Yimpa

I am allergic to conformity.

There was a new user on the forum who posted a phenomenon substack here: @Beyond Illusion do you plan on posting more content on substack?

Journaling and social media presence publicly have been powerful tools for me the past couple years. Even if it’s an illusion of connection, it feels less lonely than doing it solo in a cave. I do solo journal some things, but most of my focus is public facing. I can’t safely be myself authentically IRL, so online is the closest thing I have. Online I can be vulnerable about psychological baggage, my biases, the raw unfiltered way I actually think. IRL I’m still learning to advocate for my disability, trans identity, and translogical way of being. Expressing myself publicly online lets me practice saying what I’ve been hiding my whole life; it’s rehearsal for living fully out loud. Beans and I both use our exact legal names online and in person because we wanted to merge both identities together, no longer hiding behind online pseudonyms. My online identity is training me to show up authentically when I can’t yet do that safely IRL.

Australian men have the sexiest accent. That is all I have to contribute.

Journalling has saved my life countless times. Public journalling, especially. Nothing to hide. Just naked truth. Oh, yeah, and of course the magic substance called Love

Agreed 😅 (iAsian) https://support.google.com/youtube/answer/15569972?hl=en

Love at first trip. But one trip is not enough for lasting change. Like how you can’t just go to one piano lesson and then show’s over. If only you could choose multiple options, oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

And the waves keep waving. Is the ocean addicted to water?

Even understanding these teachings in plain english is a challenge. Most people only watch 20-30 mins of Actualized content. In English! Maybe a sexy alien voice would help… In short: The real barrier isn’t the delivery mechanism, it’s that consciousness expansion requires the receiver to be in a receptive state.

I am working towards not giving everyone a pass just because confrontation feels hard. No more pretending I’m ok with something when I’m not. No more shoving it under the rug of my misery. I need to speak up.

There’s a specific joy in destruction that people don’t talk about enough. Not chaos for chaos’ sake, but the deliberate dismantling of everything that was built on me without my consent. Tearing down the scripts. Burning the expectations. Destroying every version of myself that existed to make others comfortable. It’s not violence. It’s liberation. It feels uncomfortable because I’m so used to being polite, not questioning, never standing up for anything. But now I’m here, practicing discomfort in real time. There’s a specific joy in destruction that people don’t talk about enough.

I will lose followers for speaking my truth. Thank goodness I’m learning this lesson early!

Being non-verbal irl is my kryptonite. I’m done playing the script of not advocating for myself. I will speak even if it makes others uncomfortable. That’s better than suffering in silence.

Art and journalling is a meditative experience

I’ve made godly gains on my development in the past 1-2 years. But I would be kidding myself if I could heal and undo 20+ years of religious, psychological, and physical trauma in that short timespan. This is far from over. But, holy damn, am I excited for the next 5-10 years. I’ll look back at this moment and be like, wow, I was still a baby.

Belief obscures direct divine experience.

Buffalo wings are a great protein source

Stick around for parts 2 and 3

The lion biting the buffalo’s ass is LOVE!

Starting to appreciate the complexity of a system, rather than fighting against it

Transitioning is the process of killing the self that was never mine to begin with. There’s a violence in it, yes, but it’s the violence of truth against illusion, of authenticity dismantling the carefully constructed lie I was taught to inhabit. Every moment of allowing my truth to exist is an act of destruction and creation happening simultaneously. What dies was already dead. What emerges was always alive, just suffocating. The grief isn’t for who I’m losing. It’s for the years spent wearing a skin that never fit; for the child who learned to disappear themselves to make others comfortable. This death is mercy. This death is finally putting down a burden I never chose to carry. The reflection isn’t someone new - they’re someone who was always here, waiting for permission to exist. There’s a freedom in letting go that feels like falling and flying at once. No more performing for people who were never going to see me fully anyway. No more contorting into shapes that society claimed were “mine” but felt like cages built from other people’s fears and certainties. What remains when the false self dies isn’t absence - it’s presence. Raw, mysterious, gloriously mine.

Yaaas ^.^ I am also exploring new styles. Have you considered thrifting?

Just sent a shirtless photo to Mom and she said I’m beautiful. And that she likes my hair. What timeline is this?! I love it!

🧸