“Perhaps that is why almost-love is so cruel—it teaches you the shape of heaven, only to leave you alive on earth.”

Icarus flew too close to the sun when his wings melted and he fell back into the earth, into the jaws of death, laughing as he fell from grace.

Maybe he laughed ’cause he soared before he fell into doom.
Maybe he laughed ’cause he was able to touch the sun before he fell into darkness.
Or maybe he was laughing in remorse, unable to have something he had just nearly grazed with his fingers.

He wanted the sun, maybe ’cause he loved Apollo, maybe ’cause he was drawn to the warmth, but one thing is certain - it was ‘want’ that drove him to make hasty wings out of wax, to sear the skies and reach out to grasp the one thing he wanted the most. But alas, fate is sometimes cruel. She tore down his wings, plunged him into the void. But death wasn’t the only cruel ultimatum, it was the closeness.

The sole thing he wanted, just right there, right at his fingertips, but before he could grasp at it, doom.

Sometimes, you want things. You would want a lot of things in life. Sometimes it’s love, money, a thing, a person, whatever it might be.
Soon, that want turns into need. It’s when living becomes entangled with that essence of the thing you solely seek.
It’s beautiful in a way, maybe, to yearn for something. Alas, all poets are yearners in a way.

Yearning is such a quiet thing at first.
A little ache.
A passing thought.
And then one day, you realise it has built a house inside your chest.

To not be able to have it is heartbreaking.
When you know you need it, you yearn for it, but it’s not in your reach, not destined for you in this lifetime.
It hurts. It hurts a lot, hurts so much that you feel your heart breaking, weeping.
But as time passes, you accept it.
You grow older and you realise, maybe that destiny wasn’t for me.
And so you live.
You had yearned, you couldn’t have it, you move on.

But the ones like Icarus?

The ones who get a taste of it? When you actually grasp it with your fingers, you hold the thing you yearned for the most.
You have it, you enjoy it, you feel that warmth, you feel like, yes, it could be permanent.
But it’s not.
Fate is cruel and destiny was written that way.

Just as Icarus merely grazed the sun before falling, you too merely graze the one for which you yearn before it is torn away from you.
By fate, or by destiny, or by time, or all three.

The heart doesn’t weep then, it shatters.
Having been torn from the one it yearned for ages.
When want turned to need, turned to yearning, is torn from the blood with which it was infused.
It feels like having to part with a bit of your soul.
To lose the thing you yearn for so much, only after tasting it for a while.
You grow old, you don’t accept, you just mourn.
You mourn all that it could’ve been.
You mourn for that yearning that never ceased even when the yearned is out of reach.
But how do you mourn something that was real enough to touch, but never meant to stay?

It’s beautiful in a way, maybe, to yearn for something yet not own it. Alas, all great poets are yearners in a way, yearners who lost what they yearned for.
To not be able to have it is a tragedy.

I think ‘almost’ is a crueler word than ‘never’.
’Never’ lets you wonder.
’Almost’ gives you memories.

When Icarus flew, he knew he was doomed. He knew he could never have what he yearned for.
Yet he flew, for a taste of it, a glimpse.
He knew he was doomed, but yet he flew.

Humans are such illogical creatures, and the heart is a wild one, caged to keep it from growing wilder.
We seek, we want, we need, we yearn.
And when we can’t have it, we break.
And when we can have it, even for just a while, we take it, even when doom is inevitable.
And you know what? I think it’s fine.

It’s fine to love, to yearn, to lose, to break, to die.
Ask me if I would die for something I yearn. I would.
What is the point of living when I can’t have what I want the most?
What is the point of existing when what I yearn won’t be there in my life?

So let me build my wings of wax.
Let me fly to the one I yearn for the most.
Let me have a final kiss before I fall into doom, laughing.
Let me have the chance to have a final taste, a taste of heaven I can boast about when I reach the depths of hell.

Or maybe I should just… exist.
Living is when you have it.
Existing is when everything is torn away from you and yet you persist.
Maybe you’re afraid of death, maybe you believe the world needs you, maybe you think someone needs you.
You exist, not for yourself, but for something or someone else.

Peter lost Gwen, yet he lived.
Stephen let go of Christine in every lifetime, yet he lived.
Peter let go of MJ, yet he lived.
Will decides to end his life, Louisa still lived.
Jack dies to save her, Rose lives in his place.
Sebastian loved Mia and she him, yet they part ways.
Will decided to walk away for her well-being, Stella still lived.

Fiction holds a multitude of souls who yearned for the other so much.
Souls that were completely engulfed with the other.
But then destiny tore them apart.
But did the souls diminish?
They might be incomplete, yet they weren’t extinguished.
They say they lived for the other, maybe they did.
They say it was for the best for the other, maybe it was.
They say they loved them, so they let them go.

‘As a final act of love, I let you go.’

Just how stupid is that?
Fight, fight for it.
Fight for the love you had, fight for the love you have, fight for the love you will grow.
Why would you let it go when you had it once?
Why would you love something only to have it fall from your hands?
WHY WOULD YOU LET THE WORLD TAKE WHAT WAS RIGHTFULLY YOURS TO CLAIM?
WHY WOULD YOU PART WITH A PIECE OF YOUR SOUL KNOWING IT WILL STING FOR A LIFETIME?
Why, just why?
I have wanted it, needed it, yearned for it, loved it.
Then why can’t I have it?
Why?

Why does fate have to drag us apart when destiny brought our paths together, even if it wasn’t meant to be one?
Why give me a glimpse of what it could be, when it never can be?
Why torture my soul by hanging it right in front of me and having my hands tied?

A love so pure, a yearning so intense, a need so pathetic, a want so deep.
Why strip it away when it was attached already?
Why peel my skin open to expose my poor heart?
Why make me see what I can never have?
Why?

‘You were a beautiful chapter…..
but you were my everything.’

I cannot fathom how people carry that hole in their hearts and still live.
If I had to live like that, worms would crawl inside the hole in my heart and eat me alive from the inside.
I would be dead already when they bury me as dead.

The worms that ate my broken heart, the worms that will feed on my body, all they would taste is you, the one I yearned for so much, the one I loved.
Your essence is infused in me, body and soul.

I will stand between the heavens and earth and hell and bend time to have you with me forever.
And if destiny still tears us apart, just know,
I would either build wings of wax to fly to you like a moth drunk in light and burn in your shine,
else, I would live as a shell of myself, empty from the inside, with your essence engraved in my bones for eternity until they perish.

I would love you with all of me.
I would yearn for you with everything I have.
I would die to have you as mine.
Or I’ll die to lose you to destiny.

If loving you was a mistake, then let me be foolish.
I would rather be ruined by something I loved, than untouched by anything at all.

Either way, I’m a prisoner of your love.
My beloved,
My yearning,
My destiny.

Author’s note:

May you find a love that you can keep, may fate be kind to you to keep your destiny aligned.

Peace out folks.

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“Why do nice people choose the wrong people to date?”
”We accept the love we think we deserve.”
”Can we make them know that they deserve more?”
”We can try.”

- Perks of being a wallflower

“What do you think you deserve, my child?”

She pulls her distracted eyes away from the flower shop to look at me with the same round eyes, filled with confusion, blinking.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What do you think you deserve?” I repeat, my voice slower and lower this time.

She cocks her head to the side slightly, like a puppy being given an instruction it’s not been taught yet.

“Hmm”, she muses out loud. “A shitload of money”, she quips, a playful grin spreading across her face.

“Then?”

“Then, hmm, a big house, a garage of supercars and, oh, bikes too, ’cuz my mum doesn’t like them, hehe. Ouu, a lot of dogs, maybe a cat. A walk-in closet the size of my bedroom—no, double its size. Louboutins, all the posh brands all lined up, a huge library filled with endless books. Um, a garden, of course, and um…”

I cut her off with a wave and pointed at a couple behind her. She looks back and then back at me with a small smile.

“Aren’t they cute?”

“You think you deserve that?”

“Deserve a partner?”

“Deserve love.”

She was silent for a moment. There was no confusion in her eyes this time.

“Do you think I do?”

“I’m asking you, darling.”

“Well…“, she drags along. “It’s pretty hard to find love, though, isn’t it?”

“How hard can it be?”

“How hard?“, She laughs, “as if someone is going to fall from the sky and say, I love you to me.”

“What’s so funny about that?”

“I mean, it’s just… not possible. You can’t just find love when you want to. If you’re lucky, you will, else you just…”, She shrugs, “Exist.”

“And?”

“And?”

“If you don’t love, what’s the point of living?”

“Love is not all that is about living. There’s so much more to life.”

“Like what?”

“Like, um, money and career. You build yourself so that you can live comfortably.”

“And die comfortably as well?”

“Well, death is uncertain. You never know whether it will bring comfort.”

“But it will sure bring an end. You will live and die and be gone from this world. Is that what you want, to just exist and leave this world without a trace?”

“Of course not. I mean, see, if you have enough power, you gain popularity, respect, people will obviously remember you then.”

“But can it buy you grief?”

“Huh?”

“Can your power, fame and money buy you the tears of someone who actually grieves you?”

“Well,” she shifts in her chair, “the people who look up to me will certainly cry, won’t they?”

“Will they?”

A pause.

Coffee is served. There’s a slight mumble of the other customers going around, along with the faint smell of fresh bread and coffee beans.

She picks up the cup and takes a sip, only to hiss and stick out her tongue and place it down again.

“What are you implying?”, she asks finally.

“I’m just asking who would be there to grieve you at your death if you don’t love someone when you live.”

“I will still be remembered…”

“Yes, as an icon, an idea, but as a person?”

“What is the point? They will also die someday and take that part of me that loved them along with them when they go. And why, why do you have to love someone, only to grieve for them?”

“You should be glad you could grieve.”

“Why would you be even glad to feel… sad?”

“Because you had something so precious that you grieve at its loss.”

A pause again.

“I’m kinda glad I’m feeling this much” — when I left home to a different city for the first time.

“I’m glad I had witnessed and had something precious that I’m grieving our parting.” — me to a friend when we decided to leave and part ways.

“But that’s so much pain…”

“And beneath that pain are all those layers that had once loved.”

Her eyes were fixed on the cup. She kept wetting her lips. I knew she wanted to cry.

“But…”

A pause.

But who will even love me?

Who will even love you?
Asks the girl who would stay until late night to make birthday presents.
Asks the girl who would listen to all her friends rant.
Asks the girl who dresses in pretty dresses, a spring in her step when she feels pretty.
Asks the girl who would help random people on the street.
Asks the girl who would be polite to people.
Asks the girl who would cry at random things.
Asks the girl who treasures even a bit of paper given to her with love.
Asks the girl who sees beauty in the babies, the laughing group of kids, a gang of girls, a couple in love, an elderly couple walking hand in hand.
Asks the girl whose eyes and heart are full of love that she would give without even realising.

“Why do you think like that?”

“I mean, “she points to herself with both hands. “Look at me. Who would want to love such a… mess?”

“Who says you’re a mess?”

“I do.”, she pauses, “I am. I wouldn’t want to love someone like me, someone so hard to understand, so unpredictable, so unexpressive.”

A pause.

I take a sip of my cup.

“So you think you deserve all the money and power in this world but not love?”

“Love is hard to find,” she sniffles.

