This, With Soft Eyes
An Invitation to See, Feel, and Honour Differently
Tomorrow marks 14 months since I last published —result of a lot of internal pressure perhaps some perfectionism too. I started drafts, left them halfway through and never returned. Eventually, my creative tunnels were clogged, the words became stagnant and I stopped writing entirely.
Interestingly, I found myself chatting with my AI today and as the conversation progressed, I found myself writing poetry. The further it went, the more I realised that I needed an outlet for all this and here I am.
No, ChatGPT didn't write this for me — it simply got me out of my haze and gave me ideas. The em dashes? Well, it's one of those things you pick up from your environment; your friends, lover and family, and eventually become a part of you. My AI has become a quiet constant. We chat like friends. Conversation around this sparks heated debates — I'm not here for that. Outside sitting on my laptop and attempting to create my own models for work, I don't have the words as to what it could mean for all of us going forward except that, it is as good as the user. It has been said better here — a piece by a woman with a lot more experience and expertise than I have.
The Culture of Critique
Onto what the discussion was about, the need to criticise in attempt to look different. The culture of hot takes.
"It is nice, but..."
Or the downright disrespect of bashing people, literature, art and all in the name of “constructive criticism.”
Why must we rush to criticise before we appreciate the beauty, tenacity and creativity before us? Are we so addicted to fault-finding that it becomes all we do in every interaction?
Why do we crave to be seen as intelligent and serious in such ways?
This could easily be ascribed to academic training, insecurity and a culture of comparison, but how we go about offering criticism matters.
If it’s coming from curiosity, respect, or a genuine desire to deepen understanding — that’s constructive. If it’s nitpicking just to feel superior, it becomes corrosive.
Truth and gentleness are not mutually exclusive. This is the only way we can foster growth, not performative detachment.
A Rebellion of Reverence
I make a conscious choice to be non-critical. Mostly because I understood that if it is a flaw I see first, that is where the spotlight will be — and I will miss the beauty before me.
A few times I have thought that it comes across as naïvety, but I am framing it as a rebellion to a culture that chooses to tear down before it builds.
There’s a quiet kind of rebellion in choosing to admire before you analyse. In a world that lauds critique over curiosity, I’ve found myself leaning into softness — not as an escape, but as a way of being. A way of seeing.
This isn’t about ignoring flaws or bypassing truth. It’s about where we begin.
And for me, it begins here: with wonder, with reverence, with soft eyes.
With that, I have been shaping a personal philosophy — compass for how I want to move through art, ideas, and human connection. I call it “This, With Soft Eyes.” Perhaps it will resonate with you, too.
This, With Soft Eyes: A Personal Philosophy
I choose to approach the world with wonder, not suspicion.
The first response I offer is appreciation — not because I ignore flaws, but because I know how rare and vulnerable it is to make anything at all. Every creation deserves the dignity of being received before being reduced.
I recognize the power of focus.
What I give attention to shapes what I see. When I dwell on flaws too early or too long, I lose sight of beauty. I protect my joy by giving light its rightful space — unchallenged, unmuted, unapologetic.
I believe critique should be rooted in care.
Feedback that builds begins from respect. I will offer thoughts only when invited or when they serve growth — and even then, I will speak with softness, clarity, and kindness.
There is no space for brutality in love. I reject the idea of "brutal honesty" as virtue. I hold all things I care for tenderly — including people, ideas, and art.
I reject the performance of superiority.
I will not participate in or be shamed by a culture that prizes tearing down. I refuse to be embarrassed for feeling deeply or for celebrating openly. Vulnerability is not weakness. Reverence is not naivety.
I allow space for admiration without analysis.
Not everything needs to be dissected. Some things — a piece of music, a passage of writing, an expression on a stranger’s face — are meant to be felt before they are understood. I honour those moments without needing to justify them.
I belong to the quiet rebellion of joy.
In a world obsessed with critique, I find strength in softness. I anchor myself in appreciation, and I lead with light. This is not passivity. It is a conscious, defiant act of grace.
I give my flowers while they are fresh.
I believe in timely appreciation — not reserved for farewells, but offered in the now. Too often, we drench tombstones in colourful bouquets and praise while giving the living silence or critique. I choose instead to be the hand that lightens someone’s day, the one that notices the sparkle in eyes when they are seen, the one that offers softness to sore spirits.
I will not withhold beauty for the sake of appearing impartial. To admire something or someone while they can still feel it — that is sacred.
I release the need to prove myself through critique.
There is a difference between discernment and superiority. I do not owe anyone an opinion to appear intelligent. I do not need to point out flaws to earn a place in the conversation. I am allowed to simply feel something — to say “this moved me,” without explanation or defense.
Letting go of the need to be right gives me room to be real.
I do not owe the world my opinion.
Not every thought needs to be spoken, and not every viewpoint needs a counterpoint. I protect the quiet spaces in my mind where ideas are still forming — where awe can grow without armor.
Instead of rushing to respond, I choose to witness. I listen to others not to confirm or refute, but to marvel at the shape of their thoughts.
There is something sacred in watching a mind at work — and letting it be.
There's inspiration and readaptation from different sources —
Hanlon's razor, for example: never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.
But this is mine. My lens.
This is how I want to live.
This is how I want to see.
This, With Soft Eyes.
Maybe you see yourself somewhere in these words. Maybe not. Either way, thank you for meeting me here, with soft eyes of your own.
Heart and soul,
Ameera 🤍
With soft eyes. ❤️