Not So Bad – Day 2

The Gym is Calling My Name. Tara Angkor Hotel Fitness centre

It’s Day 2, and I have to say—so far, so good.

As expected, my motivation beast reared its ugly head this morning. I did not feel like waking up to work out. Excuses ran wild through my mind like a crazy parade:

“You’re so sore from yesterday.”
“You really need more sleep.”

But I’m not letting those thoughts win. I made a promise to myself, and I’m sticking to it. I’ll work out after work—and that’s that.

What has surprised me is how much I’m actually enjoying some of the things I used to dread. For example: protein shakes. I’d always heard horror stories—chalky textures, weird aftertastes, and, of course, the gas. But yesterday morning, I whipped up a concoction of Allmax Nutrition Isoflex Vanilla, berries, Silk Pure Almond Vanilla, half a banana, and a little natural peanut butter. Let me tell you: YUM. Honestly, I’m not missing much food-wise on this journey so far.

I’m used to eating healthy after years of trying every diet under the sun, so this transition hasn’t been too hard—at least not yet. Talk to me after today’s squats, though. I already know I’ll be waddling tomorrow. But hey, I keep reminding myself: I want a better booty. Ha!

On another note, I’ve been encouraged to take extra supplements. I’m still a little skeptical. I’ve had some wild experiences with multivitamins in the past, and part of me wants to do this as clean and naturally as possible. Maybe it’s just my lack of education around fitness and nutrition, but I’m curious—and cautious.

Let the Journey Commence

By Maks Karochkin

I've battled weight issues ever since my family moved to Florida when I was 9 years old. Out of fear that we’d get kidnapped, my parents kept us indoors. “If we’re not home, you can’t play outside,” they’d say. Life looked very different after my dad left the military and my mom started working. When we lived on a military base, she didn’t need to work—or only worked part-time while we were in school. But that all changed.

Fast forward to today, and I see how those early habits shaped my relationship with food and activity. Add in the classic Puerto Rican way of eating (hello, rice with everything!), and my sister and I never really learned what it meant to live a healthy lifestyle. My dad was incredibly fit—ran 10 miles a day—but he left when I was 14. After that, we didn’t really have a fitness role model.

Over the years, I’ve tried every diet under the sun. My biggest struggle has always been maintaining consistency long enough to reach my goal. In college, I tried South Beach and lost about 15 pounds. After my ex-fiancé, I turned to diet pills—they worked briefly until my body started doing scary things. During another relationship, I hit my heaviest weight: a size 16. Later, I dropped back down to a 10/12—again, through pills. A few years ago, I lost 20 pounds with Weight Watchers and felt amazing. But when I could no longer afford the meetings (which I believe are the magic ingredient), and I started a new relationship, the weight crept back on.

Now I’m at a crossroads again, and it’s time for a real change.

Lately, I’ve been following some inspiring fitness accounts online, and I finally asked myself: What am I waiting for? Sure, I love food. And wine. But are they really worth continuing to feel stuck in a body that doesn’t reflect who I want to be?

So last week, I reached out to a coach I found through Pinterest—SwiftFit—and asked about his program. After a few back-and-forth conversations to understand how it works, I took the leap. And today… is Day 1.

I’m using this blog as a public promise—to myself, and to anyone reading—that I’m committing to this for the next 90 days. Yes, I know it’s the holidays. Yes, I know there will be temptation. But if I can make it through this time of year, I know I can do anything.

Wish me luck. Let’s do this.

Her Story, His Story, and the Truth About Breakups

by Satish Krishnamurthy

Today was one of those days—I was asked for breakup advice not once, but twice. Funny thing about breakups: no two are the same. Every relationship has its own unique story, its own set of circumstances, and two very different people navigating their emotions. And truthfully? I’m not in the relationship, so I can’t pretend to understand both sides. But what I can speak to is what comes after—the recovery.