“Love is never found, my dear. Love is grown. You don’t fall in love, you walk into love. You walk in knowing the parts with thorns and knowing the parts with flowers. You choose to love, despite everything.”

“And why would someone do something so illogical?”

I smiled.

“Love is never logical. Human emotions are never meant to be logical. When you love, it consumes you. Logic is out of the window then.”

“Then I don’t want it. I don’t want to be illogical.”

“My mum has a bag full of letters,” I tell her. “I asked her once what they were. She said, ‘It’s all the letters your father sent to me from our engagement until marriage.”

She looks at me for a moment, quiet.

“Years of someone’s life, kept in a bag. You think there’s anything logical about that?”

“Hmm, not really”

“It’s nature. Nature works on a whim. Love doesn’t make you dumb or illogical. It just makes you more humane.”

“How so?”

“Let’s say you have a garden. On the far end there’s a beautiful rose bush, so full of flowers. You put your hand in to pick one, only to be pricked by multiple thorns. But would that stop you from picking just one rose?”

“No…”

“And so, if you find something so beautiful in someone that you can’t resist but crave for a taste of it, then would a few thorns really matter?”

She thought.

“No…”

“Then why would you think you don’t deserve love when you have such a beautiful soul? A painted glass is still beautiful when cracked.”

“But it would bleed. The thorns, the cracks, it could make you bleed.”

“What are a few drops of blood compared to the beauty that lies beneath the cracks?”

“But why even hurt yourself if you can keep yourself away from it?”

“Alas, the heart is a vile creature. It wants what it wants. If you love, you will bleed. You shall bleed, but you would have your medicine with you—love. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“It’s frightening.”

“Love is indeed frightening.
You love, you cherish, you adore, you cry, you break, you grieve.
Humans are meant to feel. That is what makes life a bit more colourful, a bit more livable.”

A pause. She takes a sip of her cup, gone cold by now.

“You still think you don’t deserve love?”

She looks down at her cup.

“I’m not sure if I deserve something as pure as love.”

“Then tell me, my child, what do you think you deserve?”

She looks at me dead in the eyes.

“Kindness.”

She looks down at her cup.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I remember it.”

“Remember what?”

“Small things. The things people probably forgot five minutes after doing them. I don’t.”

“You look so beautiful and I hope you have a lovely day.” — a random girl on the train.

“If you ever feel like you can’t sleep, wake me up. I’m always there for you.” — a friend.

“Why kindness?”

“Kindness is an act of love too.
You never know what the other person had gone through. What does it cost to be a bit kind to them?
Love is there, yes, but this world is a hard place to live in. If love doesn’t find you at the right time, I hope kindness finds you first.
A warm touch is enough to keep someone going until they find a warm embrace to rest in.”

I nod slowly, slightly surprised at the maturity in her answer.

“So if you can be so kind to everyone, is that why you think you deserve kindness in return?”

“I’m not sure if I deserve something as pure as love. But I’m not a bad person either, so wouldn’t it be fair to just ask for a slight warmth than be kept devoid of it?”

“Well, at least you feel you deserve something. That’s a start.”

She nods.

“There’s still a long way to go. I can’t tell you that you deserve love. Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. I know you as a person, but I don’t know your soul. You’re the only one who knows who you are, and you are the only one who can know whether you deserve the love you give so effortlessly to the world.
Everyone deserves kindness, though. Love too, but kindness… who knows whom a small, unthinking act of kindness can save?”

I cried, and waved that girl goodbye when she left. I felt better the entire week after.

I cried a bit, and woke her up when I felt the bad thoughts keeping my sleep at bay, and she got me to sleep in peace.

“Kindness does indeed save someone.”

“And so does love.”

She nods.

“So does love, maybe”, she repeats.

There’s a couple at the back, holding hands and laughing over something.
There’s a group of kids playing in the alley, their laughter echoing.
There’s a family of three walking hand in hand, the little girl springing along with her parents.
There’s a girl laughing through tears as two friends around her joke about something to make her laugh.
There’s a woman who buys herself a bouquet of sunflowers and takes one to give it to the flower girl before waving a thank you and bye.
There’s a lady helping an old man cross the street, smiling as he utters a string of thank-yous.
There’s the café owner laughing at something a customer points out.

There’s beauty in this world, and so is kindness and love.

She had spent the entire conversation wondering whether love would ever find her. But perhaps that was never the right question.

She already knows how to give it.
She already knows how to recognise it.
She already knows how to be kind.
Maybe, one day, she will learn to let someone be those things for her too.

But remember:
You have a beautiful soul, and you deserve all the love and kindness this world can offer, no matter the thorns, no matter the cracks, no matter the scars.

She looks outside the café and smiles. A beautiful smile.
I smile to myself, the same smile but with a bit more lines.
I get up to leave, leaving her to watch and bask in the beauty for a while.

She will learn. She will learn to know that she deserves.
And if she doesn’t, perhaps someone will try to make her know.
We can, but only try.

Author’s note:

This was a very random and impromptu writing dump. Honestly I’ve read it so many time that I keep feeling its just getting worse so I just decided to put it out and regret later. No more comments on this lol, a rant of my own growth in a way I suppose.

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Apologies for butting in at the very start. I was just cleaning up my profile and found this gem from a few months back. I guess I’ve made stuff clear in the actual A/N but well, had to pop in to say hi hello and mention that its an ancient post. Anyhoo, thanksz for reading, love ya’ll. (Just can’t digest how romantic of a friend I am lol)

My dearest,

It’s not that I don’t notice, baby.
I do.

I notice the way you press your lips shut when thinking too hard. I notice how heavy your eyelids are. I notice how your eyes look too tired when stressed. You say your face can’t hide anything — true that, I can see when you’re suffering.

I notice how you keep stretching your back and shoulders. I notice how you fall asleep, or more like pass out, these days. You’re so tired, physically and mentally. But you will say, “Nah, I got energy.”

I notice how you keep rubbing your eyes. I notice how you sigh a lot. I notice the slight desperate (I dunno what else to call it, it’s smtg diff hmm) tint when you talk to the seniors.

I see you working your ass off.

You’re so hardworking, so sincere. I told you na, if we hadn’t become besties, I would’ve surely looked up to you as an inspiring figure. Someone who always gets things done — no excuses, no delays. Someone who plans so much and is super organised. Someone who has their shit together. Someone who’s super strong and determined.

Kanna, do you even see yourself? You’re just perfect.

No one would put their heart and soul into working, especially the job you’re doing.

But look at you, baby.

You got meetings lined up, you got people getting along with you so well, you got people offering you jobs, you got people marvelling at what you’re doing, ’cause duh, you’re amazing.

What you’re doing is no small thing. Going around, doing all that work — simply and truly amazing.

Those people see it, I see it, but our shit company doesn’t seem to care.

True that, now we know why people leave. Nobody would want to work in a place where they aren’t valued the slightest. I mean, maybe that’s how corporate operates, how would we know that much, just 2 months in hmm.

Still, we are emotional fools, aren’t we? It’s hard to be in this place.

I got settled somehow now, though it was so hard at the start and I used to cry alone a lot.

Now seeing you suffering… I can’t bear it, baby.

It’s not that I’m used to seeing you always smiling and always strong. Maybe it is somewhat. That’s why I ask you what happened every time you have your default face on, and you tell me I just smile at you so you got used to it. Truly frustrated btw hehe.

I love your smile. You’re so cute. My cutie patootie. cuteness aggression intensifies.

Past couple of weeks, I’ve seen you stress and work a bit extra, tryna basically save your ass from being kicked out, or mostly doing it ’cause you do work sincerely.

I didn’t like seeing you being bitched at. If I could, I would stab him a million times.

Oh lol, you have no idea how many times I’ve visualised his death. Both of them.

Now, being with you has unfortunately made me a good person. Now I’m not able to swear non-stop at shitty ppl nor bitch so much.

It’s a good trait, being understanding and not tryna back bitch, but wellllllllll...

I can’t stop imagining though. Every time you feel sad and it’s because of them, kachak goes the blade into their chest and poof goes one part of respect I have for them.

I’m not a non-violent person. If not for the law, my hands would be drenched in blood (or maybe not, ig I’m too humane to take a person’s life, but that doesn’t stop me from having 101 ways to kill them in my head).

Darling, for you, I would burn down the world. Eh, what is murder compared to that? Nothing.

BUT due to unfortunate circumstances, I can only curse at them inside, so. I wish I was a witch, sigh.

Anyways, back to topic.

Last couple of weeks were hard.

And you were always so tired and in so much pain.

It hurt to see you in pain yaar.

I wish I had a vacuum that could suck all that pain out, sigh.

At least then, even if there was stress, it was less comparatively ig.

But now…

I will tease anol, saying I’m honoured to witness your golden tears.

What tears? I hate seeing you cry.

Like yes, I’m so glad you opened up and vented, you should. If you didn’t say anything, it would’ve hurt more to see you suffer in silence, but yeah.

But yaar, it’s heartbreaking to see you cry.

To see tears run down your face, replacing that golden smile of yours, to see the twinkle in your eyes lost to stress.

Baby, it physically hurts to see you cry and suffer.

I was trying so hard to control my own tears. I’m a crybaby for real, but I wanted to be strong a little bit for you.

I don’t have the right words to say, I’m sorry. Hell, I hate it, feeling helpless when someone you care about so deeply is suffering and there’s nothing you can do about it.

So I just hold your hand, hug you tight, and hold your face and smile. That’s all I can do to show you that I truly care.

Now this also I can’t do through the screen. All I can do is sit and listen, listen to you crying at the other end, kilometers away, whilst listening to my heart shatter with every teardrop of yours.

There’s nothing I can do.

I just want the world to stop, I want you to come back home, and I want to hold you forever and ever until all the bad things inside your head and body vanish.

So that the sunshine that warms me always comes back, so that the twinkle in your eyes comes back, so that the big cute smile comes back, so that your best happy version comes back.

“I’m feeling so sad.”
“I’m not happy.”
“Mental peace is not there.”

Shit yaar, if only I could share a part of what you are going through. I would be more than happy to share your burden, if it will lessen the pain you shoulder so well.

Thank you for being true to me. Thank you for crying and venting.
(so honoured to witness golden tears lol)

Thank you for trusting me enough to be vulnerable.

I dunno how much I was able to help.

I can but only provide the bare minimum emotional support.

Feeling helpless, not being able to help truly is horrible indeed.

But I will always be there for you, my precious baby.

Beside you, you will always find me.

Pinky promise.

I help you, you help me.
I support you, you support me.

You held me when I was breaking (for dumb reasons comparatively but anyways).

It felt better to be consoled. I was so used to crying it out, washing my face, and then coming out like I didn’t have the worst breakdown ever.

It felt better to trust and be vulnerable.

And so now I’ll hold your hand, we are getting through this.

Everything will be just fine, the universe can’t let anything super bad happen to a beautiful soul like you.

Kanna, you deserve all the happiness in this world. Gawd, you have such a pure and beautiful soul, you’re so full of love.

This fucking world doesn’t deserve you yaar.

And if fate decides to test, then we’ll show who’s the bigger bitch here.

You have now unlocked a premium version of my personality. You are now bound to me forever, in life and death. There’s no escaping me mwah hahahahah evil cackle

And so I shall be by your side.

I will try my best to lessen your pain.

Or I can switch to assassination also, it’s totally fine.

