Who the Fuck Are You, Really? A Realm of Chaos Identity Check No One Asked For…. Let’s get this out of the way. Most people don’t have an identity problem. They have a straight up honesty problem. Because if I asked you, right now, no prep time, no journaling, no aesthetic Pinterest board, Who the fuck are you? Most people freeze. They give me: their job their trauma their responsibilities who they’re “trying” to be who they used to be before life got really heavy, or they became an actual adult. But that’s not an identity. That’s a
Tag: Identity
Being a Woman Is a Lot of Audacity From the Universe A Realm Report No One Asked For… Every morning in the Realm, One Bad Maa wakes up and checks the internal dashboard. Energy: ??? Emotions: feral but functional Body: running an unscheduled update Patience: missing Responsibilities: still fully operational No warnings. No patch notes. Still expected to perform. This, apparently, is womanhood. The Realm Is Loud Before Breakfast Before the sun even clears the smoke, the Realm is already awake. Not because anyone chose it , but because everything requires attention at once. Rebel is tightening
The Ride Is the Point Rebel’s journal — torn page, oil-stained corner I don’t ride to escape people. I ride because people don’t come with me. There’s a difference. When the engine turns over, the world simplifies. Not because it gets smaller, because it gets honest. The noise falls into place. Wind. Asphalt. Throttle. Balance. Everything else either keeps up or gets left behind. Most things get left behind. Why I Ride Riding isn’t a hobby. It’s a sorting mechanism. On a bike, there’s no room for pretending. You can’t multitask. You can’t perform. You can’t scroll your
A Magnificent Disaster From above, it almost looks intentional. One Bad Maa stands over the Realm like a god who didn’t plan perfection, only survival. Below her, the world she built moves, burns, argues, laughs, collides. Every corner alive with motion. Every shadow holding a version of her she once needed. People think creators design worlds to escape their lives. That’s a lie. Worlds get built because real life was too heavy to carry all at once. So it gets split. Creation Isn’t Imagination — It’s Translation The Realm didn’t come from fantasy. It came from compression. Too
Bad Breed Maa New Year’s Bash Same Chaos. Sharper Teeth. No Apologies. The clock struck midnight and the world pretended something magical happened. Confetti fell. Glasses clinked. People hugged strangers and promised themselves they’d become softer, calmer, quieter versions of who they’ve been fighting all year to survive as. The Realm doesn’t do that. In the Realm, New Year’s isn’t a reset. It’s a reckoning. The fireworks don’t symbolize hope here, they’re a warning shot. Because when the calendar flips, the masks fall off. The Lie of the New Year Every year, the same lie circulates like