For me, heartbreak looks like sad love songs, a bottle of wine, and lying on the couch in my favorite old sweatshirt. It’s not glamorous, but it’s honest. You’ve got to let the tears fall. You’ve got to sit with your pain before you can begin to let it go. Healing is a process, and it’s not meant to be pretty.

The most important step is this: get back to yourself. Before the relationship, you were whole. You had your own rhythm, your own joy, your own identity. Then, love comes along—and you start sharing your world with someone else. It’s easy to lose sight of where you end and they begin. But when it’s over, the best thing you can do is come home to yourself.

That doesn’t mean sleeping around or drinking to forget. That’s not healing—that’s numbing. Feel the pain. Get uncomfortable. Figure out who you are after the breakup. Decide who you want to become on the other side of this.

Because here’s the truth: trying to understand why someone left might drive you crazy. There’s always more than one version of the story—your side, their side, and somewhere in between… the truth. The real question is: what story are you going to tell yourself going forward?

Everyone will have advice. Some of it will be helpful. A lot of it won’t. But in the end, your heart is the one you have to live with. So listen to it. Let it speak. Let it guide you home.

How Much Does Social Media Influence Little Girls?

by Ste Elmore

The other night, the Comedian and I found ourselves in a spirited debate about what it might be like to raise girls in today’s world—especially with social media playing such a massive role. Honestly, I didn’t know how to argue his point. I’m not a parent, and I’m no expert in child psychology. I only know my own story—how I was raised and how I turned out. And the truth is, the idea of raising a child is a little terrifying. You pour your values into this tiny human and hope they grow into someone kind, confident, and grounded. But in a world flooded with likes, filters, and celebrity influence… is that enough? Or are we just being naive?

This all started with Nicki Minaj’s recent album cover—you know the one. Bent over, bare bottom on full display. She’s undeniably talented, and like it or not, she’s a role model for many young girls. But what message does that send? Is it empowering… or oversexualized? And where do we draw the line?

Not long ago, Kim Kardashian posted an Instagram photo in a barely-there swimsuit that stirred up the same questions. Growing up, I had influences like Madonna and Cyndi Lauper—but it was different. I was sheltered. My parents didn’t talk to me about sex. My mom, a traditional Catholic woman, believed in modesty. I vividly remember my college rebellion stage—lots of cleavage, short skirts, the works. I figured if I was “blessed,” I might as well flaunt it. My mom once joked that I had a closet I wore around her… and a completely different one I didn’t. (She wasn’t wrong.)

But I’ve evolved. These days, my style reflects where I am in life—not 21, not seeking attention. Just me.

After the debate, I posted a question on Facebook asking others how they felt about raising girls today. The responses varied, but many agreed—it’s harder now. Kids have access to everything. Friends with cell phones at seven. YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram influencers just a click away. One person brought up a Louis C.K. bit, where his 9-year-old daughter asks for a cell phone. He says no. She protests: "But my friend has one." He still says no. That’s parenting.

But still, we wonder: Can a parent’s influence outweigh what kids see online?
Can we raise strong, confident girls who know their worth doesn’t depend on likes or showing skin?

We hope so.

The truth is, there’s no formula. We don’t know how our children will turn out. We just hope they’re healthy, happy, and good humans. We hope they live full, beautiful lives like we did—or maybe even better.

The Freelance Struggle

by Sean MacEntee

Recently, I took the leap into the world of freelancing. After listening to countless podcasts and reading article after article, I decided to go against the grain and try one of those popular freelancing platforms. Let me just say—if you’re looking to get paid what you’re worth for your creativity and talent, this is not the path.

Within a week or two on the site, I quickly learned what so many others had warned about: most gigs pay pennies. Quite literally. Still, I was excited to land my first official assignment—writing 30 articles on dating advice. Right up my alley, right?

Then I did the math.

I was getting paid $1.00 per article.
One dollar.

Let that sink in.

Sure, it was my first job on the platform and I genuinely wanted to make a great impression. And to their credit, the client said my content was “amazing.” But even hearing that didn’t make it feel worth it. I knew my writing—especially on something I know so well—deserved far more value.

