Talia
Inspired by Ice Cube’s 1992 track “Check Yo Self,” the phrase “Check yourself before you wreck yourself” resurfaced in 2002 when Sacha Baron Cohen’s fictitious character Ali G made it part of pop culture canon. Long before my psychosis diagnosis in 2019, I often replayed that mantra as a mental reboot—reminding myself to stay humble, to balance confidence and arrogance, and to realign my mindset toward growth. That kind of self-awareness became the anchor that helped me rise strong despite living with a serious mental disorder like schizophrenia.
No one is born a Saint; that title is earned through actions—actual deeds that ripple outward for the greater good. I live by a personal code: live your best life, but don’t fu** with people’s money, health, love, or family. We all have skeletons rattling in the closet, but one phenomenon tends to reveal the difference between good intentions and ill ones: greed.
Back when I used to duel in unofficial Yu-Gi-Oh! matches, I remember the rush whenever I pulled the banned spell card Pot of Greed. That little green pot let you draw two extra cards—basically a lifeline when your hand was trash. But drawing more options also exposes you to chance. Most of the time, those two cards weren’t what I needed. And on the rare occasions they were, it only fed the itch. I wanted more—one more draw, one more card, one more shot. You could say it tiptoed into addiction territory.
A different kind of imprint came from The Dark Knight Rises. The moment Talia al Ghul climbs out of “The Pit” as a child hit me hard—not for the cinematics, but for the spark it lit inside me. Her escape symbolized raw determination, but it also revealed the shadow side of a fixed mindset. In mindset theory, Talia’s upbringing forged her belief that power defines success, that vulnerability is weakness, and that setbacks are labels rather than lessons. Instead of growing from adversity, she built an identity around domination.
That leads to an uncomfortable truth: Talia’s pursuit of power is a perfect example of misusing one of the most potent forces in the universe—human will. Willpower can move mountains, rewrite destinies, and crack open new realities, but when fused with greed, it mutates into something corrosive. Villainy isn’t always born from hatred; often, it’s born from wanting too much.
And that’s the thing about greed—it’s never satisfied. Whether in card games, career paths, relationships, or revenge plots, greed reshapes our choices. It chisels away at who we are until we become unrecognizable, even to ourselves. No matter how much someone has, there’s always the temptation to reach for something more—sometimes the very thing they lack, sometimes the thing that was never meant for them in the first place.
Human beings possess a remarkable ability to transform emotional energy, especially the kind rooted in past wounds or difficult memories. When someone takes an experience that once caused pain and chooses to reinterpret it, that memory can become a powerful source of motivation. It can shift from something heavy to something propulsive. Many people have felt this transformation in moments when they needed strength beyond what seemed possible—during late-night work sessions, moments of crisis, or situations where survival demanded more than logic could explain. In those situations, the memory of hardship becomes a catalyst, sparking a burst of strength that feels almost superhuman.
Yet this kind of transformation comes with complicated consequences. While it is undeniably empowering to redirect negative experiences into forward momentum, not all forms of emotional fuel are equally sustainable. Rage can make a person move quickly, but it burns through the system. Spite can push someone past their limits, but it leaves emotional residue long after the moment has passed. Drawing energy from darker emotions may feel effective, even intoxicating, but it is inherently tied to a fixed mindset—one built on the belief that the world operates as a series of threats and that power must be seized rather than cultivated.
Operating from this mindset does not strengthen a person; it hardens them. It creates an illusion of invincibility while simultaneously reducing flexibility, openness, and the ability to grow. When someone navigates life through fear, anger, or revenge, they begin to misinterpret opportunities as dangers. They turn down potential allies because vulnerability feels unsafe. Relationships become transactional rather than meaningful, and the desire to protect old wounds often prevents new experiences from taking root. In clinging to their past for strength, they inadvertently close the door on future possibilities.
This is why the story of Talia al Ghul continues to resonate with me. Her character, brought to life by an actress whose strength and elegance left a lasting impression, represents the duality of determination. On one hand, she demonstrates incredible resilience by climbing out of “The Pit” as a child, surviving circumstances that would have broken many others. On the other hand, she never fully emerged from the psychological darkness that shaped her. Her pursuit of power is fueled by pain that was never healed, which ultimately transforms her into a vessel for vengeance rather than growth.
What struck me most about Talia was not her villainy but the unrealized potential beneath it. Her name itself, which carries a sense of grace and beauty, stands in stark contrast to the path she ultimately chooses. She became a muse for me not because she was flawless, but because her story illuminated how easily determination can be twisted when it is driven by unresolved suffering. She showed me the delicate balance between rising above adversity and becoming defined by it.
In my own journey, I have tried to reinterpret her narrative—to imagine how her strength might have flourished if guided by a growth mindset rather than a fixed one. My hope is that by sharing this reflection, you too might find inspiration to redirect your own energy toward growth, resilience, and purpose. True power does not come from shutting out the world or clinging to pain; it comes from transforming that pain into something that opens doors rather than closes them. Because it isn’t about being unyielding. It’s about choosing, again and again, not to let the darkness decide who you become.
