Identity?

Most people see cooking and coding as opposites.

One is sensory, chaotic, hot.

The other — logical, cold, controlled.

But I live at the intersection. And I see the link.

Both require precision, systems, timing, and creativity within constraints.

Both demand an eye for detail, and a mind trained to solve problems under pressure.

Both are languages — and I’m learning to speak both.

In the kitchen, I read the signs: the color of a sear, the smell of a reduction, the tension in the room before service begins.

In code, I read logic: functions, flow, debugging line by line — like prep before dinner rush.

And slowly, I’m realizing this:

Combining cooking and code isn’t about choosing one over the other. It’s about building something new — something of my own.

A tool to optimize a kitchen.

A system to track events.

A way to turn recipes into clean, scalable logic.

Maybe no one sees the full vision yet. But I do.

This isn’t just survival.

This is engineering my freedom.

And one day, when people ask how I got here, I’ll say:

I wrote the recipe… and the script.

She’s not a bad person. Many say she lacks the competence to lead — and maybe they’re right. Not everyone is ready for every role. But what struck me most wasn’t the criticism. It was the way she was treated because of it.

She was bullied, talked down behind her back, and eventually dismissed by a superior — not with kindness or feedback, but with public humiliation.

And that… that is something I’ll never accept.

Yes, I believe people should take on responsibilities when they’re ready. Yes, I believe competence matters. But I also believe this:

No one deserves to be humiliated.

Not for trying. Not for failing. Not for being in a position of weakness.

And here’s the truth I live with:

The only reason I’m respected in this kitchen is because I can deliver. The day I fail — miss a plate, miscook a dish — I know exactly what will happen. The friendship, the respect, the smiles… they’re all tied to my ability to perform.

Remember the small mistake I made with the foie gras? They haven’t.

There’s no real friendship here — just utility. This is survival of the fittest, and I feel it every day. I wish I could’ve helped her. I wish I had the power.

But right now, all I can do is remain silent, and keep working.

Still, I promise myself this:

If I cannot help someone become stronger,

then I am morally obligated never to make fun of them or contribute to their fall.

Because I know exactly what that feels like.

I live it.

Friends and colleagues joked about the idea of marrying me so that I could get my visa. While they said it playfully, I can’t stop thinking about how much easier it would make my situation. This is not the kind of path I ever envisioned for myself, and yet, the thought of the doors it could open lingers in my mind, even though I know it won’t happen.

How terrible it is to wake up in the morning with such thoughts still lingering. Living without my visa is becoming increasingly difficult. The solitude, the loneliness, the jokes about being undocumented, the feeling of being seen as a problem—these weigh on me. The fear that something could happen and I’d have to stay silent. More than five years without returning home. How much longer can I endure this? Will my courage fail me one day? Will my ability to accept this reality break under the weight of it all?

This is why I can’t stop building my skills—life skills, competence in survival, in independence. I need to reach a point where I rely on no one but myself. I don’t fully understand what marriage means for a person, but I know I wouldn’t take such a step lightly. If I were to let someone into my life under those circumstances, they would need to fully understand what it entails and the responsibility we would share.

For now, I move forward, focused on building the kind of life where I don’t need to depend on anyone but myself. That is the goal. That is the only way I can ensure my freedom.

It is so human to think of others as our possessions. We don’t even think twice before doing such things; we just do them. We want others to do everything for us, even act as pain soothers. We want them to understand our emotions for us, to feel our emotions for us, to bear the pain for us—all the negative. We want them to carry it for us, while we only want the good for ourselves. This is what I’ve been doing again and again when it comes to people. And more than ever, we are the tyrants of those we love.