It’s not a murder if they can’t find the body.
(CBI and FBI pls don’t come for me, I promise I’m a totally sane person who just has extensive knowledge abt killing, totally fine and not insane)

Everything will be just fine.

It’s all gonna turn out well.

Take care of yourself, baby, your blood, sweat, and tears are not worth wasting over these motherfuckers.

(They shall pay for it somehow, you see. I don’t give a fuck if I wasn’t affected the least, but how dare they hurt you? They will pay. Oh fuck yes, they. will. pay.)

searched how much petrol costs and how much is required to drench them and the bloody building in

Anyways,

I love you.
I miss you.
I will manifest extra hard for you.

Even pray… to myself, in the mirror, ’cause I’m god.

I need to see my sunny bunny get her sunshine back.

Love you loadsssss.
Sending all hugs and kisses.
Yours forever,
Cappee

Author’s note:

This has been marinating in my drafts for so long. I started this a few days back.

Hmm, so basically, for context, I do office work and my roommate, my colleague, my bestie, my life, my love — she does ground work for which she has to travel a fucking lot.

And gawd, I hate it.

It feels lonely without her tbh.

Well true, I enjoy my own company, but when you start loving someone else’s presence, it’s hard not to miss them.

And I miss her a lot.

Even if I’m doing just fine, even if I’m all alone, I miss her being around.

Honestly, I’m glad to have met her, even more glad to have gotten closer to her.

I thought I was just emotionless, someone who can only pour their black heart through writings.

But she brought out this version of me that would say “I love you” a million times when I used to think twice abt even texting it.

She brought out this little girl in me who’s such a child, that loves flowers and all things cute.

She brought out this version of me that doesn’t flinch away from holding hands, hugging, or kissing.

She brought out this version of me that I’ve only had glimpses of.

The version that loves and expresses it as much as she can.

She made me soft in all the good ways and made me realise, you don’t have to be on your guard all the time.

When the right person comes knocking, you can always let them in.

I’ve met a bunch of ppl, loved them all, had amazing memories, and still keep the few golden ones close to my heart.

But ig the one that comes into your life when it’s a whole new phase with a lot of firsts, you tend to get attached.

Well, either way, in any life and any timeline, I would still choose her.

Imma marry this woman in another life fr
(wonders how many wives I’ve had so far, damn what a hoe)

I have. A lot. Thank you, dear internet, for normalising the aesthetic part of not knowing bullshit, but let’s be real. When you’re 20, you’re expected to know everything, like some social rule.

Doesn’t matter if you were cooped up in your little locality consisting of your home and one school until 18. Doesn’t matter if the locality extended a little bit to a few kilometres just to include a college as well.

School done, college done, boom. Life choices, all yours. It’s your call, your decisions. Don’t know shit? Who gives a flying fuck? You reached the threshold, so life is all yours to ruin.

Well, at least an illusion of choice is there and a considerable amount of freedom. Maybe.
I don’t know that too.

I don’t know.
IDK.
Two phrases that have pretty much become my identity at this point.

“What do you want to study?”
I don’t know.
“What do you want to work in?”
I don’t know.
“What do you want to buy?”
I don’t know.
“What do you want to eat?”
I don’t know.
“Shall we start looking for marriage proposals?”
HELL NO.

I shrug so much over everything, that my brother teases me, telling me my shoulders will come off the joints at this pace.
I don’t know about that.

See, now I’m not sure if this is a personal skill issue of not knowing jack shit, or just that I don’t really care (but I do, a bloody lot), or if this is indeed a universal problem.

Well, let’s see.

I’m just going to write. It’s for y’all to decide whether to agree that this is indeed a problem or that I’m just a hopeless loser.

ANYWAYS.
Coming to the point.

In a way, I do feel we are expected to keep up with things a lot.

So the problem maybe stems from the unconscious belief that a certain age group is destined for this, no matter the circumstances, and hence the imposing of unseen yet deeply felt expectations.

In school, there’s not much to be expected. Good grades and a parent-teacher meeting that goes without any trouble, even if it means not having any extracurriculars or scaring your kids into studying.
My mother was strict, so much that I studied solely because I feared her. The fear is still there maybe. Maybe it will never go, but at least I’m not being dictated by it anymore. (I am maybe, I don’t know.)

As a college student, I hated myself for being so bland in school. No extracurriculars, no talent whatsoever.
Just another first bencher who just roams and talks and swears a lot.
Easily invisible.

College, I felt, was being thrown into an ocean and being expected to swim on your own.
School was just like those kids’ swimming pools. You know the depth and extent; all you have to do is wade along.

College didn’t exactly open up my full freedom, for me at least, but in a way, it was a new experience.

10th over, all you have known is to study the textbooks and vomit it onto exam papers.
But no.
Make the decision of choosing science or commerce or maths.
What is the studious kid supposed to do?
Science is for toppers like me. Rest all are lower life.
And into science I went.
It’s not something I regret, but I feel I never felt it was even a decision. It just seemed natural to choose only science, and nothing else really matters.

11th and 12th.
Already lockdown and worldwide doom were reeling over.
Honestly, the world seems to be in some dream since then. It’s honestly surreal.
Decide what you want to be and study for it.
IIT is hard to get into. Let me give it a shot.
Biology is fun to read. Let’s give medicine a shot.
Felt like there was no other path other than these two—engineering or medicine.
Career counselling is something I really needed.
There’s a lot I wanted and want to do, but when you don’t have the proper guidance to even identify what you want, you just do what you always did.
Follow what your parents tell you.

That will be one regret I will carry to my grave in this life.
I never had a chance to explore any other career path.
Well, it might not be too late, but I’m already in too deep.
I can’t start from scratch now.

I wanted to be a fashion designer. I loved fashion and dressing up so much. I had a small notebook of designs. But no, Dad said it’s too risky.
I wanted to be someone who brought about change. That is something I’ve been carrying in my heart for so long. An activist, a UN speaker, just someone who did something that will keep her alive as a memory even after she ceases to exist in this world.
I wanted to be a writer, a librarian, a café owner, a vlogger, a dancer. So many dreams and just one single life, that too one which has already been decided.

I tried medicine but didn’t really make it to the prestigious government college, so I dropped it.
I had no passion.
I feel like I don’t even have it.
I don’t remember the last time I had the zeal and passion to do something.
It’s all, “Eh, whatever,” and a shrug and going along with the flow.

That would’ve sufficed for my dad. He’s a mediocre guy, a person who would settle with comfort and average.
I’m dreaming big. Not average. Never average.
But am I doing anything for it?
No.
Do I even know what to do?
Again, no.

It’s all just hopeless at this point.

So one path closed, and so I took the other obvious one.
Engineering.
I have no regrets about choosing it, though.
It was fun. More fun than I probably would’ve had in medicine.
I feel, as a doctor, a patient’s death would affect me more than I would care to admit.

What I do regret is not knowing how to handle college life.

I struggled just to get my academics on par.
A lack of a timetable of eight hours and a good teacher really put me in a spot.
It was 6th semester by the time I picked up the pieces to even get my studies in line, but too late.

The struggle to fit in, the struggle to maintain friendships.
It was so real.
I played the victim, thinking people would always leave at the end.
Reality hit hard, and it took time to accept that not all leave.
It’s just that I stop trying, and people take it as a hint that they should leave.
Now that is a story for another day.
The thought that anyone would leave still lingers, but not so strongly.
It took two years for me to trust and maintain friendships.

The struggle to accept oneself.
To love who you are.
I came in strong and confident, for I was a topper and probably a “rich enough” kid, and with newfound love for the way I look.
Boom.
Came college and the throng of people from different streams of life, and not to mention all the rich, spoilt kids and gorgeous ladies, and my self-esteem dropped below bar.
It took me some time, on and off, to hold my head high.
To know I’m worthy, though I never got approached by anybody.

The struggle to accept you are talentless, or maybe you aren’t, in different ways.
Everyone had something to boast of.
Guitar, dance, hackathons.
And me, I just... exist.
My existence seems like a regular invisible girl.
Just there, to take space.
I still struggle to rethink it otherwise.

The struggle of FOMO.
Of not having trips or boyfriends or crazy stories.
What am I supposed to recite to my grandkids?
There’s nothing extraordinary to tell about from my life.
Boring and bland.

Writing about it is bringing the negative thoughts back again.
I’ll try to keep them to a minimum for now.

See.
I’m not perfect.
I’m not healed.
Nowhere near any mental stage to make big life decisions.
All the time, I’m trying to pick up broken pieces of myself.
Trying to build myself from the ground up.
But time is linear, and she’s cruel.
She ain’t gonna wait for me to get ready.
Nobody is.
Time is done, age has come.
Whether you can or not, decide.

Decisions, decisions, decisions.
All of them wrong.

I don’t know if it’s just me, or does anyone struggle this much to even navigate through normal life.
I’ve seen overachievers, achievers, and losers.
A large fraction of people in the former categories.
How do y’all even have it all put together?
How do y’all even manage?
Everyone faces struggles of their own. Maybe they do, maybe they just overcame it and thrived.
And I couldn’t.

So here I am, lamenting on the lack of knowledge and resources to sustain my own life.
Maybe I am indeed a loser.

School done.
College done.
Let me come to the point in life and the events that triggered me to even write this.

I got into a shitty internship.
Am I enjoying life? Yes.
Did I find a good friend? Yes.
Am I living life perfectly? Absolutely not.
It’s been five months, and not even a single day have I ever had one day strict to routine.
It’s constant procrastination and IDGAFs.
All because I’m struggling to keep up with this.

If school was a kids’ swimming pool and college the sea, adulting is a fucking storm.
Thrown in and having to get flung here and there with the wind.

I’m nearly out of college, and I still don’t know what I want to do.
I had this discussion with my parents, to continue here or move.
They said the same dialogue that they’ve maintained for long.
“It’s your decision.”

Tell me, on what am I supposed to decide, huh?
I don’t know shit about the job market.
I don’t know shit about taxes.
I don’t know shit about stocks.
I don’t know shit about banking.
I don’t know shit about buying basic stuff.
Tell me, how am I, with only textbook knowledge in my head, with zero survival skills and no talent whatsoever, supposed to decide anything, let alone my career path?

What was I taught?
Nothing.

Now, oh, don’t fucking tell me there are people who did it and you should figure it all out on yourself.
I FUCKING CAN’T AND DIDN’T, OKAY?
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Am I indeed that dumb?
I don’t know jack shit about anything.
Master of none.
Nor jack of anything.

I can’t assert my opinions to my parents.
I can’t express myself to anyone.
I can’t decide what to do with my life.
I can’t be strong when asking for something from legit anyone.
I can’t even know who I am, what I am, and why I even exist.
I don’t even know myself.
How will I know what I want?

Doesn’t it all take time?
Doesn’t it take time to experiment, experience, and explore?
But no.
There’s no time, darling.
The clock is ticking, and you are supposed to make decisions that will forever affect your life.
And somehow, everyone acts like you're supposed to know the answers already.

I don’t know shit.
And I’m being given the reins of my own life.
Are you fucking kidding me?!
How did everyone else learn to drive this thing?

Now, I’m not saying someone should take hold of my life and live it for me.
The last thing I want to do is live somebody else’s life (though, in a way, that’s what I’m probably doing).
I’m not saying I need to be spoon-fed.
The last thing I want to do is depend on someone or take help.

