A Seat Outside My Walls

A Self Reflection About Stepping Out, Breathing In, and Finding Myself Again

Sitting outdoors has never really been my thing. I’ve always carried a strange comfort in being surrounded by walls – the kind of stillness that feels safe, the kind of quiet that doesn’t ask for anything from me. My home has always been my shelter, my familiar cocoon where the world stays outside and I get to stay untouched by it for a while.

 

But today, something shifter. Something gentle, subtle, almost like a soft pull inside my chest. And before I knew it, I found myself stepping out of my door, out of my routine, out of the tiny box I’ve built around my everyday life. I ended up at a café with an open courtyard, where the view stretched wider than what I’m used to. Bricks warmed by the sun, leaves hanging lazily from tall trees, clouds drifting like slow dancers in the sky. 

 

The sun was lowering itself gently as if it was tired too, and the wind brushed past me – cool, patient, almost tender. For a moment, it felt like Bali. The vibe, the calm, the way nature moves without rushing. I couldn’t see the ocean, but the air carried the illusion that it was somewhere nearby. And for the first time in a long time, I sat outside… and I breathed.

 

The Weight I’ve Been Carrying

I opened my laptop, the screen glowing softly against the fading light. It’s mid-month, and I didn’t want to break the streak I promised myself this year: at least one self-reflection blog every month. But if I’m being honest, these past few weeks have tested me more than I expected. Work has pulled at every corner of my mind. It drained my energy, scattered my focus, and blurred the edges of my days.

 

I’ve been tired. Overwhelmed. Pulled thin.

And lately, weekends have started to feel like lifelines – two small days where I get to catch my breath before the next wave hits.

 

It’s strange how adulthood feels like a constant balancing act between the things we want to feel and the things we must endure.

 

The Questions That Stayed With Me

Through all of this, I’ve been listening to podcasts – voices of strangers spilling thoughts that somehow feel familiar. And there were questions that stayed with me, long after the episodes ended:

 

Am I really the main character in my own story?

Or am I just a side note in someone else’s life?

Do I truly matter to the world around me?

And what would change if one day, I wasn’t here at all?

 

Heavy questions. 

Questions that quietly sit with you at night. 

Questions you answer in your head but never out loud. 

 

I tried to find the answers, but nothing felt real. Nothing felt true. 

Maybe the truth is too sharp. Or maybe the truth isn’t meant to be wrapped into one sentence. 

 

Maybe the answers are something we discover slowly, through moments like this one – a chair outside, a breeze brushing past, a sky shifting colours without needing permission.

 

Showing Up for Myself, Even When I Don’t Know How

As I sat there, watching the daylight fold gently into evening, I felt a small realization bloom inside me. Maybe being the “main character” doesn’t require a dramatic revelation. Maybe it’s not about having everything figured out.

 

Maybe it’s just about choosing.

 

Choosing to step outside.

Choosing to listen to yourself.

Choosing to sit still and let the world breathe around you.

Choosing to write, even when the words feel heavy and tangled.

 

Maybe the main character is not the one who shines the brightest, but the one who shows up – to the moment, to the quiet, to their own life.

 

Maybe the main character is the one who keeps walking, even when the path doesn’t look clear.

 

A Moment That Belongs to Me

Tonight, in this café, wrapped in a soft breeze and fading sunlight, I felt something settle inside me—something gentle, steady, real.

 

A reminder:

I am here.

This moment belongs to me.

The world doesn’t need me to have the answers.

It just needs me to show up.

 

And maybe… for now, that is enough.

 

 

“Not every chapter needs an answer, some just need to be lived.”