The Weight of Emotional Rationalization

When I was with Maya, for instance, I wanted to make sure she wasn’t feeling bad in any sense. I didn’t have the money like most other guys, but I sure took on everything she had. I would talk about my feelings with difficulty, rationalize her problems, rationalize her problems with me, and even rationalize what she did with other guys—just as I would rationalize another orgasm. Evil is made to be rationalized. I would justify the behavior of someone I loved toward someone I loved, convincing myself that because they were raised never to admit their mistakes, I should accept it without resistance. Since they paid for my school fees, I should let things slide, pretending they never happened. I rationalized their feelings, but who would do it for me? I try as much as I can to understand them, to understand most people, but who will do it for me?

The Struggle with Dependency and Self-Perception

Some people, like Maya and someone I love, possessed me emotionally. We want to live up to them, to please them, to maintain peace in their lives, often at the expense of our own.

I have given my mind a fixed idea of what life should look like when it comes to relationships, and by doing that, I made myself an easy prey to other people, who will not miss the opportunity to play with my emotions if needed. And many have.

Addiction to Pleasing Others

I say this, but I am also at fault for being addicted to pleasing people. I was so focused on my addiction to external validation that I failed to take into consideration the fact that I was also addicted to other things—like being seen as the nice guy, the good friend, the good family child—not wanting to sadden my mother. But why wouldn’t I do what’s right? I became addicted to my thoughts of a favorable outcome, always wishing things would be different instead of looking at them as they are, not as I want them to be. Although some people think they have some right over us, we’ve convinced ourselves that it is our responsibility not to hurt their feelings. Is there a better definition of prison?

Escaping the Victim Mindset

I was playing the victim with her. Even to leave her, I tried to make it look good and easy. I wanted an easy way out of life, for that matter. This is the same with Pola. Sometimes, I want her to feel sorry for me and rescue me. Sometimes I just want someone with whom I can share my story, who is always going to be there, but this is a lie. This is theft. The truth is that I haven’t faced my own demons. I haven’t killed them completely. So whenever someone attractive to me, like Pola, comes along, I feel like that person is there to solve all my problems. Which is, in my opinion, a very bad thing to do. For how long will I humiliate myself? Is this not enough? I have said enough, I have asked enough, but yet, like yesterday, I keep on compromising my dignity for her sake. Yes, it sucks, but this is something to be avoided. I clearly know that I should avoid this girl, and I clearly know there are absolutely no compromises to be made. I cannot even pretend to be friends with her. I must not be friends with her. That is what liars do; that is what those living in the antechamber of hope do.

Love or Fear of Self-Confrontation?

Love? Or fear of self-confrontation?

What is my priority now?

The Complexity of Human Nature

Nature is easy to codify and place inside a model, as it is less volatile than humans. It can take thousands, hundreds of thousands, and even millions of years for a particular change to occur in nature. That’s why building models explaining nature is easier than building one explaining human behaviors. For even though humans are part of nature, it seems like it’s extremely difficult to predict what a person will do next month, just as it’s easy to say that the sun will rise tomorrow. It’s true that man has some innate traits deep down within him, for thousands, even hundreds of thousands of years. Who knows, maybe one of those traits is our changing abilities.

It is so human to think that we own some people, especially when we are owned.

The Reality of Unrequited Feelings

Can you blame a person for not loving you? Of course not. That’s what you had to understand. Once again, you’ve been fucked. Purely and simply fucked.

Breaking Addictions: A Rule of Restraint

The number one rule to overcome an addictive behavior or substance is to never try—never try. Think about the fact that trying the first time is worse than taking it the nth time. To have a million dollars, you must first have a dollar. In the same way, to have control over an addiction, you must first reject the first indulgence.

The Power of Stereotypes and Misconceptions

All it takes is for one person to do something crazy for us to assume that everyone who looks like him, dresses like him, lives where he lives, has a common ancestor with him, or shares his culture, is like him.

The Pain of Knowing and Still Falling

What hurts the most is knowing that something is bad for one’s life but still doing it. Those who do evil are convinced that what they’re doing is not evil, so they might not even think twice before doing it. But what about those who know better and still choose the wrong path?

The Weight of Uncertainty

Not knowing where to go is not too painful. It’s not knowing where to go while telling yourself that you need to go somewhere, just like going somewhere while telling yourself that you have to move somewhere else. That hurts.

