Personality, Opinions and Rambles

Let’s be honest — answering the question “what personality do I have?” feels like the psychological equivalent of staring into a mirror under fluorescent lighting. But hey, let’s try anyway. I think the best way to get there is to talk (quite literally) about myself.

If I had to sum it up: I’m funny. Or at least I think I’m funny. Others would probably argue I’m just “funny-looking,” which, okay — fair.

I like to randomly run up to people, make a weird face, and then bolt. I exercise in the most unpredictable ways. I talk to myself in multiple languages to keep my mind engaged — and so I don’t forget. One minute I’m working out with full intention, the next I’m doing squats while waiting for my tea to steep. That’s the thing — I’m random. Gloriously, shamelessly random.

I love to draw, but I’m not great at it. Same with singing. And yet, I’ve written songs — lyrics I’ve never had the courage to say out loud. I’m painfully camera shy, which is ironic considering the world I’m often in. When a photographer appears at an event, I suddenly become intensely fascinated with... the wall to my right.

I also believe knowing basic survival skills is a non-negotiable. I’ve always had an irrational fear that the world might end at any moment, so while other kids were watching cartoons, I was on YouTube learning how to build a shelter, make rope, filter water, and start a fire using nothing but wet rocks and anxiety.

Home is my sanctuary. It always has been. As a child, my room was my haven — a space where no one could hurt me, where I didn’t have to take any risks. That sense of safety still lingers. I love being home. I love the peace. But I also love spontaneous adventures — like randomly checking flights to another country just because I have a window of time. I've actually done it more than once.

Fishing is another one of my hobbies, mostly because I love spending time with my dad. Although... he hasn't caught a fish in three years, and I’ve caught one every time. (Sorry, Dad. I still believe in you.)

I like long drives. I can stay awake for hours if there’s enough adrenaline or curiosity keeping me company. And sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and start writing like a madwoman — because that’s when my best ideas arrive, apparently uninvited and half-asleep.

I used to love anime, and I still do, but I haven’t had the time lately. Reality TV? I absolutely cannot watch it. The moment someone cheats, I spiral into a moral crisis. How can a human do that to another human?! (This is where my “easily emotionally wounded” side fully reveals itself.)

I have three close friends I trust with everything — fun fact, they’ve never met each other. Somehow, that makes me laugh every time.

But on a serious note: I struggle with asking for help. I’ve always been afraid of appearing imperfect, so I learned to handle things on my own. I don’t like relying on others. I like to be the one people rely on. Maybe it’s a strength, or maybe it’s something I’ll outgrow. Either way, it’s part of me.

I keep my home clean because when it’s messy, it reflects how I feel inside — scattered, anxious, not okay. Clean space = clarity. Always.

I love exercising — not to “look good” for anyone else, but because it makes me feel powerful. Running has become a new thing for me. I still get winded, but there’s something about pushing through that breathlessness that makes me feel alive. Like, how far can I go? Let’s find out.

I love deeply. I care hard. If I love you, you’ll feel it — in my actions, in my consistency, in the way I show up again and again. No matter what happens to me, I never stop showing up for the people I care about. That’s just who I am.

I try to stay true to myself in a world that rewards performance. I don’t like how much we glorify ego, status, and surface-level connections. We live in a time where it’s easier to run than reflect, easier to discard than repair, and easier to hurt people than confront ourselves. And I hate that. I especially struggle with the culture of hookup culture, if we’re naming it. I’m not here to judge anyone, but for me, it feels... empty. It’s not about morality. It’s about depth. I see it as a reflection of people not knowing what they want — or maybe, being too scared to want more. To me, it feels disconnected, a little careless, and in a way, deeply sad.

But again — that’s just me. And I’m okay with being “just me.”

At the end of the day, I will always support people becoming the best version of themselves. I’ll always root for someone’s growth. I’m still growing too. I’m curious. I’m true to myself. And I genuinely can’t wait to see where I’ll be in five years.

And when I picture the future — my version of happiness — it’s not a spotlight or a title. It’s peace.

I see myself walking into a large, warm home after working my job as a medical doctor. The kind of home that smells like fresh herbs and something always simmering. One part of it is soft and floral, with plants in every corner; another part feels more rustic — almost Victorian — with a large fireplace and big windows that let the golden light pour in. My bed? Bigger than king-sized. Comically large, maybe. Layered with a weighted blanket, because yes, I am dramatic about my comfort.

The kitchen is a statement — not because it’s modern, but because it’s loved. Clean but cozy. Lined with copper pans that are hung on hooks, and a spice cabinet that makes everyone stop. The kind of place that welcomes you to sit, stay, eat, talk. I’m coming home from a long day of work to the sound of paws running to greet me — Tsuki, of course, plus two more dogs (this time larger) I’ve yet to meet but already love. The dining room table is full. The house is lived in. And I mean that in the best way.

There’s an office tucked away — but not just any office. It feels like a library pulled from Oxford itself. Deep-colored wood (oak, I think?), shelves stacked high with books I’ve actually read, and the scent of old pages that feels oddly comforting. There’s a fireplace in the corner, a lounge chair that practically demands a slow evening read, and a set of grand windows leading out to a wide patio. The kind you step onto barefoot, just to breathe in the world for a second.

Outside, there’s a garden — maybe even a full one if I’ve managed to keep my plants alive. There’s a little herb corner, a wok station, and grilling equipment that my parents probably use more than I do. The yard is peaceful, maybe even a little Asian-inspired in design. The guest rooms are always ready, always warm. And the whole house? Timeless. Classic. Elegant. And most importantly — welcoming.

That’s the dream.

Even if I never quite arrive there. I hope this shows I was always headed toward it. But every version of me — the chaotic one, the deeply caring one, the one who sings in private and panics in front of cameras — wants to work toward that life. One step at a time. Even if life unfolds differently, I want it to be known that this was the vision I cherished. The one I built in quiet moments, through every small decision, every risk, every act of love.

Always with love,

Kaya