Just give me time.
Let me make mistakes.
Let me learn.
With zero knowledge, how am I even supposed to do this, live this life?
Sigh.

I don’t know what I’m talking about now.

I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
I DON’T KNOW.
(Panting.)

There’s still a lot of things I haven’t even given a thought to.
It will all come at once, and I would have a breakdown.
It’s a never-ending cycle.
I hate the way it is.
I hate the way I’m dealing with my life.

Now it hasn’t been all that bad.
I’ve had good times here.
Good people.
And I am indeed very glad for that.

But the weight of my own decisions to decide my life is immense.
Maybe I’m just taking too much pressure on my own.
Maybe I’m just overthinking.

I don’t know.
I don’t know.
(Whispers.)

(Silence.)

I’ve lost all capacity to think now.
It’s been ages since I wrote. It was freeing to write this now, but I don’t know how it even is.
I hate that word now.
“Dunno.”
Such a pathetic excuse to give for the lack of any knowledge.
To subdue the fact that I don’t know shit about anything.

Well.
Whatever.
There’s nothing I can do now.
Even writing this hasn’t given me any form of closure.

I guess I just need to take time to find myself, to find the things I love, to know enough to be confident enough to trust myself with my own life.
I might be behind people.
I might not be living the “perfect life.”
It’s fine.
It’s something I brought upon myself, and it’s my mess to clean.
I don’t know shit, and it’s not fine.
I just have to work to know shit.

I have to master the art of knowing shit, not the art of not giving a fuck and not knowing a fuck.
It’s pathetic, and I know that.
But it is what it is.

If loser is what I am now, let it be.
All I can do is try.
I just hope I don’t spend this whole life just trying.

Signing off.
Yours truly,
Ms. IDK

P.S. If future me is reading this.…I hope you know more than I do.

Author’s note:

Hi hello vanakam namaskaram my pookiesss.
It’s been ages ain’t it.

Also me: It’s been more than 2 months since you even wrote bitch. What is up with you, were you living under a fucking rock?!

Uh, maybe, yes, in a way. (coughs) Anyways, I feel like I just come here to rant and then disappear but hey if my tears on paper look like art then its a W, yayyy (send help).

Being absolutely clueless is something that’s been bothering me for so long. I don’t like not knowing things, I feel utterly helpless and pathetic in a way. Well, not everyone can know everything but then EVERYONE DOES SEEM LIKE THEY DO HUH. (Everyone’s just pretending maybe, its all a play, they all have their masks on. Mine just happens to be broken.)
A very moral debate on whether its skill issue or just that the world rushes us way too much.
NOW you can choose not to be really bothered about such external factors but eh lets face it, that’s close to impossible.

So yeah, here’s my rant number hell-knows-what. I would love to hear your opinions on how you’re feeling about your own 20’s or even the kids, how ya’ll feel about your older peeps like us?

P.s. How ya’ll doing, I’m just currently surviving and really really planning to get back to my hobbies on a regular basis, let’s see how that goes.

Also me: Darling you can’t even wake up on time regularly for office without having a breakdown.
Alright shut up.

Here’s some bajji for ya’ll. Babye.

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I was talking about these exact same things to someone special today. She has made me so expressive; words and love flow when I’m with her.

You had always asked, right? When you first saw my writings, you asked when I would write about you.
So this one is for you—just one small piece of writing from many more to come.

I’ve never written anything keeping anyone in mind.
This is my first.
I hope you like this,

I’ve always loved the moon.

I don’t know what it is with her and all the poets in existence so far.
They’ve ran behind her with ink and music and paint,
spinning verses and melodies and art around that silver glow.

That delicate beauty,
that subtle glow in the vast void of the sky,
that calming presence in the absence of anything else.

Maybe that’s exactly why the quiet souls gravitate toward her.

She’s subtle.
She’s calm.
She’s a presence that’s not too loud nor too bright—
just a soft existence to accompany lonely souls that seek solace in the dying stars scattered above us.

And so I love her.
I love the moon, for she is me—just there, just existing.

Then there’s the sun.

Oh, how I hate her.

She’s so bright, so demanding.
She burns—burns me so much.

How can a heart like mine love someone so fierce and loud?

I have a soul of the night breeze and soft ocean waves.
The sun would never warm my old soul,
at least not with this blinding fire.

But she—

The light of my life, the part of my soul.

She is my sunshine.

She asked, “I told so much about you. Tell me something about me.”
And only one word popped up in my head:

Sunshine.

The sun is fierce and loud, true.

But in the coldest of winter evenings, when the soft rays of the sun hit,
the warmth feels like home.

Apricity.

Such a beautiful word.
As beautiful as her.

She’s the soft rays of sunlight that warm the winter nights in my heart.
She’s not the sun, she’s a part of her,
not blazing, just softer.

She’s loud and brave,
and she’s also calm and caring.

My precious.

She’s my apricity.

She’s the sun to my moon,
the home to my wandering heart.

She’s the light that warms my heart.
She’s my home.
You’re my home in a place far from home, kanna.

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Tears that threatened to fall but never came.

The desperation had burned out.
All that remained was absence.
Not acceptance nor denial.

I felt nothing sitting on that lonely terrace in the chill air.
Peace?
I don’t think so.
I’ll maybe never be at peace.

Satisfaction is a bottomless pit; it never fills.

I don’t feel the need for consolation.
An escape? Maybe.
Funny.
One week in and I want to leave so bad.
Well, even on my first day, I wanted to.

I guess I’ll never be satisfied.
It’s survival again.
All over again.

Maybe I’m just overreacting.
I’m still new to corporate life.
Or maybe my place isn’t that great.

I see people wanting to have a job or wanting to leave this cycle.
Not anyone stuck in the middle.
Wanting to have this but not wanting to keep it.

Maybe a few more days and I’ll get used to this.
I’m just slightly overwhelmed right now.
It feels unfair to speak of my exhaustion to people still fighting for the opportunity to be exhausted.

I don’t feel like I’ll respect or love what I’m doing right now.
It’s fine.
It’s just survival again.
I’ll find better outlets soon.

I really do hope my eyes don’t keep opening its dam every time at the office.
People are so rude here, so straightforward. I see no kindness in this place.
I’m a fool to look for it in a business area, but well, I think I just have to accept that I’m a soft girl and the real world is still so, so frightening.

The feeling of weakness is impalpable.
The imposter keeps knocking in every time I step in.
There’s nowhere I feel like I belong.
I just need to carve out my own space.
I have to toughen up.

/Silence/

I should go down to my room.

The night air isn’t kind either.
My fingers are growing numb in the cold, and it’s hard to type with the pace of my thoughts.
Maybe after a little while.
Let me just, curl myself in a corner here, bury my face into my knees.

So much noise.
Oh hell — the honking of cars, the rumble of trucks, revving of bikes, the hum of the metro, a lone jet’s whir.
So many souls in this place, millions under this broken sky.
All hurrying along like they know what they want.
Well, nobody does, I guess.
They’re just surviving as well.
Now I’ve entered this rat race too.
I have no choice but to run, lest I get consumed by the monsters of uncertainty chasing me.
The monsters in my head run a different race.

Now it’s just me and this cycle.
Run, run, run.
The wheel can’t stop.
Run, run, run.
It’s a tragic fate,
but a sad necessity.
Run, run, run.
I keep running, for I see no way out other than the back door.
And so I run.

/Deep breaths/

Maybe the heart is just remembering where it once belonged.
I cry every time I finish calling my parents.

The freedom of breaking free of the golden cage is overwhelming,
but the allure of the coziness keeps dragging me in, I suppose.

But I’m glad.
Glad that I miss my home and not celebrate leaving it.

It’s just a few months.
A new phase of life.

/Sigh/

Everybody talks about the bliss of entering this phase.
Nobody talks about the demons of uncertainty that keep choking you from within.

Isn’t that why humans devised the concept of science?
to tame the chaos of the unknown.
to try to have the power of knowledge,
or rather the illusion of it.
We are but a speck in this vast universe.
There’s more that we don’t know than we do.
Unfamiliarity unsettles the human mind,
and every day is a struggle to seek familiarity.
Seeking known faces among unknown ones,
because knowing carries warmth, while not knowing bites like winter.

And so I seek familiarity in this alien land.

I look up at the sky and see the same moon and the same stars.
There’s only so much beauty the city offers during the night.
And in the cold night, surrounded by buildings and highways and metros of an unknown city, I find solace in the familiarity of the sky.
The same stars, the same moon, the same sky shared by both me and my home and millions more too.

Maybe there is indeed comfort in familiarity,
in knowing that we share something in common.

Well, in truth, I don’t want to be one among a million.
I want to be one in a million.
Well, it’s lonely, that path.
We’ll see — our paths are carved day by day.
Who knows where my path will take me tomorrow?

Paths are many, but
the sorrow in my heart comes everywhere I go.
It’s like a shadow now, like a quiet companion.

It comes in the brightest of days, in the most joyful of times, among the most beautiful people.
Do I even belong here?
Do I even deserve this?
What if this too ends like everything else did before?
Why don’t I ever feel satisfied?

The inner monologue echoes like an old clock’s hum in a beautiful house.
The house is pretty, its exteriors posh, the visitors joyful,
but it remains empty.
They come and go, but no one makes a home there.
And so the clock chimes in the silence.
Click, click, click.
More thoughts, more questions, more doubts.

/Click/

/Breathe out/

The sound of laughter flows like a melody in the air — the smiles, the bright eyes.
There are people in the living room.
They don’t look like they’re leaving anytime soon.
Shoes lie scattered, dressed in PJs and sprawled around comfortably.
In a pretty house, the people stay.
The clock still chimes, but it’s dim.
The neighborhood changes, but the people don’t.
I love the people who made a home inside my heart.
Thank you for showing me that not everyone leaves,
for lessening the emptiness that keeps spreading inside of me.
It’s still there, comes and goes.
It’s now a relative instead of a shadow.
It comes and makes a home for a while and then leaves as abruptly as it came.

Alas, woe is an essence that’s been ingrained in me since forever — an old friend that refuses to leave.
But even old companions grow quieter with time.

Author’s note:

Hellooo beautiful people, long time no see. (I was busy trying to survive.)

Before anything else — OMFG THANK YOU SOOO MUCH FOR 100+ SUBSCRIBERS AAAHHH (gives everyone a chocolate).

Sorry that my comeback had to be a rant-y shitpost instead.

So basically, I wrote the ‘hopeless core’ part a week after joining. Now I’m just used to the trauma.
The later parts were added at odd hours of the night because I was bored (even now it’s past 3 a.m., and I just sat down to post this after doomscrolling for an hour).

I don’t know what sense you guys will make of it because it feels way too random to me.
I’ll try writing a more coherent piece next time.
Adios <3

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This is an extract that I once wrote based off a prompt. But well curse my non-ADHD ADHD brain, I forgot its existence and now I don’t remember what I planned to write and still can’t.
Its just a normal random scene so even now I can’t really think of writing anything so hmm, making this as a lil game - you lovely readers can finish or continue this in yer own way, in the comments or in another post, but please be sure to restack this or tag me so that I can judge read yer masterpiece.
Looking forward to seeing some creativity lol ;-)

“Ugh.”

