1/5/25 Overcast

Cloudy skies. A night full of dreams. I have a slight headache.

The café I wanted to go to was closed—it's feriado today, and the streets are filled with the smell of asado, but there's no sunlight.

I feel like crying. Nothing particular has happened, and it’s not because I’m thinking about saying goodbye.

It’s just that… on days without sunlight, I don’t feel beautiful or light.

I drank a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, hoping the vitamin C would refresh me a little.

I reminded myself—I don’t need to always understand where every emotion is coming from.

I just don’t feel very light today. Maybe PMS is here.

Last night I had a string of strange dreams.

I dreamt I was in a foreign town, where I ran into some of my parents’ friends—or maybe my uncle’s.

The scene shifted between the American West, a small town in Peru, somewhere in Eastern Europe… or maybe China?

I couldn’t really tell.

In the dream, I tried to unlock a shared bike with my phone and passed by a beautiful café.

The owner was a long-haired mother with a hippie vibe. She had her baby wrapped in cloth against her chest—but she didn’t walk through the café.

She glided, suspended by her arms, leaping and swinging across beams like she was flying.

Then the house of this “uncle’s friend” suddenly turned into the eccentric, luxurious home of some wealthy hippie.

Later, I dreamed I was working in Antarctica.

D showed up, sitting at the table with me and my colleagues, rambling non-stop about his "microgreen business and his Arctic trip".

His eyes were always devoid of emotion—both in dreams and in real life, and I truly believe he’s a sociopath.

Narcissist, without a doubt.

He kept talking and talking, nobody liked him, and he had this unbearable stench—like someone who hasn’t showered in ages. The smell of filth. The kind of dirty that seeps into his soul and never washes out.

My stomach clenched. My back tensed involuntarily. That smell was like a rotten, lingering shame I was being forced to re-smell.

But my colleagues—each one of them strong, experienced, with stories that could blow your mind—sat calmly around the table.

One of the women looked him straight in the eye and said,

“Shut up and fuck off, you scumbag.”

And him, surprisingly, simply left.

I suddenly remembered how, in real life, every time I told him, “You’re being disrespectful. I won’t engage with this,” he would send me hundreds of messages. No exaggeration.

Accusing me of being narcissistic, using my trauma against me, trying to manipulate and humiliate me.

Oh—and that smell. Absolutely revolting.

But my colleague in my dream?

She didn’t give him a single inch to react. She looked at him with steady disgust—

a look that said,

“I know exactly what you are.”

And just like that, he shrank back like a frightened unhinged dog, tail tucked, and left.

I asked her, “When will I be able to stand like you do, so powerful and unwavering?”

She turned into someone else for a second—smiling, hugging me, and said:

“Shikin, darling, sweetie… don’t worry. There are assholes everywhere. You’re not the problem. Don’t blame yourself.”

Her voice was so warm. So firm.

Then I dreamt I was at my mother-in-law’s house—though I didn’t know who she was.

I didn’t know who my husband was either.

But in the dream, my first boyfriend came to visit me. His hair was incredibly long.

And somehow, it didn’t feel awkward. Nothing felt wrong.

When this “mother-in-law” came home, I didn’t hide. I didn’t panic.

I calmly introduced them to each other.

—

I know I need to learn how to clear energy, truly and consciously.

And actually—I already am.

I stretch every day. I write. I care for myself.

I’m loving myself and the world around me, connecting with nature.

But I still want to go deeper.

To really learn what it means to clean myself of what doesn’t belong to me.

Like…

When a person with terrible energy stares at me on the street.

Like all that emotional vampires' melodrama.

Like NPD’s disgusting stench and repulsive personality.

Like the pressure, the anxiety, the things that weigh down my body that aren’t even mine.

These things are not mine to carry.

And I can learn—gently, but with conviction—to separate myself from them.