Maybe I Am Delusional. So What?

At least I do what I want, when I want, where I want. I don’t wait for permission anymore. I don’t wait for people to understand me before I start living.

People say “you miss them,” but honestly? Most of the time, we miss a version of them we created in our own heads. A pure version. The version we hoped existed. We build stories around people because sometimes imagination feels safer than reality.

And instead of destroying myself because of that, I create.

I make music.
I create art.
I learn.
I grow.

Every single day.

Recently I asked myself something:
“When I get old, what will matter more? The women, the relationships, the memories… or the art I created?”

Maybe both.
Who knows.

But I realized something important — it’s not really about money anymore.

It’s about becoming mentally rich.

Being inspired.
Inspiring other people.
Meeting strangers and learning something from every single one of them.

Some people collect money.
Some people collect validation.
I collect experiences.

I rent my dream car even if I don’t own it yet.
I travel to places I used to only see online.
I work hard for what I love, but I still enjoy life while building it.

And yes — I work a lot.
Probably too much.
But at least I work for something that means something to me.

People keep talking online about “avoidant attachment,” “love bombing,” “breadcrumbing,” “ghosting,” “trauma bonds,” and a thousand other terms.

Honestly?

I think social media turned emotions into categories and human connection into psychology homework.

Not because those things are completely fake — some are real — but because people use labels to avoid actually facing themselves.

Everybody wants validation.
Everybody wants excuses.
Everybody wants to explain the pain without fixing the source of it.

It’s easier to repost healing quotes than to actually heal.

And maybe I expect too much from people.
But that’s because I expect a lot from myself too.

It’s like a mirror.

I truly believe people should stop overthinking every feeling and start living again.
Go outside.
Explore.
Create.
Take risks.
Make mistakes.
Build something real.

Do what you have in mind and stop waiting for society, algorithms, trends, or toxic people to approve your existence.

Just make sure you leave something good behind.

Help people if you can.
Don’t manipulate minds.
Don’t destroy people because you’re lost yourself.

At the end of the day, I think life is simpler than we make it:

Information is power.
Respect is respect.
Love is just love.
Purity is rare.

And maybe that’s why I feel the way I feel:
If anyone can have It, I don’t want it.

Not because I want to feel superior.
But because rare things mean something.
Real connection means something.
Real art means something.
Real people mean something.

And maybe freedom is simply this:
Doing what you want, when you want, where you want — while staying true to yourself.

Maybe I am delusional.

Or maybe people stopped dreaming so hard that passion itself started looking insane.