Expectations have followed me like an invisible force, shaping my choices, my fears, and my sense of self-worth. Some have come from my family, some from society, and many, I now realize, have come from within.

I have spent years trying to live up to certain ideals—being successful, being responsible, being strong. But in trying to meet these expectations, I have often felt trapped, as if I am not allowed to falter, to question, to simply be.

Carrying the Burden of Others’ Expectations

From an early age, I learned that people expect things from me. They expect me to be stable, to make the right choices, to be someone they can rely on. And in many ways, I have tried my best to meet these expectations, believing that doing so would bring me acceptance, respect, and even love.

But there is a cost to constantly living for others. It creates a fear of failure, a fear of disappointing those who believe in me. And worst of all, it makes me forget to ask myself: What do I truly want? Who am I when no one is watching?

The Expectations I Place on Myself

As much as external expectations weigh on me, I realize that I have also placed unrealistic demands on myself. I tell myself I must always be productive, that I must always have a plan, that I must never make mistakes. And when I do fail—because failure is inevitable—I find it hard to forgive myself.

Breaking Free

I am learning that expectations are not inherently bad. They can push me to be better, to grow, to achieve things I never thought possible. But when expectations become chains rather than motivators, they must be questioned.

The truth is, I do not have to be perfect. I do not have to live for the approval of others. My worth is not defined by how well I meet expectations but by how authentically I live my life.

Letting go of expectations does not mean abandoning responsibility or ambition. It means allowing myself to breathe, to fail, to change direction if needed. It means living for myself, not for an illusion of who I think I should be.

Moving Forward

I am choosing to step away from the weight of impossible expectations. I am choosing to embrace my own path, even if it looks different from what others envisioned for me. And in doing so, I am finally starting to feel free.

Who am I? This question follows me like a shadow, appearing in moments of silence, in the depths of uncertainty, and in the reflection of my own decisions. It is not a simple question, nor does it have an easy answer.

There was a time when I thought identity was something fixed—something defined by where I was born, the people I surrounded myself with, the labels society placed on me. But the more I experience life, the more I realize that identity is not static. It is fluid, evolving with every experience, every choice, every failure, and every triumph.

The Struggle Between Who I Am and Who I Want to Be

I often find myself caught between two versions of me—the person I am today and the person I aspire to become. There is tension between these two selves, and that tension can be both painful and transformative. Growth is not comfortable. It requires shedding old versions of myself, stepping into the unknown, and questioning the beliefs that have shaped me until now.

The Influence of Others

It is impossible to talk about identity without acknowledging the role others play in shaping it. I have sought validation in friendships, in relationships, in external achievements—hoping that through the eyes of others, I would finally see myself clearly. But identity built on external validation is fragile. The moment that validation disappears, so does the sense of self.

True identity must come from within. It must be built on my own values, my own convictions, and my own understanding of who I am beyond what others expect of me.

Accepting Change

One of the hardest lessons I have learned is that I am not the same person I was a year ago, five years ago, ten years ago. And that is not a bad thing. Change is not a sign of inconsistency; it is a sign of growth. The more I resist change, the more I suffer. But when I embrace it, when I allow myself the freedom to evolve, I begin to feel a sense of peace within myself.

Moving Forward

I may never fully answer the question of who I am. But maybe that is not the point. Maybe the point is to keep searching, to keep evolving, to keep learning.

I am not just one thing. I am not just my past or my present. I am a work in progress, a collection of experiences, a story still being written. And that, I am beginning to realize, is more than enough.

There is a battle within me, a war waged in silence. Addiction is not always the extreme we imagine—it is often the quiet surrender to something that keeps us from facing reality. I have fought this battle, I still fight it, and at times, I lose.

I have known the cycle—the rush of indulgence, the guilt that follows, the promise to never do it again, only to find myself trapped once more. I have struggled with distractions, compulsions, and cravings that take me further from who I want to be. It is not just about physical impulses but the mind’s endless rationalizations, the excuses I have made for myself, the justifications that keep me bound.