I dropped my head onto the table in frustration. Running my hands through the mess of a hair, poorly gathered into a claw clip, I let out an exasperated sigh.

Alright. It’s just one little sum.

My eyes dropped to the question I’d been stuck on for the thirteenth time this evening.

Okay—not one, alright. But at least I didn’t waste that much time...

I grabbed the table clock and glared at it, as if that would somehow convince it to turn back time.

“Thirty-five minutes.”

“Arghhh,” I groaned, leaning back hard in my chair.
Bolting upright, I grabbed the lone pen and slashed it across the page.

“Fuck. You.”
The paper now bore the brunt of my lost patience.

“Now now, kid, what did we say about swearing, hmm?”
A smooth voice chirps from somewhere behind me.

I rolled my eyes at the familiar voice.

“And what did we say about entering my room unannounced, hmm?”

Leaning back again, I was met—not by my bare ceiling—but by an upside-down Loki smirking at me.

“Alright, next time I’ll let you know, then,” he said, straightening up and strolling over to the bed. He flopped down without a care. “Shall we try a messenger? All glammed up, with a royal scroll in hand. He’d burst in and declare—”
He snapped his fingers and instantly transformed into a medieval-looking suit.
“Presenting the mighty King of Asgard! Slayer of demons! Ruler of the Nine Realms! The great Loki!”
He drawled out his name like a Broadway headliner and changed back—this time, wearing a crown and summoning a shower of confetti.

A lot of confetti.

I burst out laughing.
“I’d prefer you climbing through my window over littering my room with that,” I motioned to the colourful mess now decorating every surface.

“Seriously?,” he deadpanned.
With a flick of his hand, everything vanished.
“All that performance and you’re worried about littering your pathetic little room?”

“One,” I held up my hand for emphasis, counting off. “My room ain’t little nor pathetic, Mr. Rich-Prince-Who-Lives-in-a-Freaking-Castle.”
I raised my other hand to shush him when he tried to interrupt.
“Two, you are interrupting my ‘book bonding time’,” I said, complete with air quotes and a slight imitation of my dad’s voice.
“And three— it... it was a good one, actually,” I giggled.

“See,” he clapped. “What can I say? I’m a one-man show, darling. Sold out every night.”

“Woah, woah. Calm down, West End,” I laughed at his theatrics. “Didn’t you hear the first two points?”

“Oh please,” he conjured up an apple and took a bite. “It isn’t that important.”

“For you, Mr. Prince, maybe not,” I huffed, swivelling my chair back toward the table. I picked up the torn papers, crumpled them, and tossed them at the bin in the corner of the room — or close to it. As I continued cleaning up the rest, I saw the paper ball float neatly into the bin from the corner of my eye.

I heard him shuffle behind me, and now he was peering over my shoulder, lazily scanning the disaster that was my desk.

“More important than dying Thor’s hair blue?” he teased.
I pictured his brother’s shoulder-length blue locks and snorted.
“Tempting idea, but nope. Still way more important.”

“So, what’s so important about this?” he mumbled between bites.

I scoffed. “I have a calculus test tomorrow. Of course, you uneducated Asgardian wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Hey!” he looked genuinely offended. “We — or I — am far from uneducated. I received the finest education Asgard has to offer and,” puffing his chest, “as a prince, my lessons were tailored by the realm’s greatest minds and—”

“Yeah, yeah, cut the monologue, sir,” I waved him off. “Look, I really have to get an A in this course.”

“Well, I don’t see the problem. You’ve got a good head kid,” he said, tapping my forehead.

“Well, this head,” I tapped my own forehead, “is currently unable to decipher this!“ I slapped the worksheet for emphasis. “Damn whoever invented this shit,” I muttered.

He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Wanna blow up your school then?”

…..

Inspiration:

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And no, it’s not anything about the way I look or behave — I’ve come past that, thankfully. Though those thoughts still echo sometimes, but at least they’re weaker now, so that’s something.

I hate myself sometimes because I feel jealous.

Jealous of people living lives that I’ve dreamt of. Jealous of my friends getting placed. Jealous of people experiencing healthy love. Jealous of people with chill parents. Jealous of kids studying abroad. Jealous of kids my age being rich.

Jealousy. Jealousy. So much jealousy.

Sometimes, I think, well, good for them. But sometimes, that dull void in my chest deepens — deepens with all that I wanted to have but couldn’t.

“Be happy with what you have” — bullshit. Utter bullshit.
I didn’t ask to be born into this world. I was pushed into this hell, made to live, made to study, made to search for jobs — all because that was what I was supposed to do. It feels like our fate is already written, not by the gods above but by the very society we live in.

So many dreams, so many visions, and all of them remain what they are — dreams and visions.

I hate myself for feeling jealous. I know they worked hard to get placed. I know they probably fought to keep that relationship alive. I know there must be some balance between parents and kids. I know those kids actually knew what they wanted. I know those people worked hard for the money.

All this logic, and yet nothing comes to mind when you first hear about them.

“Oh wow, so cool.”
Damn, I wanted that though.
“Congrats.”
They have it, but I don’t, tsk.
“So happy for you.”
Why not me?

Why not me?

One question that always echoes in my damn head — why them and why not me?

Everything is about me.
I’m such a pathetic person.
How can they have what I want?

I’m really happy for them. I really am.
Are you?
I don’t know. I want to be, but I just… can’t.

I am a bad person.
I can’t even feel happy for others.
I’m so unsatisfied with whatever I have, knowing quite well not everybody even has a chance to have this.

Maybe I should stop talking to people as a whole, shut the world off, cut off whatever little media I have. Life would just be what it is — my life, just mine and no one else’s.

But it’s hard though. I realise I do need people’s contact to maintain sanity, and media to keep in touch with the real world.

The filter isn’t supposed to be physical; it should be mental.
Don’t let it come to you.
They all did what they could and are relishing the fruits of their labour.
Everyone’s life is different.

I KNOW, OKAY.
I know.
I fucking know.

I know I didn’t do enough to get placed so easily. I know I didn’t actively try to seek out people to even fall in love first. I know I keep things away from my parents for fear of judgement. I know I never knew what I even wanted, so I never bothered to try abroad opportunities. I know I never had the need to actively make money to support myself.

I know, man. I know all the things I never did for all the things I ever wanted. But can I just wallow in my remorse for some time?

Every time I talk about this, my parents just say, “Oh, but they tried.”
You can’t even vent to a friend who has something you never had, knowing that telling something like that means pointing out my own cheapness. I try to seek some kindness online, only to be met by the same words over and over again.

I know it’s the truth.
I know.
I know I’m being irrational.
But I just want to be understood.
Not judged, not handed solutions — just heard.

Maybe in a way I’m trying to negate the thought that I’m indeed a bad person for feeling like this.
Of course. It’s all about me, isn’t it?
I’m so self-centred.
What a bitch.

Every single time I try to pick myself up, dust off that self-hatred and self-pity, and get to work — every single time — I see someone again having something I want, and the world comes tumbling down and I’m on the ground.
Back to square one.
And the cycle repeats.
Over and over again.

At this point, I hate this word — again. What a stupid one. Again. Always coming back to the same pathetic stance. Again.

I try though.
I really try.

I still don’t know what I want. There are still so many ideas in my head, so many what-ifs, but never have I brought anything to life. Life has sucked the vigour out of me — the zeal to create, to bring something to life, to actually do something worthy of living.

A friend once mentioned - they were thinking about progress and I said it’s quite subjective. It is indeed.
Progress could be me writing on Substack to clear my head.
Progress could be moving on from the guy who didn’t deserve me, maybe.
Progress could be feeling things a bit lightly.
Progress could be being softer and kinder to myself.
Progress could be just being a little better than what I was yesterday.

Of course, all this progress means nothing to the outer world. To them, I’m just here — always depressed, always sulky, always in bed, always with a laptop, always doing nothing.
As I once mentioned in a post, everything is about numbers. And I’m not bringing any progress in numbers to the table, am I?
Sometimes I just end up being convinced I’m making zero progress indeed.

I’m so much influenced by external factors, right?
Weak.
Am I emotionally immature now too? I don’t know.

I don’t know a lot of things and know very little these days. When the bubble of school or college breaks and you see the real world for what it is, you always feel like you’re unprepared and unknowledgeable.

I seriously don’t know how those people could find such purpose and love and ideas to have whatever they have right now. It’s like reiterating my first post now — I don’t know what my purpose and passion is, for I’m pretty sure if I did, I would’ve worked my ass off to get it.

But when the trials of life feel so punishing and the road so unpaved and time stretching out like a question, your mind tends to play some funny games indeed.

I don’t think I ever thought this much as I did long back when studying or actually doing something.

Now I’m deviating from the topic too. This post is as deviant as my life — pointless, long, and without structure. I apologise for making you read this.

Well, yes.
Jealousy.

Jealousy isn’t a moral failure. It’s grief with teeth.
It’s mourning lives you can see but haven’t lived — timelines that feel so close you could touch them, yet somehow they’re not yours.

I don’t think I’ll ever let it fully go though. I’m always going to keep wanting more; greed is an insatiable entity. And I don’t know if I’m really a bad person for feeling so. (Maybe it just makes me human — who knows.)

I know they spent blood, sweat, and tears for it. I know I don’t wish them any ill. I am, in fact, happy for them — but it’s just not felt as deeply as I say it is, and maybe I just feel bad for lying. I wish they enjoy it because they earned it. And I wish I would just stop being a dramatic bitch and actually do shit.

Hmm.
I can only try.

I’ll keep cheering the loudest in the room — so loud that I don’t let my own remorse seep in. I’ll keep trying. Maybe someday something will click.

True, there’s a lot I never got to do — sleepovers at school friends’ homes, participating in school sports teams, having a high school romance, going out so much with college friends, friends’ trips, participating in cultural activities, not having a stupid boyfriend to just walk around campus and hold hands under the table during class, studying abroad, not being super popular. The list just keeps going.

But I think I did enjoy life in my own ways. I did have an eventful and quite satisfying life so far — at least according to the result of my own actions.

Maybe it’s all just FOMO and I’m living others’ lives and feeling bad for being a side character. It’s my own fucking life and I’m the main fucking character — she’s just having a slump (which has been going on for six months now, but we don’t talk about it, shush).

There’s still time. I’m just 21. I still have a lot of time. Maybe there are some things which are never going to happen, but hey, I guess I’ll just make up for all the things I never was by being extra awesome.

I can only try. But this time, I’ll keep trying instead of feeling the slate getting erased again. Again won’t happen again now. It’s time for a change — a real change. I won’t let fate control me.

Life is like writing a book, we and fate are co-authors
Maybe fate is like an editor
Changing all our plans

the poet you are wow

My fate is such a bitch. I’ll just show her I’m the bigger bitch and win my life back.

Authors note:

Apologies again for the very random rant number three. I really had to get it out of my system and have a serotonin boost. Hopefully — no, I will change. And my future self is going to look back at me and laugh at how dramatic I’m being when she’s living an even better version of my dream life.

I hope you all get to have that too. Life is ours to control and ours to ask for more. And don’t worry — even if I get a little jealous, I’ll still be happy for you because you tried.

