Day 29 | I’m Late

But am I sorry?


Day 15 | Self Portrait While Waiting

I am overwhelmed by the amount of conflicting options and ways to work and live, as well as love. The dire importance of moving in your own way and learning to navigate as your own individual has been a topic of great urgency for me. Urgent, solely because I feel strangled by my socially influenced brain that tells me that I need to do X, say Y, and be Z. Just so you can live in this world and not starve or be deemed as a particular type of person, and then ostracized. Is it possible to be yourself, and still be ok in this world?



The Box


the box, the box.

who opened you?

not I, said the heart.

nor I, cried the mind.

for the keeper of the key

had long since died.

the box, the box.

where feelings are stored.

who opened you?

you had vowed,

that you would never be

unlocked again.


I’m feeling something new tonight. Disappointment never felt this sweet before. I realized that the more I embrace this feeling, the more it fades. It’s unfortunate that the same applies to people.

Self Portraits&poem by Reylia Slaby


reylia copy


When I was a little girl, I loved to spend time staring at my own reflection. I remember that I did this quite often until around the age of twelve. Twelve was when I developed a nasty disease called insecurity, and looking at myself began to produce negative feelings. Prior to that, I was fascinated with looking at myself, and I did it often. I have old pictures that my parents took of myself staring in the mirror. I believe it was separate from any narcissism. All the feelings I remember having was just a simple curiosity and wonder of the body I was living in. I even remember inviting a friend to stare with me once, but he didn’t understand why I found looking into a mirror of any interest. I especially loved staring into my reflection from a car window during a nighttime drive. My face would be layered with the stars, the moon, and the sky, and I felt that in this way I was part of them. I believed that my dim reflection was not only the little me then, but me in the future. At eight years old I believed I knew what I looked like at twenty. I read it in the subtle lines of my face. I felt it as I studied myself breathe. I saw hints of my future in the depths of my eyes.

I’ve gotten a bit older, and at 22 I’ve found that this little habit has made it’s way back in my life a bit. A lot of insecurities regarding my physical appearance have been washed away, and now I find myself fascinated again with looking.



My train was coming.


Today, as I was going home after work, I leaned against a metal pillar on the platform of Fuse station. The sun was rapidly submerging itself under the horizon, and spashed a colorful gradient of yellows and reds against the sky. I closed my eyes. The crisp spring wind took my hair and danced happily with it. As I filled my lungs with this air, I felt joy. I heard the announcement for my approaching train, and yet, I stood still, unmoving.

This one moment lasted 5 minutes, and was the absolute best part of today.



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