That’s when it hit me: I was pouring energy and talent into something that didn’t respect the craft.
And I could do so much more on my own.

So, I pivoted. I started my own website to offer real freelance writing services. A space where I could set my own rates, showcase my best work, and attract clients who actually valued what I bring to the table. If you’d like to see some of my writing or work together, you can visit me at Valerie Writes.

This isn’t just about money—it’s about freedom. I want to design a life where I can travel, create, and thrive without asking for permission to use 10 days of vacation or being told what I’m “worth” based on a corporate pay band.

Maybe I sound like a textbook Millennial—but honestly?
That’s exactly how I feel.

AOL Chat Rooms and My Prom Date

Recently, I read an article about two dating gurus who met on Twitter and are now engaged. The woman mentioned she'd been dating online since she was 19—and I couldn’t help but smile. That number sounded familiar. Why? Because I started dating online at 17.

Yes, folks—that’s nearly 12 years of online dating before the Comedian and I made it official.
Back in the good ol' days of AOL chat rooms, dial-up tones, and screen names like ValenLatina, I was a curious, lovestruck teenager looking for connection in the most 2000s way possible.

The story starts with prom.

I had asked an old coworker I was crushing on to be my date. He said yes. I was thrilled. But I was also 17 and had yet to learn the lesson that confirming plans matters. Weeks went by with no follow-up, and when I finally got a hold of him—cue heartbreak—he had totally forgotten. He apologized and said he had to work.

I was devastated. This was senior prom. A rite of passage. And in my teen mind, the world had officially ended.

Naturally, I turned to the only place I knew for comfort: the AOL Orlando chat room.

After the obligatory “a/s/l?” intros, I started chatting. "Hey ValenLatina!" messages came flooding in. And then one conversation stuck.
He was a nice guy, about an hour away, and he patiently listened to my teenage sob story: dumped by a flaky prom date and scrambling for a plan B. After some back and forth, he said:

“I’ll take you to your prom.”

I couldn’t believe it. I had a date! But of course, I had to meet him first.

We decided on Old Town—if you're from the Kissimmee/Orlando area, you know that place.
We walked, we talked, and honestly… he was polite and sweet. Not quite fireworks, but hey, my online dating adventure had officially begun.

Prom came and went. He wasn’t really my type (and I was definitely not feeling a love story unfolding), but he showed up when I needed a date—and that mattered. My mom thought he was cute, which was... a bonus for her, I guess. 😅

That night didn’t end with a fairytale romance, but it did start my digital dating journey.
And I wouldn’t change a thing—well, maybe just my prom hair. That was a whole other tragedy.

The Friend Zone

Sometimes, I get calls from my guy friends—the ones who are still single—asking the same question over and over:
“How did I end up in the friend zone?”

It’s the one struggle they just can’t seem to shake. And I get it. It stings. It’s frustrating. It’s confusing.
But here’s the truth I always tell them: a woman usually knows what she wants within the first 30 seconds of meeting you. She may change her mind later, sure. You may grow on her. But let’s be honest—that’s the exception, not the rule.

The biggest trap of the friend zone is when the guy becomes infatuated with the idea of the woman. Suddenly, she’s not just a friend—she’s the one. The fantasy grows: “Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
But most of the time, she won’t.

And yet, my sweet, hopeful, slightly masochistic guy friends cling to the dream. They convince themselves that one day, their dream girl will wake up and realize it’s been them all along.

Listen—I’m spiritual, yes. I believe in timing, energy, divine intervention. But I’m also a realist.
When the right person comes into your life, you will know. It won’t be a tug-of-war. It won’t leave you guessing. It will just feel… right. And if it doesn’t feel that way? Don’t force it.

Here’s a hard truth:
A lot of people who end up in the friend zone have a common trait—they’re too scared to make a move. They wait. They stay silent. They play it safe. But here’s the thing: most women want a man who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. A man with confidence. A man who leads.

