I’m tired of existing, of staying awake, of watching everything else fall apart while work remains the one thing I can still do.
Author: Unfinished Rooms
I write from the middle of things, where memory lingers like dust in corners, and healing is still in progress.
Unfinished Rooms is the space I return to, the emotional architecture of my life, half-built and still echoing.
Here, I gather the fragments. The grief. The laughter. The silence.
Here, I write lived stories.
Always raw. Sometimes tender. Never complete.
And other times, when it’s too much to feel, I escape into stories I make up.
Stories that echo my truth, even when they aren’t real.
This blog is me, making a home inside the mess.
Rebuilding, one Unfinished Room at a time.
Him
I’ve realised,not through research,but through my own experience,that the mind, indeed,can be trained. I used to cry.To wonder.To begyouto talk to me. You always said the same thing.How busy you were.How you don’t like being on your phone.How you don’t even like calls. For months,I … Continue reading Him
Grief
I hate change. Always did. But unfortunately, change doesn’t ask for permission. So what do I do now? Where do I now belong?
“Charmaine”
Twenty-two years ago, I left without saying goodbye. I don’t remember her face anymore, only the possibility that her name was Charmaine and the circle we drew in the dirt to play diketo. This is the story of a childhood friendship that never got an ending, and the first room I unknowingly left unfinished.
Returning to the Blueprint
I thought growth meant leaving the house behind. Instead, it asked me to return to it. In 2026, I learned that some foundations cannot be rebuilt until you are willing to study the blueprint that created them.
Blueprints
I still build relationships using the same blueprint the house gave me: hold tightly, stay close, do not leave me.
Mother’s Lens
Like a child learning the world through the eyes of their carer, Mama taught me how to chase freedom, how to remain curious, adventurous, and soft in a world that tries so hard to harden you.
The House Was Never Finished
I grew up in a house that was never finished; rooms half-built, things installed before they could be fully used. It took me years to realise that the way we lived in that house mirrors the way my mind works. This is what ADHD feels like for me: not broken, not lazy, just built differently.
Halfway Home
There are three rooms in this building.Three small boxes stacked side by side, each one breathing in its own way. The room on the left is loud.Sometimes it’s laughter, sometimes it’s shouting — but it’s always full of sound. The woman there has a voice … Continue reading Halfway Home
The Hand That Found Mine
Sometimes I wonder when my mother started grabbing my hand every time we crossed the road. I don’t know if she always did it, or if it began after the accident. But when I think about it now, it feels like one of the earliest … Continue reading The Hand That Found Mine
