The Fire I Refuse to Let Die…

As  I am currently mastering yet another language, and exploring other paths – I am the eternal explorer of life, my talents and passions…after all life is about living – I also find myself reminiscing…

A quiet revolution begins within a woman when she remembers who she is. Not who the world told her to be. Not who others reduced her to when they couldn’t understand her…but who she is—wild, luminous, deep, complex.

I was a girl once, bright-eyed and invincible in the privacy of my own mind. I dreamt of building something grand….not just a business, but a life of meaning. I wanted to taste the world, speak languages not native to my tongue, write words that stirred hearts. I believed in the beauty of becoming, and I believed that becoming had no ceiling.

But growing up, the path didn’t look like I thought it would. It wasn’t a highway – it was a series of winding alleys, some lit with hope, others dimmed by failure, pain, ridicule and the long silence of being unseen. Still, I walked…. Wounded, yes, but never stopped.

I remember clearly years back, the day I received the first malicious comment on my blog. I had written in English, not one of my first languages… pouring my heart into words that were raw, sincere, unpolished—because life isn’t polished, and my blog was more than about grammar, but about the messy yet beautiful human experience and its facets.

The message was sent not to me, but to Barry…a quiet, indirect cruelty. “Tell her to stop writing in English,” it said. “No one will take her seriously.” They mocked my grammar, my accent, the very audacity I had to believe I had a place in a language not born on my lips.

That day, I did cry. The tears weren’t weakness…they were the baptism of fire.

Then I asked myself: Who is speaking? A heart brimming with love and understanding? A mind educated not just with books but with kindness and self-awareness?

No – The voice came from someone small, someone cracked in places they never dared mend. A person hiding behind a screen of pleasantry and smiles, measuring others with a scale poisoned by their own self-hatred.

And then I asked the better question…Who are you, Sofia? And I remembered…

I remembered the trauma that should have destroyed me but it didn’t.  I also remember how I go to excel at everything I did… long nights of studying when others slept, the way I had to work three times harder just to reach the same place – and how I still rose, because my essence knows no other place.  I remembered every voice that ever told me I couldn’t, and how I made their disbelief into fuel. I remembered the day I had decided my worth was never up for public vote.

Every wound? I wear it like a jewel. Every setback? A page in the book of my becoming. The criticism doesn’t define me…it illuminates me. Because the fire in me does not dim with cruelty – it erupts. And I made a silent vow that day: You will not break me. Others have tried and fail…you will simply be one more name to that list. Not them. Not you, not them, not life, not even my own mistakes or fears could stop me…because I believe in the magick in me – the unique calling and expression of the wild divine in me….and that is more than enough.

The Poison of Malicious Criticism

There’s a sadness that seeps into the soul of those who spend their lives dissecting others instead of facing their own unhealed wounds. I’ve come to understand that malicious criticism is rarely about the criticized. It’s a mirror of the critic’s discontent.

Rather than build something meaningful, they lurk behind the glass like voyeurs, scavenging for flaws to devour. Not out of curiosity…but out of hunger. The kind of hunger that arises when one has starved their own dreams, buried their own light, and now feasts on the missteps of others to feel momentarily taller.

They say things like “She was lucky,” “She had connections”, “It was privilege”, “Anyone could’ve done that”…as if belittling someone else’s rise makes the weight of their own failure easier to carry. And when life is unkind to them, suddenly it’s fate, injustice, or bad luck. Never their own inaction. Never their own fear.

This kind of mindset is not just dishonest…it’s tragic.

Because the true danger of listening to those voices, is that one day, you begin to believe them. You begin to silence yourself before the world ever gets the chance to. You convince yourself you are “too much” or “not enough,” and you settle…for relationships, for work, for a life that feels more like waiting than living.

The Quiet Death of a Dream

There are few heartbreaks more subtle, more soul-wounding, than the slow death of a dream. It doesn’t come all at once. It comes in small decisions – when we begin to say not now, maybe later, I’m too old, too tired, not ready.

And suddenly, one day, you look in the mirror and realize you’ve been walking in circles. Living a life made of safe choices and low expectations. You’ve become someone who watches others live, who claps for others while forgetting how to dance.

Let me tell you: that is not living. That is surviving.

We were not made for crumbs. We were not made for “almosts.” We were born of stars, sculpted by chaos and fire. The soul doesn’t crave comfort…it craves expansion. It craves the ache of effort, the burn of growth, the wild freedom of daring to try.

Why We Must Never Abandon the Fire

There is no shortcut to your dream. It will cost you comfort. It will ask everything of you. It will take longer than you want, and people will misunderstand your hunger….but it will be worth it.

Every language I learn, every post I write, every mountain I climb…is not for applause. It’s for that little girl inside me who still believes.

Tell me I can’t, and I’ll show you I can. Tell me it’s too late, and I’ll show you rebirth. Tell me it’s foolish, and I’ll show you a soul set free.

I’ve learned to love the challenge, because with every goal reached, I am reminded that I am alive. That the universe answers those who dare to ask. That our dreams are not luxuries…they are compass points. They lead us home to ourselves.

So, if you’re tired….rest. But don’t you dare give up.

You are sacred, wild potential wrapped in skin….

And this world has not yet seen what you’re capable of.