Cosplaying Showing Up (Until It’s Real)

I’m learning the quiet, brutal art of becoming

Fellow Becomers,

I am becoming.

I say it like it’s breaking news, even though I know that’s the point of this letter:
To document the slow, aching miracle of becoming. Of unbecoming.
Of trying again, breath by breath.

But this week, it feels truer than usual.
My body pulses with possibility.
My bones, brittle with fear not long ago, are beginning to believe again.
And still, my mind whispers caution like it always does—
What if this is just a high? What if the fall is coming?

But I’m not listening. Not today.

Because this time, I feel it in my fingertips.
Something is shifting.
I'm learning the quiet, brutal art of showing up—
Not with fireworks, but with presence. With choice.

And no, I won’t pretend it’s easy. That would be a lie dressed in pretty quotes.
We’ve all seen the carousels, the TED Talks, the motivational reels.
Just Start. Show up.
We know the theory. You’ve heard it a thousand times.

So what makes this different?

Maybe it’s that I’m not writing from point 100, speaking from some polished place of arrival.
I don’t have a head start handed down by legacy or luck.
I’m just a boy at the starting line.
Some of you are already ahead.
But I hope that’s what makes this moment honest—
Like a hand stretched sideways, not down.

---

I’ve realized something:
I’m beginning to love myself more than my circumstances.
More than the missed emails.
More than the rigged systems.
More than the unanswered prayers.

I’m no longer nursing my disappointments like wounds that need constant tending.
I’m learning to look ahead—not blindly, but boldly.
And maybe that’s what becoming really is:
Not erasing the past, but not letting it win.

So I choose.
Not the me who is tired.
Not the me who is unsure.

I choose the version of me who dares—
The one who texts back.
Who writes.
Who rests.
Who applies.
Who shows up.

Because when people say “Choose yourself,” they rarely say which version.
But the truth is, there are a thousand yous to choose from.
So choose the one you’re becoming.
Choose the one you want to grow into.
Choose the friend you want to be. The lover. The artist. The student. The child.
The one who remembers how to hold joy in both hands and not spill.

Be the friend who calls back.
The artist who starts the draft.
The human who keeps returning—
even clumsily—
to themselves.

A friend gave me a metaphor I’ve been holding onto:

“Your mind only knows what it knows.”

And I’d like to add:

Your body remembers what you survive.
What you create.
What you keep doing.

---

Sometimes I think about representation—how vital it is to see ourselves.
Black girls with wild dreams.
Boys who cry and stay soft.
People with mental health struggles who still manage to be brilliant.
Friends who are messy but kind.
Students who fail and still return.
Lovers who aren’t healed but still love.

I think about how my own friends are my clearest mirrors:
Some in offices.
Some at home.
Some in school.
Some in bed, crying.

But all becoming.
All moving.

They remind me that progress isn’t always loud.
That sometimes, the showing up is the win.

I used to look at people who had “made it” and feel paralyzed.
All I could see was the mountain of work ahead.
It didn’t feel like possibility... it felt like punishment.

But now, when I see my people—not “there” yet, but here—
choosing to rise, to rest, to risk—
I feel brave enough to try too.

I want to be that friend to someone. To you.
The one who says, Me too.
The one who gives hope, and makes you want to become too.

---

And in all this, I’m learning something else:
Not everything that counts can be counted.
Not every showing up has a metric.
Sometimes, it’s not a promotion or a post.

Sometimes, it’s a decision.
To believe.
To stay.
To try again.

There are days that look like failure on the outside but are triumphs in the soul.
There are nights with no to-do lists checked, only softness gained.
There are forms of showing up that don’t fit into checklists.

No bullet points.
No LinkedIn updates.
But they change you still.
They shift your belief.
They soften your heart.
They make you see the world differently.

That’s growth too.
That’s becoming too.
And that counts. That always counts.

This clarity. This steadiness. This peace—
It was once a prayer.

And now, I’m living it.

So tell me, friend:
What are you becoming?
What version of you is asking to be chosen next?

And maybe this is your reminder too:
That it’s okay to begin again.
That you’re allowed to be both tired and trying.
That your becoming won’t look like anyone else’s—
But it’s still holy.
Still yours.

Until next time,
Manni Tee

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P.S.
As always, some softness from my side. These recommendations may or may not have anything to do with the letter, but I think they hold something worth feeling.

Music: Asiko by Sewa
Read: Swallow 1 (Efunsetan Aniwura) by Ayodele Olofintuade — I enjoyed it and I’m currently reading Part 2
Series: Our Unwritten Seoul — my friend recommended it and I really liked it

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P.P.S.
Not all showing up looks poetic. Sometimes, it looks like this:
Cooking yourself a full meal from scraps.
Kneading leftover pancake flour with faith.
Eating beans that betray your stomach.
Choosing to stay alive, nourished, and soft anyway.

I made this. I laughed through it. I survived it. And in moments like this, I remember:
Survival is also art.