* proof of existence (i.) *

01/22/2026.

these days i feel uneven, as if my weight never settles on the ground. i don’t know what i deserve, and there’s this quiet roughness in believing i should already know. maybe im too young for certainty, maybe im too old for waiting. maybe i keep investing in the wrong things, because the right ones never stayed long enough to prove themselves real.

i wish someone would stand up for me, without being asked, without needing words, who chooses action instead of silence.

i think about a place to call home... not walls, not keys, but the meaning of arrival and no longer rehearsing who i am.

i want the same feeling i had that day as a child, watching life move slowly through the bars of our garage. dust dancing in the light, time unaware of me, and me unaware of time. i want to replicate that same daybreak, the soft permission of morning. i want to replicate that same dusk, when the sky learned how to let be changed, that same orange, but this time, with something that stays.

im always the one who understands, i anticipate, i soften, i translate. i understand the pauses, the absences, the almosts. ialways understand. until i don’t.

i cant stop typing the same things, as if repetition could turn into something with meaning. i cant stop operating the same systems, learning their rules, pressing the right numbers, obeying invisible logics. here or anywhere else, i find myself at a table, digits moving faster than my thoughts, making money i will never hold, never feel the weight of in my hands, as if my labor dissolves the moment its done.

i sell time in clean units, measured, approved, transferable. at the end of the day theres nothing i can hold that proves i was here. my work leaves me lighter, not richer, as if effort evaporate the moment its done. it has no weight, no temperature,no place to rest. everything is accounted for, nothing is felt...

would you believe me if i said, " i want something for us both", if i said i want direction? or would you still look at me as if wanting is a threat?

will my principles of life and work and love and art betray our ideals? will our mothers approve the ways they raised us?

sometimes you (me) dismay me without saying a word. i look in the mirror and i dont just see myself, i see versions. one with darker, longer hair, one who walks slower, whose eyes are no longer negotiating with doubt. who carries reassurance the same way i carry faith.

that version looks at me,
it forgives me.
it asks, gently: “why haven’t we become yet?”

i remember the patterns on the bar table. the repetitive flowers, where i once traced the next few years of my life, with the certainty only desperation gives. i wish i could go back and rearrange some things. not to erase them, but to sit differently, to choose another exit, to leave earlier or stay longer.

the flower pattern were sticky with honey and with the sweat of my drink. my fingers tangled in the last drops of lemon, circling what was already ending. that was the week i took that bus, as if movement itself could absolve me, half-expecting not to return, half-hoping i wouldn’t have to.

i still remember the calm in the air of my last walk. the strange kindness of familiar streets, places that had watched me grow without ever asking who i would become.

i traded what i knew for the thrill of discovery, gladly. for the belief that elsewhere would finally name me.

now I don’t ask for much, just someone who knows my new name. i just want someone to take my hand, without pulling or leading, just walking beside me. a place to burn candles, to mark time softly, to believe in rituals again, and that same feeling, as a child, of seeing the world, wide, unfinished. not something to command, not something to conquer, but something to witness and be held by.

i just need someone to know my new name. i need a witness, to prove i exist. just a pair of eyes that pause on me long enough.

we can’t exist by ourselves.not fully. its only when someone sees us that we start to begin.

recognition is a kind of birth. its in the moment we are noticed that we stop being theory, and to be seen is to be confirmed. to be under one sky is to be tethered without chains of memory.

we fight, we mend, but we are written under the same above. in this, one sky, one destiny, i want someone to know me under my true name.

(proof of existence is based on a room from kingdom hearts ii final mix, the name of an important song, and also a series of texts i wrote for myself on my private blog. i want to restart this idea here, but make it visible to everyone. i hope that during this process i can become more approachable to myself and even more me. thank you.)

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