And if you do walk away from the “friendship” and they come back? That’s your moment to take control of the narrative. Let them know where you stand. That you’re looking for something real. If they can’t give that to you, let them go—without resentment, without bitterness. On your terms.

You’ve probably heard the adage:

“If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it’s yours.”

But here’s the part people forget: don’t lose yourself waiting for something that may never return.

There’s one particular person I’m thinking of while writing this, and it breaks my heart to see people I care about in pain over someone who doesn’t reciprocate. I know it’s hard. I know it feels cruel. But if someone is dragging you along while reaping the benefits of your emotional labor, that’s not love—it’s manipulation.

And honestly? That kind of connection becomes a slow poison. It erodes your self-worth.
Let. It. Go.

I’ve done it. I’ve cut the chord. And guess what? I’m still standing—and so much happier for it.

Women (and men, for that matter) don’t always know what they want until it’s right in front of them. But that doesn’t mean it’s your job to wait around just in case they figure it out. Especially when feelings are involved—someone always gets hurt.

So here’s my advice:
Walk away. Reconnect with friends who see you just as you are. Invest in yourself. Live your life fully. Because when the right person comes along, it will feel different. You won’t have to beg or prove your worth.

You are not a backup plan.
You are not someone’s “maybe.”
You are not meant to sit on the sidelines of your own love story.

Only you are responsible for your happiness.
So if you’re stuck in a cycle that’s driving you nuts, it’s time to choose you.

No more salt on open wounds. Heal. And move forward.

The Cycle

“I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.”
— Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and the City

Growth is inevitable—or at least, it should be. I’ve never been the kind of person who’s okay with staying stagnant. I want to keep learning—about the world, about life, about myself.

I know I’m not perfect. None of us are. We’re all walking definitions of the choices we’ve made—or the ones we never realized we were making. Some people don’t even know how they ended up where they are.

I remember back in college, my roommate—who was also a friend at the time—was doing a research study on Puerto Ricans and their role in society. Her focus was on Chicago, and specifically the "cycle of poverty." The idea was that Puerto Ricans, as U.S. citizens eligible for government benefits like welfare, were often trapped in low-income neighborhoods, surviving but not necessarily striving. That environment, passed from generation to generation, became their normal. And so, the cycle continued.

Sure, there are always exceptions—but that’s the thing. They’re exceptions, not the rule.

That concept stuck with me. It explained a lot about why people operate the way they do: sometimes, they just haven’t been shown another way.

I’ve always been a student of people. I watch behaviors. I analyze reactions. I’m curious about why people say the things they say and do the things they do. That curiosity served me in dating… until I actually liked someone and got frustrated when they didn’t see the potential I saw. The potential for something great.

Thankfully, God had a plan. And in walked the Comedian. I am forever grateful for that.

I didn’t learn everything I needed from my parents. They gave me a foundation—how to be kind, how to care about people’s feelings—but they didn’t teach me about money, love, or how to handle sketchy people. My mom was never into makeup or fashion. She’s a peaceful, reserved woman. I, on the other hand, came out like a thunderbolt—loud, animated, ready to light up the next social gathering.

She has silky straight hair. I was born with wild, curly locks. People still call me Shakira. I had to teach myself everything—from how to blow dry my hair (shout out to YouTube) to how to apply makeup (thanks, eyeshadow palette instructions). I figured it out because I wanted to. I wanted to express a version of myself that felt fun, confident, me.

I love fashion. I love shoes. And my mom still can’t figure out why I own so many.

But that’s the point. You get to choose who you become.

Like Carrie Bradshaw said, I know I’ll never be the girl with perfect hair who can keep her white outfit clean through a meal. For whatever reason, I always manage to spill on myself. I’m also the girl who walks into poles, trips in public, and laughs through the embarrassment. And I accept that.

Whatever I want to change, I’ll change. But I do it on my terms.

I know I’ll never be a statistic—unless we’re talking about how many pairs of heels I own (guilty as charged).

