A speck in the middle of two states.

If you ask me about my university experience, I promise you I’ll use the word isolating.

At a 20-kilometre radius from campus, there exist several industrial factories, locals, and land.

In the middle of empty highways, our campus is our tiny little world. Our campus is a tiny blip bustling with life, students, and chaos.

When everything known to civilization is a 2-hour train ride away, the isolation is deafening.

I joke about this frequently and perpetually because I joke about most things.

Recently, my friends and I went for a walk outside of campus. We walked to a random field about 20 minutes away from campus. The weather was honestly pleasant: a gentle breeze, music from the speaker, and there was this gentle lightness in all of us.

This walk, this tiny reeling break, break in monotony, was the highlight of my week. I think about how isolated I am a lot, but I do not think about how much it’s changed me.

One of my close friends and I are both from Mumbai; we are used to the convenience, the hustle and bustle, chaos, and life that the city carries. We are used to having everything one could possibly want within reach.

Our minds in Mumbai are drowned with so much availability, our weird and sort of quiet life at Krea makes us appreciate things more.

Living here has changed us; the smaller things matter more. The emptiness has filled us with child-like wonder, and how much joy that’s generated within us for the small teeny tiny things.

The coffee at the airport back home excites us; the snacks back home mean more. New flavour of ice cream in the convenience store. Finding a new cat on campus. Having a day of good weather with the sun out.

I like to think we live better lives here, mostly because it doesn’t take a lot to make us feel alive. A walk in a field made us giddy with joy.

The isolation is deafening, but it’s gratifying.

I complain about it a lot, but I couldn’t be more grateful for it.

My quotation for today’s post is by Albert Camus, “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”

Thank you for reading :)

I hope your days feel light and are filled with winter sun and laughter.

Last semester, I had most classes without any friends, and I know I appeared as the tall, always-confused girl. And, I can’t help but think how differently I would appear if I were with my friends, mostly because I knew I would be most likely smiling. I think it’s pretty incredible that we all have our soft corners, people in our lives that make us break out of character, or maybe they bring out our true character. They make us more us; they bring about this immeasurable lightness to our lives and to our very state of existence. Whenever I went to work with my dad, the difference was so striking in his nature. I got to view him in this new light, where he was authoritative and had a commanding presence. But for me, he was always a teddy bear in my father’s body. I think it’s so cool that we all have these sides to us, these layers, and only some people in our worlds are capable of bringing out.

It’s almost like seeing your teacher outside of school, that feeling when your worldview of how someone is completely is rectified, only because you’re seeing them in a different light in a completely different context.

I realize how important friends and family are, and how they literally light up our worlds and us, too. No matter how we appear on the surface, we are fortunate to have our softer sides. People in our lives who melt away the cold, who make us feel and remove the indifference, and I think I want to hold onto these people, soft corners.

Here’s an excerpt by Jen Shoop from People Who Keep The Lamps Lit that I really loved:

“The more of these light-gatherers I meet, the more I believe it’s will, and will forged anew each day. They wake up and they call forth an adamantine determination to resist the ease of despair, and to believe that reality is mainly possibility — even when the wicked comes knocking.

I would like to learn from them how to draw the luminous, too.

how to stand still and shine, how to turn on every last light in the city,

flame to flame, unbound luminescence”.

-Harini Chheda.

A half-opened long wooden door greets you. The door is always slightly open, always ready for company or a conversation. The music playing from within floats around lazily, loud enough like the thoughts apparent on my face. The ceramic nameplate on the right side of the door is pink and slightly chipped. It has ‘Haru’s lazily scribbled across. I use nicknames more than one probably should. They feel like remnants of childhood and are my favourite form of endearment.

Upon opening the door, lies the shoe rack, overpiled with shoes. The paint on the wall is no longer fresh; it shows how it has stood the test of time. Everyone has left their mark in my home, it’s apparent from the way I hang my bag on the chair as soon as I enter, just like my mother does or tucking the sheets just like my old friend taught me to. ‘I am a mosaic of everyone I’ve ever loved, even for a heartbeat. ’

In the centre of the room lies my rickety couch from my old house. The ancient architecture and wash of wood remind me of the foregone style of interiors. The fabric of the couch, which is grey in colour, has frayed over time, a few strands breaking free. The wall above the couch across the television has photos hanging from two years ago and two months ago, and some from yesterday. The ever-consuming presence of nostalgia and my core memories play on repeat in my mind.

The coffee table has more than a dozen books, cluttered with bottle vases and flowers. The rim of the table, where I never use a coaster, bears a small stain from the cheesy ramen that I ate last night.

There is a small corner of this house against the window, with my cushion lying on the wooden floor. This dark, dimly lit corner is where no one enters, rarely visited, myself included. It's the quietest corner of this house, the most devoid of sound. I return to this spot when my mind is too wired to sleep and the weight of the world is bearing down upon my shoulders. This corner is easy to miss; most people do, but it exists.