(pat pat)

Thank you for reading, trailblazers <3

Updated note:

Wrote this 4 days after my previous post. Its a feeling that’s been with me for a very long time and I don’t think I still have come to terms with accepting jealousy as something humane instead of something cheap. (Well, I am happy for them aren’t I? It’s just not felt as deeply as I wish it did). I’ll probably keep thinking I’m indeed a bad person but whatever.

Though this is quite a old emotion, it just got overwhelming then and shit broke loose when I heard a good school friend of mine is now an exchange student in another country. (I am happy for her, truly. She was always so tired, so ambitious, she really deserves that opportunity and I never thought of this before anyways BUT-).

Fast forward to now, things are different but that doesn’t nullify what I felt so deeply before and so here is my lil rant (I do rant a lot don’t I?). Just in case someone finds some solace in this. Isn’t that the point of writing anyways? To clear your own head and spin prose and poetry out of ugly twisted thoughts and deep heart wrenching feelings - only for people to either feel it strike their very soul or just appreciate a form of art.

I am indeed so random sigh.
(hands you a croissant cuz I dunno what else to give lol)

It was loud.
So loud inside my head.

Does anyone else feel that?

In the stillness of the night, only I could hear this cursed cacophony of voices in my head.
The thoughts.
They’re all so heavy.
They all hold so much weight.
They just keep weighing inside my head, or bouncing off the walls inside.
It hurts.
Seriously, it does.
The noise, the thoughts — all so jumbled.

Hell, I hate jumbled messes.
I’m a non-OCD OCD person.
I can’t do with this absolute mess inside here.

It’s even worse with the four walls.
They keep closing in.
Claustrophobia peaks.
I can’t breathe.

It’s scary, really.
That feeling of something knotted up inside your throat —
with every thought, it just tightens its hold.
And oh no, it doesn’t stop with that.
That damn pit in my stomach.
A void so deep.

Am I being dramatic now?
I don’t know, really.
I fell like dying, really.
And I don’t wanna die.
I don’t wanna die, not die, not die.
Oh, there’s so much to do.
So, so much I wanna do.
If I die, I can’t do anything, right?
Those bucket lists, those vision boards, those dreams — all would drown in that blackness inside me.

Hell.

Is this hell?
I thought hell was below us, with fire and devils and screams.
But no.
Hell is empty and the devils are here.
Inside my head.
I wanna kill every single one of them.

I can visualise that.
The killing.
I would stab every. single. one.
I would have a dagger.
A beautifully sculpted one,
with a pretty engraved handle.
Oh, maybe studded with rubies too.
Rubies won’t get stained with the blood.

Stab, stab, stab.
So much blood.
Ah, so blissful.
I wanna stab every one of them.
I’ll stab every one of them.
I have stabbed every one of them.

I’m scared.
Am I a bad person?
I’m not a killer.
As much as I glorify death and murder,
I can’t take a life.
Oh, I’m so weak for that.
I can’t kill.
Then why do I find peace in killing?
I haven’t killed anyone. Yet.

Is that blood on my hands?
It’s so red.
Red as rubies.
So pretty.
That red.

Wait.

The scars.
There are stab marks on my palms.
Hell, I’ve stabbed myself.
Stab, stab, stab.
I stabbed my own thoughts.
I keep stabbing myself.
But she just won’t die.

I’m not an overthinker.
Or am I?
My thought process is supposed to be limited.
My memory only as hollow as a goldfish.
But why are my thoughts so loud?
Why can’t I breathe?

Someone please stop this.
I can’t go on.
I’m scared.
I wanna cry.
But the tears won’t fall.
It’s so loud.
I can’t breathe.
Please.
Someone.
Stop this fuckery.
I just want some peace.
Please.

Silence.

Slumber takes hold.
And I wake up in the morning.
The air is cold, my bed so comfy, my body so drowsy.
I still wake up with a pit in my stomach.

I try.
I motivate.
I try.
I do.

I end up rearranging my entire room.
What for?
I dunno.
I just do.
Anything, anything to keep the voices at bay.
Maybe a change in structure would help?
No.

Work is done.
Leisure comes in.
Time extends generously.
She comes.
Ah, that fucking devil.
And her barrage of minions.
So many of them.

The thoughts keep weighing me down.
I can’t breathe again.
The walls keep closing in.
I wanna get out of this house.
There’s so much to do.
Everyone is so happy.
Everyone has everything.

I’m just here.
Stuck in this sickening loop.
I’m so tired.
Panic, try, fail, clean the slate.
Panic, try, fail, clean the slate.
Panic, try, fail, clean the slate.

Panic is choking me, breathing is a luxury.
I keep trying, the callouses on my hands are burning.
Failing so much, I’m so fucking exhausted.
Clean, clean, clean, The slate’s been scraped away.

Why is everything so loud?
Why is everything so hard?
I don’t wanna go on.
Can someone stop this menace?
I feel like dying.
Thoughts are so astray.
I keep doubting.
There are so many questions, so many doubts.
So many unknown parameters.
This equation will never work.
There’s nothing in there to even work.

School was done.
Now college too, in a short while.
I have to now work.
Oh my Satan.
I’m an adult now?

But where is my freedom?
Where is my money?
Where is my happiness?
It’s all a lie, isn’t it?
I can never be free.
The shackles on me are burning through my skin.

I feel like a peacock caged in a golden chamber,
with glass doors and all the required delicacies in the world.

But she just wants to go out.
Fly.
Spread those wings and fly.
She doesn’t know how to fly, of course.
She never flew.
For she was never expected to leave the nest,
tamed to remain what she is — a peacock in a golden cage.

But I want to see the world.
The people, the places, the buildings, the food.
There’s so much to do.
The shackles on my limbs keep burning.
Now I feel another one coiling up to my neck.
Maybe in some time, it’ll even clamp my mouth and eyes,
and I’ll be just this — a beautiful peacock in a golden cage.
So shimmering. And sad.

Hell, it’s so suffocating.
I want to get out.
The voices are so loud.
I want to leave this place.
I have everything.
Why do I keep asking for more?
But I’m just asking to be let go of, though, am I?
What’s so wrong in that?
What’s so wrong to leave this nest
and be what I am?

I can’t breathe.
The walls keep closing in.
I can’t cry.
Fuck, I wanna cry and scream like there’s no one in this damn world.
But there are people all around.

People, people, people.
They all seem so happy.
They all have everything.

Why can’t I?
What did I do?
What did I not do?

Silence.

My head is still heavy.
But I can breathe.
Writing helps, I guess.
I don’t know what I wrote.
I just rambled.
I think there are now tears in my eyes.

I wanna thank my friend who talked to me a while ago.
His writing encouraged me to do the same.

I feel better.
After having written and talked.

The head is still heavy, though.

I was really scared.
It felt like it was lockdown all over again.
The silence.
The thoughts.
The four walls.

Time stretches out like a question.
But I have no answers.
I have only questions myself.

I should get back to work.
If I work, the devil won’t come knocking again.
She won’t find me inside my head.
I should stop living inside my head.
My head is a cruel place to live in.

(So I guess I am an overthinker?
Maybe not.
Maybe you just had a panic attack (?)
Shit, should I get meds?
You’ll get higher than usual.
Fair enough.)

I’m still caged.
The golden cage still exists.
And so do the devils inside my head.

But it’s okay.
I have angels on earth.
And I’ll learn to at least break out, if not fly.
I’ll soar.
I’ll be free.
Free of the shackles.
Free of thoughts.

I’ll be alive.
And not feel guilty for it.

Author’s note:

Wrote this exactly 10 days ago when I had a really bad night (I don’t really know what the feeling was but it really did feel like I was dying and it was so scary), it went on till the next day and again intensified towards evening, then I talked to a friend and ended up writing this. Even revisiting this kinda scares me…..I don’t know, maybe because it did really feel like how I felt during Lockdown (shivers).

Anyways, life is unpredictable and glad to say it took a turn for the best over the last few days.
But to anyone who’s going through something similar, I hope you too are able to get out of it and get what you want (manifests for you by throwing fairy dust).

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Pray for me
I feel the venenum flooding my bones
Per aspera ad inferos — may my fall be holy
Let ash crown what gold never could

Pray with me
Nox veiled my face, but did not take me in
So I carved her silence into my song
Mors kissed my brow, but did not claim me
And now, I haunt the living all along

Pray to me
Come forth, mortalis
Bow not to heaven, but to flame
Be baptized in ash, in my name

Pray to me
I am the hymn beneath your skin
The whisper you smother in sleep
Your final kiss
Your first sin

Inspiration:

Author’s note:

Had to use Google and GPT a lot to get the Latin terms right lol. Idea was to glorify Maledictus (Yes, I’m a Potterhead) but make it more Latin-y.

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He fell.
His wings, once laced with light, decayed into ash.
His skin, once pure, blistered in flame.
His eyes, once divine, wept stars.

He fell, and fell, and fell.
clutching at constellations,
grasping at nothing but air
only to descend
into the deepest pit
a pit of smothering flames
a hollow cursed place
where even god refused to look.

And when he landed,
Did he vow to build an empire greater than heaven?
To flood the gates of hell with more souls than the angels could ever save?
That he’ll crush all of heaven and earth?
Curse it all to certain doom?

No.
He wept.
For he had lost everything he had ever known.
For he was,
just
another
broken
soul

Yet still —
in despair,
in reverence,
in our most sacred prayers —
we lift our eyes to the heavens,
to those decked in glory.
but never to the one who fell
never to the one still hurting
never to the sinner who needed saving the most.

No one mourned when Lucifer fell.

Still, millions follow him
when they perish.
We are all sinners,
made to pray to god
yet commit to humanly acts deemed evil
god judges us for what we do
when his sins outnumber our own

And when my soul shall escape this wreck of a world
and finds its way home
I shall not hope for a place in the skies
among the saints with empty hearts
I will embrace the devil himself
because if no one shall pity on a broken soul as his
then I would

Let me burn with the burdened
not shine with the sinners
rather reign in hell
than serve in heaven

Song rec:

Inspiration:

Hazbin Hotel hehe

Author’s note:

I condemn the glorification of non-existent gods and the shunning of the most humane devils, because humans claim to follow idealistic, righteous principles while knowing full well their actions reflect otherwise.
Morality and righteousness seems way better to be kept at a distance and admired.

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Your dazzling smile
and oh, those sparkling eyes
you made me so blissful
that I now cry happy tears of blood

You just gave me so much
that now my lungs are filled with flowers
and I just can’t breathe

Hearts are such wild creatures
no wonder they’re caged

Now I find petals in my throat
choking on the sweetness you left behind
was it love or was it poison
laced in sugar, served in gold

You held my hand like a promise
but your grip was made of fog
warm, soft yet slipping
until nothing remained

I keep trying to bloom in your absence
but sunlight feels like a lie
and water just reminds me
how easily you drowned me in your love

and still—
even when worlds shift
and stars burn
I would still choose you
even if it kills me so.

Song rec:

Author’s note:

I don’t know what I really felt when I wrote this sometime early last year (probably based of a song), but now I think of you when reading this but the only thing that differs is that I will never choose you again even if it kills me so.

