Adulting

 It is one thing to be known and another to be seen . When someone—especially someone new—cuts through your carefully constructed image and holds up a mirror, it feels like a wound opening. The things you’ve hidden, even from yourself, stare back: the insecurities, the fears, the quiet self-betrayals, the loud self-loathing. It is gutting, how effortlessly they pull the truth from you, how their words land in places you didn’t think were exposed. And yet, beneath the sting, there is an odd kind of relief. To be seen so clearly, without pretense or explanation, is terrifying—but isn’t it also a strange comfort? That someone else, even in their uninvited clarity, proves that you were never as invisible as you feared? Did you want to remain invisible, hide behind the facade? Is this feeling uncomfortable, unnerving or calming? Its a bit of all, and you want to feel numb again. But after the heartbreak, after the initial wave of shame or anger, there is something left behind—a fli...

Love isn’t just one thing—it shifts, stretches, fades, and sometimes sneaks back in when you least expect it. At first, it feels unstoppable, like it’ll always be exciting, always be enough. But time has a way of testing that. The little things pile up, the spark dims, and one day, you realize love isn’t just about feeling—it’s about choosing. Choosing to stay, to try, to see the person beyond the version you first fell for. Sometimes, love doesn’t end with a crash but with quiet distance, with silences where laughter used to be. But falling out of love doesn’t always mean it’s over. Some love softens into something quieter but still real. Other times, it’s waiting for a reason to reignite—or a reason to let go. And that’s the hardest part: knowing when to hold on and when to walk away. Do you fight for it, even when it feels one-sided? Or is love also about knowing when to stop holding on? And when you can’t decide, you look for help—to guide you, to take you back. You call out to you...

Should we have choices at all? Choices make life difficult. The moment we choose, we create a parallel life—one that haunts us, whispering what-ifs in the quiet moments. It’s almost as if the things we don’t get become the most important, while everything we do have slowly fades, losing meaning over time. The romanticizing of another partner, the over-glorification of another career, the longing, the deprivation—yes, deprivation. "If I had her, I would be happy." "He would make me feel like a million bucks every day." "If I were an artist, I would finally be free." "My career would've been better if I were in the US." "If I had a child, I would find meaning" These thoughts creep in, re-shaping reality, making the present seem dull, lesser. Maybe it isn’t about the choice itself. Maybe it’s about the hunger. The chase. The quiet desperation for something just out of reach. Is it a need to be challenged, to struggle, to prove somethin...

  I now know why people recommend waking up early; it gives them ample time to have a mini existential crisis before getting on with their day. This morning, I sat by the window, the sky blushing faintly with dawn, and questioned, for the third time this week, why I even bother. It was therapy day, after all. I shuffled into the bathroom, the tiles cold beneath my feet. A quick shower and my essential skincare routine—because if nothing else, at least I could convince myself I was taking care of something. Dressed in my favourite pajama set, I stared at my reflection. My smile didn’t quite reach my eyes, but it was close enough. Breakfast was nothing fancy—a hot cup of chai and yesterday’s leftovers. It doesn’t sound glamorous, but trust me, it isn’t as bad as it seems. Besides, chai makes everything seem better, even mornings like this. The world is full of strange people if you ask me, but I might be the strangest. I am this independent woman who doesn’t need other people for ful...

 There is a story dying to be known.I can feel her everyday, I feel her when I am about to fall into the silence of sleep at night and in the mornings when my subconscious is up before I am . I feel her sometimes when i do my chores, working in the kitchen or folding laundry. I know she is  there, like a spirit looming, i know she is trying to be known. She trying to create an identity, i can feel it. I sometimes can read her in my dreams.  I still struggle and wiggle to find her, look for her from the corner of my eyes, as she prances around in my house, I will catch her one day, hold her hand as she gleefully looks at me and I will know all about her, like I know she knows all of me.  Until then, I know I should take guidance from many before me who have managed to find their stories.I should read more cause reading is probably the only way this story will get wings. She is pleading, almost begging me to read more so she has a chance to live, so she can change...

It is your 36th birthday. 36, not a number of any consequence. It does not make one question ones life choices as much as one does on their 30th nor does it make one feel as old as one does on the 35th. It is one of those birthdays, that come and go, one of the birthdays which will probably not be remembered. It is a day in ones life, another day of existence and, well, household chores, if you are a woman.  If 35 was the year of urgency, 36 is the year of calm I think. Most Indian parents and peers have given up on you. No one is forcing you to get married or have kids anymore. No one, including probably you,  expects you to do anything drastically different in your career or with your life.  If you haven't achieved it by now or started on a different path already, no one expects you to take it now or even believes that you will.  You do mourn, like on each birthday, you mourn over what this year could've been, what life could've been. But the mourning itself is per...