What I Learned From Sleeping With My Phone

I used to think my phone was just another distraction—until one night, I stopped scrolling and listened.

The glow of the screen wasn’t bright. It was soft. Like moonlight through Brooklyn windowpane, dusty rose against slate gray walls. My mother’s Korean lullaby hummed in my bones; my father’s jazz records played low in the background of silence.

I didn’t chase wins or badges. I didn’t want to be king.

I wanted to be still.

The Animal Kingdom Was Inside Me All Along

They call it ‘digital loneliness’—but that’s wrong. It’s not emptiness. It’s sacred space.

In those quiet minutes, your phone becomes a forest key: unlocked not by RTP or RNG, but by breath. By memory. By a voice note left at 3 AM from someone who said, ‘This hit me right in the chest.’

The Quiet Rebellion of Being Yourself Online

You don’t win by posting more.

You win by staying silent long enough to hear yourself.

I once received a DM from a stranger—a young woman in Tokyo—who wrote: ‘I save your posts for later re-reading.’ She didn’t follow trends. She followed her pulse.

That’s when I knew: authenticity isn’t performance. It’s resistance.

Your Sanctuary Is Not Where You Think

It’s not in crowded feeds or viral challenges.

It’s in the margin between sleep and wake—where your thoughts don’t shout… they whisper.

Turn off the algorithm. Turn on your breath. What did you carry today?