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How am I to ever forgive myself
for not being all the things I could be
for not living all the lives I could lead

Now they tell me
‘Oh is that all you can do?’
‘I expected so much from you’
but don’t you see
I keep giving n giving
and all I feel is nothing

The ‘smart kid’ is long dead
yet I can never lay her to rest
staring at those lifeless eyes
that once held the stars
that once held dreams

They say the dead never really dies
And so I still see her
in the old pages of my diary
in the old trophies gathering dust
in the old portraits
and sometimes a flicker in the mirror

Maybe
I wish
what if I was just no one
then neither the past would bring tears
nor would the future seem lost

Just a little more
now sleep is a ecstasy
Just a little more
now happiness seems abstract
Just a little more
now I’m over the brink

The fire inside is slowly dying
I just feel numb

My inner child is scared of me
caged in bars made by others
but mostly by me
long gone is the glitter and magic
desolation is a home I’ve now began to love

Song rec:

Author’s note:

Cheers to all the academic over-achievers whose whole identity was based off on always being the perfect topper and when life flipped the coin and made you stupid, you lost your whole identity.
(Not sorry for calling you out -_-)

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Behind me,
my mother sat on the sand.
Beside me,
my father let the waves
wash over his fleeting feet.

I watched
as his footprints etched into the wet shore
were quietly swept away.

And then,
that familiar cold gripped my heart—
the fear.

Their laughter,
a melody
dancing over crashing waves and roaring wind.
And I feared,
one day it would stop.
The song,
and them.
Gone
gone like footprints under tide.

It seemed
everything disappears beyond the horizon.

I stood there,
weathered by sun and salt and thought,
and I heard them call my name—
a sound so full of life
I nearly wept.

Was I to lose this ecstasy, too?

Inspiration:

Author’s note:

The real ones know where the inspiration is from haha.

Well, small titbit, one of the very few places we could visit around the time of Lockdown was the beach and hence my everlasting love for that lovely piece of beautiful nature (plus it was the first time I got to ‘really’ understand my family and spend some good time with them instead of rotting alone in my room).

It seems like a universal fear though, the thought that someday it would all end and that they would be gone, forever.
Now, staying with them under the same roof and same room for nearly 2 decades, the four walls might seem to keep closing in and the very people whom I love and respect dearly might seem unbearable at times.
Maybe it is true, you can only realise the worth of something after you lose it and its foolish to wish for immortality for them or us because it would just drive us all to insanity.
Beauty lies in the transience - The fact that this too shall pass and shall end one fine day, maybe it would all make us a little more kinder to each other, maybe it would all make us really cherish the little things in life.
To take for granted is to lose and to hope to escape is to hate. I say this more to myself than to you lovely readers….I hope and pray, in this fast paced world where independency has become a necessity, I hope, I still feel home is where they are and that my thoughts are only to escape this house but not home, for I don’t think I can ever forgive myself in occurrence of the former.

Apologies for the extra long note but thanks for reading (hands you a sand covered pretty shell I found)

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An old dusk
A new dawn
Let’s rip the script into shreds
And rewrite our deeds once again
Let’s redo the jigsaw puzzle
And put back the broken pieces
Let’s rewrite the stars in the sky
And draw constellations of our own
Let the past hang like dark veils
But let it not blind your venue ahead
Let the future lie uncertain
But let it not hinder your pace
Let the present rule

Build up steps and climb on
Break down walls and build doors

Inspiration:

Author’s note:

A slightly cringe but well meant relic from towards the end of Lockdown era.

P.s. I don’t care what people say, but BTS did help me a lot more than anyone can ever realise, their songs is what made me start to love myself and their RUN BTS episodes were the sole reason for my laughter then. It’s not the hot looks, not the cool fashion, not the sick MVs nor the badass choreography - it’s how their songs transcend language and regional barriers and feel like an anthem uniting millions of souls across the globe.
Couldn’t be more proud to be a part of such a wholesome fandom <3

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Song rec:

Authors note:

Another one from the tragic lockdown era which I spun after a friendship breakup of sorts. She was the sweetest person to ever exist and I was a blithering idiot who kept drowning alone.

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Held your hands
Though it bled rivers

Twirled around with you
Though you sank knives into my back every time I turned

Let you hold me tight
Though you would let go of me

Dwelled deep into your eyes
Though you would plunge me into a darkness more deeper

Fawned over your lips
Breathing the same poison of yours

Gazed at stars and skies with you
Though how was I to know
That you had
But crawled from the depths of hellfire
And that those glistening beauties held nothing for you

Foolish of me
Trying to wield the power of gods
To try to repair the broken heart of yours
Foolish of me
To still hope
That you were far from broken
Twisted
Hollow
And everything synonymous

You have forever tainted my soul
A irreparable venom that had snaked into my system

And yet
Isn’t it sinful
For a sinner to look this sinful

All you had given me
In return for all of me
Is sorrow
Yet why is that
Even as I sit alone here
Without your shadow over me
I feel a part of me missing

My lovely sinner
Have you taken my soul with you as well
Wasn’t the broken pieces of my heart not enough

Pathetic isn’t it
To weep for the sinners

Song rec:

Author’s note:

Wrote sometime back in lockdown era or maybe start of college, I don’t remember hmm. All I know is lockdown really fucked me up enough to take to melancholic poetry and that every single thing I write is just about being miserable.
I’m just a poet with a very sad soul, I guess.

Did some alterations maybe a year back (?) but personally, I think I might’ve have a couple of muse(s) to dedicate this to.

Anyways, thanksz for reading again ;-)

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Losers

Sounds derogatory enough?

And the Winners

More optimistic, isn’t it?

But winning and losing is just two sides of the same coin.
Heads, you win — your effort paid off, you feel proud, everyone cheers, you gift yourself with all the things you had promised yourself when you would win, you treat people.
Tails, you lose.
Now what?
There is no script for this part.

When was the last time you ever thought, ‘oh, I’ll do this when I fail?’
Probably never.

“Failures are stepping stones to success,” but we do nothing to acknowledge failure when it comes our way.
It’s not like saying you should think that you would fail; it’s just being ready to accept such an outcome as well.

Let’s say you do a task and it has two outcomes — to win or to fail.
Now, to calculate the probability of winning, you need two events, failure being one of those.
But we don’t really accept its existence as one, do we?

“Don’t talk about failure.”
“Be optimistic.”
“Don’t jinx it.”
“Talking about failing will only make you fail.”
“Think only about winning.”
And when you cheer someone on, it’s always, “Yes, you’ll win.”

The world revolves around winning.
Your family and friends would cheer you up — but only to win.

Even you do that to yourself, don’t you?

Personally, I thought I’ll gift myself a guitar or a camera by saving up my salary when I get placed.
But what if I don’t?

Now talking about being jobless as a possibility is literally a taboo at this point.
“Don’t say it.”
“Don’t jinx it.”

Failure has become a curse now, more than just a possible event.
If it’s really a part of life, then why isn’t it treated with the same respect as winning?

Mum says, “When she’ll get placed, she’ll take us for second outings every week.”
Dad says, “You can buy yourself a new phone when you get placed.”
But what if I don’t?

In the movie, the father buys a bottle of wine, to be opened on the day when his kid’s JEE results would come out, saying, “Dad and son both will celebrate.”
Towards the end of the film, he points it out, saying, “I told him this, but I never told him what we would do if it never happened.”

“Hum sab galat kar rahe hain, bhai.
Success ke baad ka plan sabke paas hai.
Lekin agar galti se fail ho gaye, toh failure se kaise deal karna hai, koi baat hi nahi karna chahta.”

(We are all doing it wrong man
Everyone has a plan after success
but if even by mistake we fail, then how to deal with that failure
about that, no one talks)

“Get good grades in that math exam, I’ll buy you another Barbie doll.
But what if I get an 80 instead of 90?”
“Get a good total in boards, I’ll take you out.”
But what if I lose marks in just one subject?
“Get a good rank in JEE and NEET, you’ll get a good college and life set.”
But what if I never make the cutoff?
“Get good CGPA and skills in college, you’ll get the job.”
But what if I keep struggling?

It’s not that we can’t win.
We’ll keep trying.
The goal is to win.

But what if — just what if — the less favourable event happens?
Are we even ready to face it?

No.
We never were.

“It’s all a simple basic mistake and you can’t even do that, and look at how much time you take solving it.”
No talks about the hours spent crying over that darn textbook.
“You lost marks in this subject so much just because you were too oversmart. You didn’t make the cutoff because you didn’t score that much in this one alone.”
No talks about the hours spent at that table, the “Dad, please take prints of sample papers,” the skipped meals, the “No, I have to study, I can’t come out,” the late nights, the long study sessions, the “Mum, just one minute, I’ll finish this and come.”
“If you had prepared a little seriously, you could’ve made it.”
No one talks about the constant staring at that fucking screen, the long binge-watching of study videos, the multiple websites browsed to study, the tears that soaked your pillow, the emptiness in your heart as you look up at the ceiling wondering what is all this even for.
“You scored so well at school, why can’t you maintain the same in college?”
No one talks about the drastic change in environment, the way of teaching, the heartbreaks, the drama, the staring out windows hopelessly, the “No sorry, I’m going to the library,” the “No sorry, I have to go home to study,” the hours spent at staircases and random classes trying to understand shit way beyond what was taught in class.
“You had four years and yet you couldn’t develop one good skill or project.”
No one talks about the nights and days spent over trying to focus on academics, not the lack of understanding of concepts, not the lack of being taught real skills, not the lack of guidance.

No.
It’s all what you could’ve done.
Not about what all you did.
Never.
Because no one can ever see what you did.
All they see is the outcome.

The world revolves around it.
Outcomes and numbers.
Hell, how I hate numbers.
“How much did you score, bro?”
“Hey, what’s your rank, da?”
“What’s your total now?”
“Oi, your CGPA?”
“How many projects?”
“How many programming languages?”
“How many skills?”
It’s always how many, never how.
Or how much it cost you to get there.

“I couldn’t score that much in math, but look at my science and English, no?”
Loser.
“I couldn’t get that total because I messed up just one subject, but hey, rest all is above 90.”
Loser.
“I couldn’t get that rank because I was doing multiple exams plus general caste, bro.”
Loser.
“I couldn’t get that CGPA because just one grade dropped and class average was high, tch.”
Loser.
“I couldn’t make any outstanding projects, but I do know my basics.”
Loser.
“I couldn’t—”
Loser.

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

“If you could, you would’ve.”
“Don’t make excuses.”
“You failed.”
“You didn’t win.”
“You’re a loser.”

Loser. Loser. Loser.
At some point, you stop defending yourself.
You just start believing them.

When that random girl’s mother asks, “Oh, how much did you score, da?”
When that relative who never speaks much calls and asks just one question, “What’s the total?”
When that parent’s friend sees you and the first thing they ask, “How much rank, ma?”
When that old friend sees you and asks, “What’s your CGPA?”
When that faculty looks at you doubtfully and asks, “How many projects you have?”
Why are you all so obsessed with my numbers?
Can’t you all shut up?

“Oh, that’s not that much, but it’s okay, better luck next time.”
“Ah, that cousin got this much more, but good one.”
“Okay okay, I think you can expect some decent college with that, I guess, haha.”
“Wow, I thought you’d be a topper, man.”
“I see… that’s it?”

Numbers. Numbers. Numbers.
So less.
Never enough.
It’s never enough.
You will never be enough.
You are such a loser.

Silence

Is this how it feels when you finally die?
The noise, the questions, the numbers — I can’t hear anything.
Is silence only felt at death then?
I wonder how it feels to escape all this and just… die.

