Beyond Good and Bad: Living for Yourself

Today, my mind feels like a blank canvas filled with questions. I keep hearing people talk about being “good,” but what does that even mean? If I do something for others, I’m labelled good. If I do something for myself, suddenly I become selfish, or even bad. It makes me wonder are these labels real, or are they just masks society puts on us?

I realize no one can be good to everyone. Even the kindest act might hurt someone else in a different way. If that’s true, why should I carry the heavy label of being “good”? What is the use of living for a title that changes with every opinion?

I don’t want to hold onto it anymore. I’d rather live as myself, raw and real, without trying to fit into anyone’s definition. Being true to myself might not make me “good” in everyone’s eyes, but it will make me free. And freedom feels more precious than approval.

If people still choose to come to me for who I am, not for the mask I wear, then that’s the bond worth keeping. I’m learning that life isn’t about collecting good labels; it’s about creating a space where you can breathe as yourself.

So today, I throw away the word “good.” I don’t need it. I choose to live for myself, not in a selfish way, but in a way that is honest. And in that honesty, maybe there’s a truth deeper than both good and bad.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Let Me Sleep, Not to Dream....

     Some nights, I don’t want answers I just want silence. Not the kind filled with buzzing thoughts, but the deep, weightless stillness that John Keats writes about in “To Sleep.” His lines feel less like poetry and more like a whisper to the weary .      Keats doesn’t glorify sleep as a dreamy escape filled with fantasies. Instead, he sees it as a quiet refuge from the noise of life. I remember one night, after back-to-back classes and an unexpected family argument, I sat by my window, emotionally exhausted. No words, no energy just the weight of being awake. That night, I opened Keats. His line, “Seal the hushed casket of my soul,” made me close my eyes. For once, I wasn’t trying to sleep. I was inviting it in like an old friend.      I’ve often found that poetry meets us where no one else can . Keats understood that some days feel too loud, too real. And what we need isn’t escape, but a pause a gentle covering of all that aches. His...
Read more

From Questions to Acceptance: The Quiet Strength Within

Today, I began writing my blog not with clarity, but with a curious uncertainty. I didn’t know where to start or what to write. Once, I was filled with questions. I constantly asked: How? Where? When? Why? What? These questions shaped my journey, my identity, my hunger to understand the world. But something changed. I’ve stopped asking. I’ve begun accepting. Life has slowly revealed its quiet wisdom to me not in answers, but in acceptance. I no longer seek explanations for everything around me. I no longer expect people to explain themselves, prove themselves, or live up to my vision of who they should be. Why should they? Everyone is walking their own path. It’s not my responsibility to evaluate their pace, their truth, or their struggle. I’ve learned not to expect, not to demand, not to act out of pressure or illusion. Instead, I’ve chosen to receive what life brings openly, peacefully. “I don’t expect, so I don’t act. I just accept.” That is my mantra now. I’ve found that ac...
Read more

When Hope Sings Softly Within !!!

     There are times in life when everything outside falls silent, dreams are delayed, plans fall apart, and people we trust walk away. Yet, even in such silence, I’ve felt something quietly fluttering within me a small, unwavering voice that says, “Move forward.” Emily Dickinson’s poem “Hope is the Thing with Feathers” captures that feeling so perfectly. She compares hope to a bird that perches in our soul, singing wordlessly through the fiercest storms.      What struck me most is how Dickinson says this bird “never stops at all.” That line stayed with me. In my own life, when I felt lost after rejections, personal losses, or simply long nights filled with doubt, I didn’t always have someone to lean on. But this soft inner song remained. It never asked for anything in return. Just like Dickinson’s bird, hope never demanded food, praise, or reward. It just kept singing.      I’ve learned that true hope doesn’t come from external success o...
Read more