The Patterns That Keep Me Trapped

The cycle is always the same:

1. A moment of weakness, stress, or loneliness.
2. Seeking comfort in something that provides instant relief.
3. Feeling guilt, shame, and disappointment afterward.
4. Swearing to change, to stop.
5. Time passes, and the cycle repeats.

At some point, I had to ask myself: How long will I let this continue? How much of my life will I let be dictated by an endless loop of indulgence and regret?

The Role of the Mind in Addiction

It all begins in the mind. The thoughts I feed myself determine whether I win or lose this battle. Even before acting, my mind has already set the stage. I realized that resisting physical temptations is not enough—I must address the thoughts that precede them. I must rewire my reactions to stress, uncertainty, and loneliness.

I have seen firsthand how addiction hijacks my brain, distorting what I value, making me prioritize short-term pleasure over long-term fulfillment. I have lost time, energy, and self-respect to it.

Breaking the Cycle

To truly overcome addiction, I must take control at the earliest stage—before the impulse fully takes hold. I must:

• Recognize the triggers and remove them from my environment.
• Replace harmful habits with meaningful, constructive ones.
• Develop the discipline to say no—to myself, to the excuses, to the endless bargaining that leads nowhere.
• Understand that one slip does not mean complete failure. I cannot allow a single fall to spiral into complete defeat. The goal is progress, not perfection.

Reclaiming My Power

There is power in self-control. There is power in saying no. I am not a prisoner of my impulses. I refuse to let addiction, distractions, or self-sabotage dictate my life.

I am regaining control—step by step, day by day. I am choosing to be stronger than my weaknesses.

I do not expect this battle to end overnight. But I no longer fear the fight. I no longer accept the lie that I am powerless. I am reclaiming my time, my energy, and my life.

And with every small victory, I move closer to becoming the person I was meant to be.

There is a deep loneliness that creeps in, one that no distraction can erase. I feel it in the silence of my room, in the moments between conversations, in the pauses between one task and the next. It is a weight, pressing on my chest, reminding me that I am alone.

I have longed for connection, for someone to truly understand me, to share my burdens, to make the weight a little lighter. But I have also learned that this longing can be deceptive. It is easy to believe that another person will solve everything, that love or friendship will erase the emptiness I feel. But that is not true.

I have placed expectations on people who never promised to meet them. I wanted relationships to work, even when they weren’t meant to. I held onto people who had already let go of me. In doing so, I added to my suffering.

The truth is, connection cannot be forced. No matter how much I want someone to stay, they have their own path to follow. I have my own. And in my desperation to hold onto others, I have often lost sight of myself.

Loneliness feels like failure. It feels like a sign that something is wrong with me, that I am not good enough, not lovable enough. But this, too, is an illusion. Being alone is not a punishment. It is an opportunity.

In solitude, I have the space to understand myself, to grow, to heal. I have the chance to define who I am, outside of the expectations of others.

Rather than chasing connections that may not be right for me, I must focus on becoming the kind of person I want to be. If I can stand strong in my own solitude, then when the right people come along, I will be ready. I will not need them to complete me—I will already be a whole.

I am learning that it is better to be alone than to be in the wrong company. It is better to take time to build myself than to depend on someone else to give me meaning.

I do not fear loneliness anymore. I choose to embrace it, to use it, to grow through it. And in doing so, I am finding a deeper, more lasting connection—with myself and strangely with others.

This is what my life looks like: failure to failure, all but that, all but that.

When starting something new, like the enterprise I’m in now, it’s easy to be seen as the one making mistakes—even when that’s not the case. My first thought was to confront the situation and show my anger. But I’ve changed my mind. Instead, I’ve decided to be more assertive. Stop acting like I know nothing. Stop it. I must stand firm in what I know and confidently ask questions about what I don’t.

