a həsəl story [part 3]

The Critic

Growing up, I was always told to “suck it up,” “man up,” or “toughen up.” So naturally, I learned to hide everything—my vulnerabilities, my weaknesses, anything that made me feel soft. I didn’t realize it at the time, but all of it was stacking up somewhere in my mind, waiting for him.

He always knew the right moments to show up—especially when I was tired or vulnerable. If I’m being honest, he’s trying to convince me not to write this right now. Telling me Part III will make me look weak… soft… ashamed. But I’m not who I used to be.

So pardon my Tagalog—(p)uck it.

The last disaster with the manufacturer broke me. I had told people I was finally going to launch. I had poured so much time, energy, and care into the process—and now I had nothing to show. It didn’t feel like I had failed myself or my family…

It felt like I had failed the ones I hadn’t even met yet—the future supporters.

And my demons, especially him, were eating it up. Feeding me the same old lies—reminding me of things people had said in the past, making me feel like I’d never make it. I tried to believe that family came first, but the truth is, I was still stuck in old habits… worrying about outer circle opinions that shouldn’t have mattered. Wanting to believe that success only came if həsəl was “cool” enough and praised by the right crowd —hypebeasts.

I obsessed over perfection. If everything didn't look "cool", I was convinced I’d get torn apart, and fail before I even began. I was exhausted—mentally and physically. I needed something to keep me going through the highs and lows, so I turned to what’s always helped: anime, music, video games, and podcasts.

Eventually, I found the strength to get back on the grind. I spent weeks researching and calling manufacturers, ordering blank samples, reading reviews—doing everything I could to avoid another repeat. This time, I decided to use blanks to stay within budget after the previous loss.

I finally found a reputable manufacturer in LA. They had experience, quality materials, and had worked with brands I recognized. I met with their production manager and went over my plans. They were launching a new blanks program to help startups like mine, and I was excited to be one of the first to test it out.

I ordered the only available color they had at that time and waited. When it arrived, I was impressed—it was a heavy SUPIMA cotton with a soft hand-feel that held up well even after washing. For the first time in a while, it felt like things were finally moving forward. I emailed the production manager to ask when the new color options would drop. Silence. I followed up. Nothing. Eventually, I visited the office—only to find out she was no longer there. They apologized and said someone new would be assigned to my project.

Cue my critic—whispers of “here we go again. You aren't meant to do this. You think you’re creative? What makes you think you can make clothes? You have no style”

A week later, I was introduced to a new manager. We rebooted. I added two new colors to the order and got to testing. The blanks were solid—good color retention, great feel. I was ready to move forward. I designed a new neck label and care tag specifically for the new fabric, sent the files to an overseas supplier, and waited. Three weeks later, the labels arrived. I was hyped—called the production manager to get them sewn on. Silence again. No reply. No updates. She disappeared, too.

My critic? He was thriving. I started spiraling, falling deeper into mind-less...chatter.

Outside of həsəl, life wasn’t slowing down. I was still a father, a husband, a son, a brother, a friend. Everyone needed me—and I was running on fumes.

I turned to distractions: anime, games, music, podcasts—anything to keep my mind busy. Anime main characters made me feel I can get through this. Games let me escape reality. Music and podcasts gave me something to drown out the critic’s voice. And through it all, I kept praying—asking God, and my dad, for guidance. For a sign that things would get better. I’ve been seeing repeating numbers— especially 11:11, angel numbers. Maybe it was my dad or God trying to speak to me. I believed that. But still, I felt completely alone. I couldn’t silence the critic anymore. He was too loud.

My emotions became too much to hold in. I cried more than I ever had before. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop. I rubbed my eyes so often I developed keratoconus in my right eye. The nonstop gaming? That gave me thumb arthritis. Writing and drawing became painful.

I was falling apart. Anger started creeping in. I snapped at people I loved. I even started questioning God. How could a loving God let this happen? Eventually, I turned my back on Him. I lost faith.

Then one day, I broke.

"You know what? Save yourself the embarrassment. Just give up", said my critic.

And did just that. I grabbed trash bags and started stuffing everything related to həsəl into them.

My eldest walked into the room and asked what I was doing.

And without thinking about how it would make her feel, I told her, “I’m done with həsəl.” Then I walked out of the apartment and drove off.

Where was I mentally?

[Logic – “1-800-273-8255”]

(Pre-Chorus)

I’ve been on the low, I been taking my time

I feel like I’m out of my mind

It feel like my life ain’t mine (Who can relate? Woo)

I’ve been on the low, I been taking my time

I feel like I’m out of my mind

It feel like my life ain’t mine

(Chorus)

I don’t wanna be alive, I don't wanna be alive

I just wanna die today, I just wanna die

I don’t wanna be alive, I don't wanna be alive

I just wanna die today, I just wanna die

I wanted to escape it all. My critic—and his henchmen— celebrating because I’ve lost hope. And the exit out of this dark hole felt more out of reach, too deep to climb out.

To Be Continued…