Depthofmyyouth

Category: Reflection

  • Loop de loop

    Loop de loop

    Are we in an infinite loop de loop? Life replayed like a tape. Yet we hardly remember the memories that matter the most. The calm truth or a battered old phrase. Our world comes and goes but no one really knows. We all try to save face by condemning the worst parts of ourselves or what we perceive to be the worst parts.

    I’ve read all about the me I can be or could if it weren’t for myself. So an infinite loop and we call AI slop but if I’ve written this before are we not just repeating what we were programmed to do. We are racing towards having no responsibility.

    A good soldier of the lord once told me he was afraid of death. I wish I could have known him longer. I’m reminiscing about what could have been. If next time is like this loop it’s to bad.

    Should we shoulder the weight of the world. If we could actually live a thousand life times and remember would we make it matter. To achieve the everlasting reward at the end of the struggle. If we could remember being on both sides of every hate would we still be the aggressor.

    Inverted but still not in free fall. That fleeting moment before we go all in. Decisions like memories. We remember what keeps us alive. No external threat to the future but ourselves. Time and time again then more time. Lets break the loop de loop. Instead of being scared we should move for positive change.

  • Bones in the Light

    Bones in the Light

    Have you ever seen the sky reflected in water?
    At sunset, when reds and oranges mix with the blue — it’s beautiful, but also a little unclear. A mirror of something real, but never quite the real thing.

    When I look in the mirror, the face staring back at me often feels the same.
    Painted in expressions I’ve practiced. Covered in layers I barely notice anymore. Sometimes I wonder if even I know what’s underneath it all. Are there real emotions stirring somewhere in there, or just more facades?

    Lately, I’ve caught myself thinking:
    “If I were really capable of being successful, wouldn’t I be there already?”

    I don’t know if that’s honesty or self-sabotage.
    Maybe it’s a lie I tell myself to feel better about where I am — or maybe, it’s a question I’m scared to answer truthfully. Either way, it sits with me. And it’s heavy.

    I compare myself to others far too often.
    But how can I measure my life against someone else’s when I don’t even know if I’m showing up as my full self?

    A Skeleton in the Light

    When I was a kid, my mom made me a skeleton costume for Halloween.
    It was black and covered in hand-painted bones that glowed in the dark. I remember how proud she was of it — and how I couldn’t wait to show it off. When I stepped into the night, the bones lit up under the porch light. People pointed, smiled. I was glowing. Visible in a way I had never been before.

    It was the first time in my life I felt like I was wearing my insides on the outside.

    Of course, it was just a costume. But there was something powerful about being seen like that — bones and all. No hiding, no pretending. Just structure and truth, glowing in the dark.

    Some part of me still craves that:
    To be seen clearly.
    To wear the truth of who I am without apology.

    If true authenticity is what I’m after, maybe it starts smaller than I thought.
    Maybe it begins by noticing how often I say “I’m fine” when I’m really not.
    By pausing before I perform a version of myself that isn’t true.

    Maybe it starts with telling the truth — not just to others, but to me.

  • Do Good Guys Still Win?

    My grandfather loves old western shows and movies. Over the last few years, I’ve sat with him countless times while they played on his television. I’ve never fully understood the draw — most of them follow the same structure with little variation.

    The good guy is honest, true, and virtuous. The bad guy? Underhanded, sneaky, and greedy. The story usually begins with someone being wronged — a robbery, a betrayal, a town in trouble. Then our hero steps in, unravels the villain’s plot, gets into a bar fight or a shootout, narrowly escapes death, and inevitably saves the day. Corny jokes are exchanged, and before you know it, the next episode starts.

    And yet, I’ve grown to enjoy these old shows.

    Maybe it’s because I once saw the world in the same way — where good always triumphs, where truth wins out, and justice shows up right on time. That belief was probably shaped early on: by family, by faith, by the stories I was told through culture and media. Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe I just associate westerns with my grandpa — the quiet comfort of sitting beside him, sharing something familiar.

    But I think there’s more to it. There’s a certain innocence about these stories that feels rare now. A kind of moral clarity that doesn’t often exist in real life. Maybe that’s what makes them special.

    Maybe the real appeal isn’t the story itself, but the world it offers — one where right and wrong are clear, where justice arrives on time, and the good guys still ride off into the sunset. I’m not sure I believe the good side always wins anymore, but there’s still something comforting about watching them try. And even if I don’t care much for the plot, I’ll keep showing up — for the quiet moments, the familiar music, and the time spent beside someone I love.