow. Or white. He wasn't sure anymore. The orphanage wasn't cruel, but it wasn't warm either. The caretakers were quiet, their faces unreadable. They wore dark clothes and never used first names. The children mostly kept to themselves. No one really spoke of where they came from, and worse, no one ever spoke of those who left. Because they did leave. Often. One day you'd be eating bread and jam next to someone, and the next day their chair would be empty, their name unspo...