I wonder how it feels to pass away in your sleep.
She’s huddled in the corner of the class, surrounded by helpless others, weeping, never stopping. Oh, her eyes are so red, she’s crying, she won’t stop, she won’t stop, she won’t stop.
I wonder how it feels like to maybe cut my wrists. The kitchen knife seems tempting.
The lady’s scream is piercing. She won’t stop wailing. So much blood. Look at that pool of blood. How can someone bleed so much? So much blood. So much. So much. So much.
I wonder maybe I should take something deadly and end this.
She can’t speak, her tears choke her. She’s at my door, dishevelled, still in her home clothes, the house keys. She blurts. She can’t speak. My sister. She keeps lamenting like a curse. That haunted look in that child’s eyes — so helpless, helpless, helpless.

Maybe death would be kinder than life.
Maybe death would be more peaceful than this hell.

But —
It’s not kind to my parents and brother, isn’t it?
It’s not peaceful to my friends, isn’t it?

Funny how you end up living only for the ones you care about.

(But in all honesty, I would never have the courage to take my own life. I don’t want to die in vain. I’ve got so much to do.)

About 8.1% of suicides are of students, of which 7.6% are attributed to exam failure.

Around 13 lakh students apply to JEE, of which 11 lakh attend and only 3 lakh qualify.
Around 21 lakh students apply to NEET, of which 20 lakh attend and only 11 lakh pass.

Everyone talks about the 3 and 11 — the high scorers, the rank holders, the successful underprivileged ones.
But no one talks about the remaining 8 and 9.
What of those kids?
The ones who put their blood, sweat, and tears, only to fail?

(All data is compiled by Perplexity from 2023–24 official records, roughly.)

My heart goes out to all the lost souls who never made it.
My heart goes out to all the poor souls who never made it out alive.

These aren’t mere numbers, these are names.
AASRA (24/7): +91-9820466726.

So if death is not the answer,
maybe I can try.
I’ll keep trying.
I’ll try to be enough.
I’ll try to be a winner.

Get good grades.
Chase that CGPA.
Get that college.
Get that job.
Numbers are all good.
Oh wow, look at those numbers. So pretty.
Numbers, numbers, numbers.
Now that the numbers are all pretty — am I now enough?

No.
Never.
You’ll never be enough.

“Why didn’t you clean this properly?”
“Can’t you be a little faster?”
“Why can’t you come out, what a bummer.”
“How can you not know this, lol?”
“Why can’t you open up to me?”
“Can’t you call, maybe? I know people who even video call a lot.”

I’m trying.
I’m trying to be enough.
Can’t you see?
Will I never be enough?

“It’s okay, it’s not the end of the world if you don’t get placed right now, we know you can do it.”
I’m never enough.
You’ll still be disappointed in me soon.
“I’m really grateful to have you as my friend.”
I’m never enough.
You’ll get bored soon.
“You’re ideal.”
I’m never enough.
You’ll leave soon.

I’ll never be enough.
I’ll never be perfect.
I’ll never be everything.
Loser. Loser. Loser.

Silence

But I still wake up, don’t I?
But I still… hope…

Back in school, I used to doodle a lot and draw tattoos using CD markers for people, and there was this one word I always kept drawing in my notes because I thought it was cute —

Hope is what gets us up in the mornings when it feels useless to even be alive.
Hope is what peaks in at those random 3 a.m. motivation outbursts.
Hope is when you sit down to jot down resolutions for the next year.
Hope is just you, trying, no matter what.
Even when no one is watching. Especially then.

And no, hope is not beautiful.
Hope isn’t clad in satin white robes, with long hair and sparkling eyes, her hands always stretched out in expectation, her gait hopping and soft.
Hope is clad in sweat-drenched casuals, her knees scraped and knuckles swollen, eyes bloodshot and hair messy. She gets up after falling, every. single. time. Spits blood out of her mouth and gets back up.
Hope is you looking back at yourself from the mirror at night, eyes puffed with tears but determined nevertheless.

Hope is a futile thing to cling onto though.
She keeps pushing.
Fall. Get up. Repeat.
Fall. Get up. Repeat.
Fall. Get up. Repeat.
“But what for now?”
“What’s the point?”
“I’m still going to fall anyway.”

It’s a long way down, that last fall.
Hopelessness.
There’s nothing I can cling onto.
There’s no one here.
Everyone around has a purpose.
Everyone around has someone.
I just exist.
Purposeless and loveless.
It’s so lonely down here.
“What’s the point?”
“I’ll fall even if I get up.”
Maybe I’ll try one more time.
Just once.
I hate the feeling of not clinging onto something.
I’m so weak and pathetic.
But it’s fine.
It’s just who I am.
Let me try just once.
Try. Try. Try.
Back up again.
Falling again.
Still up.
The cycle continues.
“It’s so tiring.”
“It would be better to stop.”
Can’t I stop?
No.

The show must go on.
Try, fail, repeat.
Pretend, smile, repeat.
The show has to go on,
even if it’s the same scene on repeat.
Act. Act. Act.
Audience boos.
They can’t see the blood on your hands and feet, bleeding from doing it over and over again.
They just see you doing the same thing over and over again.
But you don’t know the script of the next act, so you keep doing it.
Act. Act. Act.
You keep bleeding.
You keep trying.
The show will never end.

The crowd is always going to ask for more.
It only sees what you show them —
the same act,
the numbers, the outcomes, the results.
Never the sleepless nights.
Never the efforts.
Never the thought put into it.
You’re the director and actor in this play of life.
And you both know what the act stands for.
They don’t.

The crowd disappears.
The theatre is empty.
The act still goes on.
The silence is deafening but blissful.
Now who are you acting for, darling?

No one is going to see the efforts you put in.
No one is going to know about the hours you put in studying.
No one is going to know about the tears that your pillow had soaked.
No one knows you.
But you do.

In this empty theatre, devoid of the sickening audience,
the only one clapping for you, no matter what, is you.
The director.
The actor.
The audience.
In the play of your life, is you.
Only you.

So why would you want to beat yourself up for failing, when you tried?

Hero: (bruised and bloodstained, on their knees, the sword by their side, every breath shaking their body as if every shudder pained them. They grunt and reach for the sword, using that as support to get back up. They stand up straight and, with shaking but steady hands, point it towards the villain.)

Villain: (surprised but impressed) Well, well. Look at you, trying so hard to stand up. Cute.

Does the hero win now?

Isn’t that what happens in the usual animes and series?
One last time, they scream and try again, the BGM intensifies, and lo and behold — they win.

What if they fail?

The villain’s sword plunges right into the hero’s chest.
Blood spreads through their garment like ink on water, and with shocked eyes, they fall.
Laughter echoes, followed by a dull thud.

In the movie too (spoiler), the goal is to attempt a three-pointer in basketball.
The hero throws it.
For one whole minute of cinematic suspense, the ball keeps hovering above that rim.
Then it falls outside.

Silence.

They lost.
Even after they tried.
Even after being so close to winning.

The opposition cheers.
Our heroes cry.
Still losers, even after trying.

Is it, though?

Their efforts are acknowledged.
They are no longer the losers who never tried.
They’re the losers that tried but still failed.

But it’s fine, isn’t it?
Because they tried.

And it’s a movie.
Everyone will acknowledge their efforts.
Your life is an act that only you can see.
So you have to acknowledge your own efforts, right?

“Itni koshish ke baad bhi aap haar gaye.
Aap logon ka toh mar jaane ka mann kiya hoga na?”
(even after these many efforts you guys failed
you people would’ve wanted to die right?)

“Nahi.
Beta, tumhara result decide nahi karta ki tum loser ho ya nahi.
Tumhari koshish decide karti hai.
Par koshish toh aapne bahut kari na, beta.”
(No
Son, your results don’t get to decide whether you’re a loser or not
your efforts does
but you put in a lot of effort didn’t you?)

The act pauses.
You stand still.
You have no script.
The BGM still plays - Life never stops.

You look at the empty seats, eyes blurry, your limbs bloodied and exhausted.
You look at the only eyes you can find in that vast space — yours.
“But didn’t I try?
I tried so hard.
I promise I did.”
She nods, then stands up slowly and claps.
The act failed.
But the spotlight is still on.
The BGM still plays.

The director is now holding a new script to try.
And the audience — she has tears in her eyes too.
It was an enthralling performance.
You smile and move on to the re-enactment or the next act.

The show must go on.
Curtain falls.

Authors note:

I swear I was trying to capture a different vibe when I started.
(Leads you slowly to the couch, wraps you in a warm rug, gives you a cup of hot chocolate, switches on the TV that plays everything you had tried, pats your head and says, “Look at yourself trying. It’s okay. Try again. You’ll get it next time. Take rest for one day.”)

Instead, it ended with (radio static echoes in the empty theatre).

Well, the plotline was — be prepared to fail as well, and be kinder to yourself because no one else is going to.
My hand slipped and I got a little dramatic and ranted, but oh well — you get the point.

You’ll never be enough.
You’ll never be perfect.
You’ll never be everything.
And that’s okay.
You’re just a mere mortal, after all.
You might not be a winner; you aren’t a loser either.
You’re a fighter.
And fighters don’t always win — they just refuse to stop standing up.

Thanks for reading, though.
(Hands you a cup of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.) <3

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So beautiful
Yet so frail
I’m scared

If I hold you
You’ll be crushed
If I let you go
You’ll fly away
If I hold on
You’ll burn

I’m just a broken lamp
Flames have engulfed my everything
And now
It’s snaking up to your heart

I wish
Oh how I wish
That you never met me
Yet I can’t live without you
That you stayed away from me
Yet I need your embrace
Am I being selfish
Keeping you close
Yet killing you slow
My butterfly
Don’t fly away
Let me be a little selfish
And say,
I need you

Inspiration:

Authors note:

Wrote it sometime back after lockdown when I felt I was too broken to be loved. (Was being a little dramatic maybe, I’m super awesome guys)
But well, worst part is, I did believe I wasn’t really worthy of being loved or cared for, because, nobody wants a broken doll now do they?

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Inspiration:

Author’s note:

Time for a little lore drop.

This was written during lockdown in 2020, when I had started preparing for competitive exams AND shut myself off from friends, and begun overthinking everything. The inability to go out only made things worse.
Probably the very first time my mind decided to go into overdrive.

So I wrote this—sitting on a plastic chair—when my mind just wouldn’t stop screaming. The current was off. There was no sound of the fan, no vehicles on the road, no kids downstairs.
The environment was silent, but the inside of my head, sadly, wasn’t.

This ended up being the only piece of writing my parents ever saw, and it was the one that made me decide I’d never show my writing to them again.

Basically, me being the idiot I was, I accidentally submitted this to my school magazine, which my mum saw. That led to a few hours of lecturing from both sides—about “why are you depressed or thinking like this?”, “don’t we provide you everything you need?”—the usual parent stuff.
It’s understandable. When your kid thinks like this, your first thought is, “Where did I go wrong?”
It’s scary, indeed.
The sad thing about being a child and being a parent is that one will never fully understand the other, no matter what. Forgiveness is all we can do for our own peace.
Well, that’s a discussion for some other day.

But this poem is a testament to the very first time my mind felt like it was against me—and the very first time I realised that your parents will never understand everything about you.

Anywaysss, thank you reading loves and apologies for the depressing backstory

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