LunarrBlogs

      Hey guys, it's Luna ✨✨. I apologize; I was writing tests when I didn't post. I have good news, though. I finally managed to get a phone after much begging and asking. So now i ll be able to post more guys. I have more good news . We are nearly at the 200-view mark. Guys plz follow to support  me as my birthaday🎂🎂. Follow to support!!😘❤️

 There was a new classmate named Nancy. She came in halfway through the year, soft-spoken but sharp, with eyes that noticed more than she said. For a while, it felt like maybe she understood the silence I was carrying. We didn’t talk much, but when we did, it felt like breathing. Like someone else knew how heavy things had gotten. I kept showing up. I worked hard—not because I was okay, but because I didn’t know what else to do. School became a kind of anchor, something I could control when everything else felt like it was slipping. I poured myself into assignments, into routines, into trying to stay afloat. And I made new friends. Or at least, I thought I did. We laughed, shared notes, sat together during breaks. It felt good, for a while. Like maybe I was rebuilding something. But when things got hard again—when the grief crept back in, when I needed someone to sit with me in the quiet—they didn’t stay. They didn’t ask. They didn’t see. So I stopped expecting anyone to. I stopped...

  We’ve quietly crossed 160 views. No fireworks, no filters—just a moment of real gratitude. Thank you to everyone who’s read, paused, or felt something here. LunaBlogs isn’t about chasing numbers, but every view reminds me that someone out there saw a piece of truth and stayed with it for a moment. That means more than I can say. Here’s to gentle growth, honest storytelling, and showing up even when it’s hard. —Luna

  LunaBlogs just reached 150 views, and I want to say thank you. This space was never about going viral—it’s about truth, survival, and connection. Knowing that 150 people showed up, even briefly, means more than I can explain. I appreciate every view. Every quiet reader. Every person who paused here. Thank you for being part of the Star community. -Luna

  I went into 2024 hoping for something better. I thought maybe this would be the year things felt lighter, that I’d feel more seen, more understood. Instead, it turned into the worst year of my life. People I was close to got sick. Some of them passed away. It was hard to process, and even harder to talk about. I didn’t know how to carry that kind of grief, especially while everything else kept moving like nothing had changed. Then my best friends left the school. No warning, no proper goodbye. Just gone. The people who made things feel okay weren’t there anymore, and suddenly everything felt different — colder, quieter, harder. I cried myself to sleep a lot. I stopped sharing because I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling. I waited for the year to end, hoping the next one would be softer. I didn’t grow or glow or heal. I just survived. And right now, that’s all I can say. I’m still here. That has to count for something.

  I didn’t bake. I didn’t write. I didn’t glow. I cried myself to sleep more times than I admitted. I watched the days blur past like pages I couldn’t read. I waited for 2024 like it was a rescue boat — hoping it would carry me somewhere gentler. There were no grand gestures. No healing rituals. Just me, lying in bed, wondering if being overlooked meant I was invisible. But here’s the quiet truth: Even when I felt like nothing was happening, something was . I was surviving. I was feeling. I was learning how to sit with the ache without rushing to fix it. And maybe that’s what Luna does too — not always glowing, but staying lit enough to say: “I’m still here.” So if 2023 felt like a cloud that forgot how to rain, maybe 2024 is the year I learn to dance in the dry spell. Not because the storm passed, but because I did.