The kitchen is mostly stocked with healthy food, but the white packaging of my favourite chocolate bar peeking from the shelf gives away the truth. An entire shelf of sweet treats. The constant craving for something sweet is omnipresent.

The aroma of vanilla from the scented candles on my bedside clouds your senses. The pile of clothes on the chair continues to grow; they feel like the to-do lists in my head that I am always forming. The list goes on and on until the panic sets in. The pile grows bigger until I can’t take the mess anymore, and I start to hyper-efficiently put the clothes away.

My room has words sprawled all across its walls with ink. Words and excerpts from my recent reads that float around my brain and have taken over my mind. This wall is what I stare at before I write; words are my biggest inspiration for my own words.

In the right corner of my room lies my vanity. All my jewellery in the ceramic plate I borrowed from my mother. Dirty cotton pads and lipstick stains decorate the white desk.

There are several mirrors running parallel, reflecting the brightest blinding light. The part of my brain that is critical of myself and my flaws resides here. Showcasing everything from the scar on my left leg to the one comment I made three years ago. The light narrows my vision only to my flaws, only till I turn off the light. This corner reminds me of how much I err, how imperfectly human I am.

-Harini Chheda.

Here’s my quotation for today’s post:

‘I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.

So why not get started immediately?

I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.’

-Part 3, The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac, Mary Oliver.

13th July 2025: Here’s something I wrote the day I landed here:

What a privilege it is to be sad over goodbyes, to feel the pain physically because of how much you love and are loved.

My friends and family showed up for me in the past month in unexpected ways. It got me thinking of how absence inflicts stronger emotions than celebration does. I felt more loved this past month than even on my birthday. Being away from home will make the teeny tiny things appear more momentous.

I think at different points in our lives, we have all made a friend or possibly a best friend, someone who feels close to family. Someone who is family. And, when you’re 10 years old, you can’t possibly see a world where you aren’t friends. You don’t think there is anything or anyone that will make your friendship cease to exist, and a lot of the time, there isn’t a factor; you've just grown apart. Grew up a little differently.

I think my cynicism about friendship gradually increases a little bit every year. I stand heavily unsure of how many friends will stay, how many of them will sustain. My first week nerves weren’t about making new friends, I think I was just hoping my friends from home would stand the test of time.

I got gifted this book called Anxious People by Fredrik Backman. Frederick Bachman is such a masterful writer; his writing captures such profound themes so effortlessly.

I always feel the need to highlight the lines, in hopes of holding onto the words for a moment longer. Additionally, I loved the fact that this book has simultaneous story lines running in parallel, and then they all connect in unexpected ways. A reflection of that was something I noticed at university. Becoming close to people whose existence you didn’t even know of. How worlds apart someone’s life had been from mine. And to think of it, the fact that we all meet here. Like, no matter where we came from and how we came here, we meet here.

Their life felt so distinct from mine. Albeit I was also 8 years old. My fascination and curiosity towards the West morphed into a form of romanticisation. Suddenly, a bit of a silly accent slipped in when I used to vlog for fun. I think this romanticisation led to an aversion to things rooted in Indian culture. I vividly remember my parents calling vada-pav an Indian burger, trying to encourage me to eat it when I was 8.

Unlike earlier generations, we knew worlds besides our own. Our generation’s problem wasn’t a lack of exposure; it was, in fact, blatant overexposure.

The truth of the matter was that I failed to see that the glass was half full on this side.

There’s glaring irony in romanticising a world devoid of culture while living in the epitome of culture and tradition. I grew out of my phase of romanticizing the West, fortunately, quickly enough. My nationality and culture are integral to my identity.

The Western media will transform things that have been ingrained into our lifestyles for centuries into sizable, palatable fads. It could be from food like turmeric lattes, which is simply haldi doodh, to ghee being marketed as a superfood in grocery stores. Ginger shots derived from Ayurveda as immunity boosters, or someone in MasterChef Australia calling gulab jamun,” golden syrup balls”.

This cultural appropriation extends to fashion with popular brands like Oh Polly! mimicking dupattas and selling them as Scandinavian scarves. Shararas and lehengas are being sold as 2 piece sets.

They take things rooted in our lifestyle, like oil-pulling, and pass them as the next new thing, which goes back to Ancient India. You see wellness influencers practice yoga as the new wellness trend, something founded 5000 years ago.

I feel a wave of indignation because I am all for taking inspiration from cultures and celebrating them. My rant isn’t against the popularisation of these things; it’s the lack of credit. It’s shocking how often and frequently the West fails to credit South Asian cultures.

In my head, it no longer matters if the West knows or validates where their fads are coming from. I just hope we know where it roots back to.

India, like other south asian countries, no longer needs the West to validate us and our lifestyles. The “American” dream is falling short in our eyes because the Indian reality is shaping up.