So here’s the truth:
Love yourself as you are. You are unique. If you don’t like the situation you’re in, change it. You are the designer of your life. Don’t let excuses become roadblocks.

Because the truth is—wherever you are right now, you got there.
And that means you can get somewhere else, too.

The Road to Self-Discovery

I finally did it. I figured out what I want to be when I grow up.

It’s taken time—and more than a few detours—but I’ve landed on something that feels right. The beginning of this year came with its fair share of struggles, but somewhere along the way, I stepped onto this road of clarity and self-expression. And let me tell you, it’s been enlightening.

If you know me, you know I don’t always express myself best out loud. But give me a pen and paper, and suddenly, I’m fluent in emotion. Writing has always been my safe space, my outlet, my translator. And lately, I've been learning so much about myself—especially in relationships. This current one? It's been a mirror. It's shown me who I really am when I care deeply about someone.

I’m stubborn. I don’t always know how I feel until twenty minutes later. And when I’m angry, I stutter. (Yes, really.) Looking back, some of my past relationships were filled with arguments, which now feels so foreign to me. I’m not naturally aggressive. But some people... they just know how to push your buttons. Still, I’ve always been patient. I try not to let things get to me—but what does get to me is inconsideration. Or people who are always looking for the easy way out.

Maybe I come off a little intense sometimes. My business upbringing wasn’t exactly all hugs and rainbows. There’s a little birdie in my head constantly chirping, “Don’t do anything half-assed.” And because of that, I hold others to the same standard. But I’ve been working on softening that edge—reminding myself: They are not me. Relax.

Anyway, I know what you’re wondering: Okay, but what do you want to be when you grow up?

Fine. I’ll tell you.

I want to be a Corporate Trainer. I want to create and lead training and development. I want to teach, guide, and empower adults—and yes, I get to write in the process. Boom.

Now, I know what you're thinking: Why not just be a teacher? Here's the thing—I'm not a kids person. I love the ones in my life, truly. But dealing with other people’s kids (and their possibly questionable home training)? Not my lane. And that’s okay. I have so much respect for the teachers who do that work and do it well. Thank you for showing up, for shaping the future.

As for me? I’m stepping confidently into this new direction. I’m excited to grow, to lead, and to finally merge my passions in a meaningful way.

See you at the finish line. 🚀

In My Head

I’m starting to get used to this non-scheduled style of blogging. I only seem to write when inspiration squeezes into a rare free moment in my overbooked life. Sigh. But hey, I created this life, so I keep on truckin’.

Lately, I’ve noticed these sudden waves of emotion hitting me—like clockwork—every month. It’s like I can feel everything more deeply, more urgently, and I honestly don’t know what to do with it. I get irritated quickly. I need space. And yet, people rush in, trying to fix me or make it better. But the truth is, nothing is really wrong. There’s just this amplified version of myself that I have to ride out until the volume turns down again.

I remember reading The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle, where he talks about how women, during this time, aren’t quite themselves. That struck a chord. Because in those moments, I don’t feel like myself. I want to be present. I want to find peace. But sometimes my emotions are on a rollercoaster I didn’t agree to ride. And the worst part? I don’t realize I’m reacting until the moment’s already passed.

Most of the time, I talk myself off the ledge silently—in my head. I guess that’s where the phrase comes from. Being “in your head.” It’s a place I know well. Maybe it’s the side effect of having a creative mind. We drift into our thoughts, our dreams, our storylines, and forget that reality is happening all around us.

That’s probably why I’ve never been good at taking pictures. I’m so in the moment—in my head—that I forget to capture it. There are so many beautiful memories from college I wish I had photos of. But nope, no snapshots. Just fragments in my mind. Luckily, the Comedian is a picture person. Problem solved.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is—pause. Take a breath. Get out of your head. See the moment for what it is. I'm mostly writing this as a reminder to myself, honestly. Blogging has always been my therapy, my grounding cord, my gentle nudge to grow. And growth starts with awareness.