It’s time to take action. Otherwise, I’ll become the guy who makes mistakes that others have to clean up. No. This won’t happen. I will not make mistakes for others to deal with. Before I turn 23, I will be in the kitchen. This is my objective, and I will achieve it. Good luck, buddy.

I have to prove my competence—not for anyone else, but for myself.

How funny it is to read these lines now. I succeeded in becoming part of the kitchen, but I was never truly considered part of it. Why? Because despite my desire to belong, despite proving my willingness and determination, I lacked the courage to say no. I didn’t have the strength to stick to my objective.

Instead, I created excuses for myself. I made up stories to justify my choices, just like I did with Nathasha when I moved to the administrative side of things. And now, I am not very confident when it comes to cooking.

This is a failure, and I must admit it. I failed to reach the goal I set for myself. I left Martial without learning how to cook, even though I told myself I’d accomplish that by the time I was 23.

So, what now? What’s next after this? Who can I blame? No one but myself—my inability to say no, to others and to myself. I didn’t even take the time to think when the chef suggested I move to administrative work. I let it go, just like that.

Something real, something concrete—like cooking—that’s what I wanted. And I failed. I told myself I’d make myself indispensable in the kitchen, ensuring everything I did contributed to the team. But now, the truth is this: people don’t care about what I’ve done outside the kitchen. Logistics and admin don’t matter here. What matters is what I’ve built within the kitchen itself.

I cannot let this cycle of failure define me. I must break free. No more excuses. No more shifting from one role to another without purpose. No more letting others dictate where I should be.

From now on, I commit to learning from my failures—not running from them. Every mistake must be turned into a lesson. Every missed opportunity must be a step toward a better one. No more avoiding the reality of where I stand. I will take control of my own narrative. The past does not define me—what I do next does.

But, good God, it is so hard—so painful and stressful to be in this position. I find myself constantly stressed, and I hate this sensation. It’s as if my body wants to escape: to be in another body, another place, another life. On top of that, there is this overwhelming fear. I am terribly afraid to fail. Afraid I won’t get things done. Afraid my visa won’t be renewed. Afraid to confront people and say what I truly think. Afraid of almost everything: being alone, writing, being sent back to my country, falling into an addiction I can’t escape, or living a life of misery without progress.

I’m even afraid to register for that certificate. I’m so afraid of failure that I don’t even start. I’m afraid of almost everything. Afraid to live.

I need to solve this problem of stress and fear. Stress feels like my body is screaming to break free—to flee to some imagined safe haven where no threat exists. But no such place exists. So, I remain here, stressed and afraid, like never before. To counter this, I throw myself into all sorts of distractions and addictions.

I am stressed and afraid. And in all of this, I feel terribly lonely. Terribly alone. I wish I had somebody to help me with these problems. I wish I had someone by my side. But I have no right to force anyone into a position they don’t want to be in. I have no right to convince them to be someone they’re not or to want something they don’t. It’s their choice to decide if they want me in their life. My role is to focus on the next move.

By being so stressed, I unintentionally bring stress to others.

First and foremost, I need to renew my visa. Then, I need to earn that data analyst certificate.

Let’s face it: I’ve become terribly afraid. I am afraid of everything—just an idea makes me shiver. And yet, I claim these are the things I want to achieve. Remember this: no one will do it for me. Is it hard? Nobody said it was going to be easy. Finish crying—I’m allowed to weep. Then get up and do the work. I am alone. Who promised that people would be with me the whole way? Is it painful? Who told me life wouldn’t be? I chose this path. Now face it. This is how life will always be. And only I can decide what to do.

I need to constantly remind myself: I am not in the savanna anymore. Once I internalize that, I can start solving my problems.

But instead, I’ve become paranoid, incapable of taking decisive action. I keep moving back and forth on decisions, which only makes the fear worse. “What if I make the wrong choice?” But even that indecision is a decision in itself—and not the one I want. If I spend too much time hesitating, time will make the decision for me. And I know that’s not what I want.