Dear God,
I opened my phone at 3:32 a.m. It’s about to be 3:33 a.m.
The meaning of 333 is said to be a strong sign to embrace opportunities, communicate clearly, and trust your intuition—a signal that thoughts and efforts are manifesting into reality.
My intuition says: go to Vegas. You only live once.
I paid $500 for a hypnosis session about making money that I never used, and I don’t want that money to go to waste.
Lately, I’ve been waking up around 3 or 4 a.m. no matter what time I go to bed—midnight, 2 a.m., it doesn’t matter. Today is no different. Like clockwork.
I’m not tired. I think I slept about six hours, which I’ll be fine with. I hear about people who sleep ten hours, and I wish I were one of them—but that would mean going to bed by 8 p.m.
Sleep is so important. My mom always emphasized that. She also taught me the importance of eating right and taking vitamins. She even makes this special drink with lemon, cucumber, and something else—maybe watercress.
I’ve noticed a lot of cabbage in the house lately since my dad got his tumor. A man who never drank or smoked… has a tumor. God, my dad even pushed his test date back—the one that will determine whether it’s cancerous.
My dad is not the type to handle pain well. He’s one of those men who becomes fragile when he’s sick. He rarely gets sick, but when he does, I find out almost immediately—mom tells me, he tells me, and he acts pitiful. I used to laugh at how he “milked” minor illnesses, but this is different. When it’s real, I don’t know how he’ll react.
What I do know is this: my dad is the kind of man who prays for me. He would ask You to take all my pain and place it onto him if necessary. He would sacrifice himself for me. I know he would. He loves me that much.
But Jesus already died on the cross for us. And I believe You will heal my father. I have faith that there is a reason for this tumor—it hasn’t slowed him down one bit—but my father needs Your help. He needs to make money too. I pray for this in Jesus name.
My mom needs Your help too. She pulled a muscle in her arm and fell, hurting her knee and head. I’m grateful they’re going through things together, but that’s not what I want for them. I want them happy. I want them beside me when I reach the level of success I desire.
I saw a Thai pop star on Vogue’s YouTube channel saying that her mom goes everywhere with her—even to set. I want that too. I want my parents with me on set(sometimes). I imagine my dad by my side while my mom enjoys a fabulous lunch with her friends—on my bill.
I want us to live together in a huge house. In my mind, it’s on a large compound in the south. It has a stable for my three horses—on the same property. I might even get a goat, a pig, and a miniature donkey. I don’t know why I’ve always wanted this; I never had farm animals growing up.
I’ve already named my horses. Their names are Thunder, Honey, and Bolt.
Honey will be brown. Bolt will be white. Thunder will be my black beauty.
I want the blessing of riding my horses every morning and spending time on my mini farm. Maybe I won’t get a goat or pig—predators scare me—but fresh goat milk would be nice. The pig would just be a pet.
I know my dad would love helping take care of the animals. And if not, I already have people in mind who I’d love to live with me—people who’ve worked hard and deserve a good life. Maybe my neighbor, or even the man who serves me my McGriddle and coffee every morning. He’s so kind. I’d happily let them live with me for free in exchange for caring for the animals.
I especially want a chef of Asian descent—someone older, around my parents’ age. I love watching them work with knives and herbs. I’d love to be cared for through food and healing teas. I want older people around me so my parents never feel “too old” to live fully.
Sometimes I wonder how it will all work out.
When will I get my first major film role?
Who will represent me?
Where is my life truly headed?
Right now, life feels good. I probably have another hour or so before Starbucks opens. I want to study as much as I can.
Shervy can sleep for hours. He has multiple alarms because he sleeps so deeply. I can tell he’s happy I’m here. There’s an ease between us, especially since I don’t smoke weed around him. He hates weed. He used to be a heavy cigarette smoker, but now he never smokes—no smell, no ashtrays. He quit, hoping I would too.
I think I’ll rest a bit more. I wish I had a latte right now, but I’ll wait. I kind of want to go to the beach today—it’s Shervy’s day off—but I think it’s best to focus on studying. Tomorrow I have a photo shoot and studio time. That will be my creative day.
I feel content. I just need to study my workbook, unpack my suitcase, have Shervy try to fix it, repack it, organize my wardrobe, plan my poses, and—
………Maybe an hour or two passed………
I called Irock. I used a communication lesson I learned on YouTube—asking three questions about what someone says before asking my own. It worked.
Irock talks about himself a lot.
“I sold 20 million albums.”
“I’m working on this show.”
“I know this famous person.”
It’s exhausting. A lot of people in the industry love talking about themselves—but not Jay Roewe. Of everyone I’ve met, he feels the most powerful… aside from Lionel Richie.
I keep meeting influential people, but I wonder who will actually help me. Of course, You already know my story.
Irock went on another rant about people he knows. I honestly don’t care. What matters is what someone can do with me—not who they’ve brushed shoulders with. I didn’t say that, but I did ask my three questions, and it worked.
After the call, he texted someone who’s won multiple Grammys about working with me. I might meet him today or tomorrow. I’m supposed to text the producer he referred me to, around 11 a.m. I feel ready.
When I smoke, I feel insecure and less confident—less myself. Knowing that, I don’t understand why I still do it. I guess it’s an escape. I wish I could live in my own bliss without reaching for something external. That’s something I need help with.
I’m getting tired again. I need more rest. I feel blessed to already be in bed with my coffee. Mornings are the best when I don’t have work.
Irock mentioned that he’s “talking to me for free.” I asked him not to say that—it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like him, God. Something feels off. He says he was a bad guy in the past, and I still feel that energy. I hope I’m wrong.
I also feel unsure about sharing my music before it’s copyrighted. Is it safe? Should I wait? Please guide me.
Thank You for everything You’re doing in my life—seen and unseen. Please help me pass flight training. Help me not forget anything. Most of all, give me the tools to live a life that pleases You. Remove anything that is not of You. Help me be still enough to hear You.
Please let me know if I should do my vlog—it’s expensive, and I want to make the right choice.
Amen.
One more thing: when I called Irock, the time was 5:55 a.m.
555 is said to represent alignment with true desires and trust through transition.
Trust…? Trust Irock?!…maybe You meant to just trust You…which I do!
What do You think, God? Is Irock going to be the first major help in my life for my music career?
I’ll wait patiently for Your answer.
Loading comments...