Change of direction
- Gondora Official
- Oct 6
- 3 min read
Hello, my darlings.
I hope this finds you well, wherever you are.
Lately, I’ve been standing at a crossroads with this blog—caught between what I should write and what my soul aches to pour onto the page. The first entries I shared here were gentle, educational, spiritual. Useful, perhaps. But they lacked the marrow, the pulse, the ache that is me.
Because the truth is, I’m not simply a “spiritual blogger.” I am a creature of depth and shadow, a woman with a dark, rich, mystical pulse thrumming beneath her skin. My writing has always been a cathedral of longing; you can hear it—the ache, the yearning—in every word I write. It’s the kind of expression that can only come from a place where scars live.
So I’ve decided: no more sterile statistics. No more words that mean nothing to me. This space will now be the reflection of my blood and bone, my poetry and my life.
Writing has never been a new endeavor for me—it has been my refuge. My childhood was not soft; it left marks that never fully faded. Words became the only safe place I knew. I began writing poetry in sixth grade, sending it off to journals and anthologies. Sometimes it was accepted. Sometimes my words made it into books. In 2010, I published my first poetry collection. It was raw and dark and real, born from a deep depression I hadn’t yet learned to embrace. I pulled it from the shelves almost as soon as it appeared. My second collection followed in 2015—again, withdrawn because the grammar felt like a wound I couldn’t bear. But writing itself has never left me.
I don’t always speak easily. My tongue tangles, my voice trembles; words escape me when I try to shape them aloud. But on paper, I am unbound. Writing is the place where my true voice rises. It’s the reason I prefer texts to calls, the reason I can say what I cannot speak.
I’ve often noticed that the ones with the deepest scars—the ones labeled “troubled”—are often the most tender, brilliant, and creative souls. They carry whole galaxies of compassion and ideas inside them. If my mental health struggles have any silver lining, it’s this: the endless well of creativity, empathy, and depth they’ve carved into me.
Yet even with this gift, there are days I despise the internet. I make my living here—six years now since I started my YouTube channel, six years of building this strange digital persona. I am profoundly grateful for what it’s given me: freedom, abundance, the ability to provide for my children as a single mother. I live a life most single parents dream of. And still, sometimes, I long to vanish.
If I’m honest, my dream is not to be known. It’s to retreat—to a quiet farmhouse on sprawling land, with my children, my twenty cats, and my garden. No one would know my name. No one would look for me. Just earth, wind, and silence.
People look at me—at my bright hair, my loud clothes, my pinks and glitter—and they assume I’m a vibrant, extroverted girlie-girl. A cheerleader type. They’re wrong. Beneath the colors lives a shy, introverted, nervous woman who longs for stillness.
One day, I pray, I’ll make enough quietly, behind the curtain, to step away from all of this. Until then, I stay grateful. I accept the path the universe has placed me on. And I promise, here in this space, to give you my real voice—unmasked, unpolished, and brimming with the dark beauty that’s always been mine.
Angila Venus
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