This quote loops in my mind like a stuck tune. In my opinion, good writing is seeing the words you read apply in your life. No matter where you are in the world or who you are, we share the human experience. A part of what I write, I hope, resonates with you.

May for me was a bit of an underwhelming month; a lot of things just didn’t pan out the way I expected them to. So I needed the love and comfort, and strangely, I could see the love returning to me in some way or another. Hearing this quote turned my brain on to keep an eye open for the love, returning. Things and moments that would have passed as ordinary suddenly in my mind got their due diligence. It may not always be in the form you manifest, but it’s always there. I could see it in my sister sending me coffee for breakfast one morning, or all the texts my friends sent me, telling me things would work out. I saw the love returning in bigger waves from my parents, who were possibly more disappointed, but they never really showed it to me. That's what I think May was about: understanding that the universe settles out the bad days.

The first concept of the universe taking care of you was fed to me by R.J. Palacio through her writing in Wonder. The way it goes is that even though life feels a bit like a lottery, random and strange. But the universe settles it all out in the end, the universe takes care of all of us, in ways we might not always be able to see.

If life doesn’t kill me, nostalgia will.

Nostalgia in Greek means pain from an old wound. A feeling of place where you ache to go back.

Sometimes I’m convinced I live in my memories more than in moments, which is ironic considering I’m 17 years old. That seems to be the theme of this summer. I feel nostalgia trailing me wherever I go. It follows me to everyone I meet. I think it’s to do with the fact that I leave for university next month. Every hangout, every conversation, and a lot of hugs feel definite, they have this odd sense of finality to them.

I just think I will miss home and my family, and friends a lot.

But it’s only June and there’s enough time :)

Today’s quotation is from Grace Noll Crowell’s poem I Have Found Such Joy:

“Oh, I have found such joys, I wish I might
Tell every woman who goes seeking far
For some elusive, feverish delight,
That's very close to home. The great joys are:
The elemental things — old as the race,
Yet never, through the ages, commonplace.”

-Harini Chheda.

When I think of time, it’s this ruthless, unchained, and intangible force. It takes years of our lives; it takes people, and it also translates moments into memories. Moments that you aren’t ready to let become a memory.

It moves us and things around us along, whether we like it here now or not. It moves us against our will. My favourite trick of time is when you’re in conversation, and if you stick with time for long enough, before you know it, thoughts and memories that you never thought you would say out loud get pulled out from the back of your mind—almost like retrieving a top from the back of your closet. That story, buried under a dozen other things, makes its way out, finding its way into someone else’s ear after a long exile.

Another runner-up trick of time is how it paints over our memories. Moments appear more precious once they’ve been brushed over by time. The visual of eating lunch around the canteen table with all my friends appears rarer now, sweeter than it ever seemed after time’s magic. I didn’t know then how much I would miss the small stuff. The things we did daily—the visual of us sitting around the canteen—will never come back. The breakfast I had with my cousins, two years ago to date, was just another meal at the time. Time’s made it one of my favourite memories, a memory of those four faces around a table of good food.

Maybe that is time’s grace: it gives us more than we expect. It allows us to have more conversations, to bare our souls more, to laugh more, and to smile more. It also makes the heavy days pass by—the moments where you truly feel lost. You stick with it long enough, and a week of rough days slips by. The weird, uneasy feeling passes, and a small sliver of light makes it through the cracks. Life feels almost lighter, almost palatable.

Quotation for today’s post by Marcus Aurelius,” What are you afraid of losing, when nothing in the world actually belongs to you”.

I must offer my deepest condolences and prayers in regard to the recent events in Pahalgam, Kashmir.

—Harini Chheda

You look at this kid play and think to yourself, "He’s going places. He is going to make it big". He plays with more power and precision than people twice his age and size. He glides across the court, every shot laced with incredible force.

His potential is undeniable. The magnitude of it doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone on that court. His father is at every practice for over two hours every single day. The coaches push this kid to his limits. Constructive criticism and feedback are the harshest with him—the stakes are just that high.

However, he looks miserable doing it. I haven’t interacted much with him, but you can see him throwing a fit, and complaining about the drills in the background. You can tell he just wants to go home and probably never come back. You feel an odd sense of sympathy as his father instructs him to run laps again.

This kid is being pushed toward greatness every single day, whether he wants to be or not. I wonder if he enjoys playing the sport anymore. I wonder if he still finds it fun. I wonder if he does anything besides playing tennis. I understand the pressures and ordeals of becoming good—becoming great—but I just wonder if it’s worth it.

Maybe I don’t understand what greatness demands.

When I sent my father this piece, I received one text message as feedback:

"Watch King Richard."

There’s a particular scene in King Richard where they’re training in the rain, and Child Protective Services are called on the Williams family.

"Now, I don’t mind you saying we are hard on these kids. ‘Cause we are! That’s our job—to keep them off these streets. You want to arrest us for that?" — Richard Williams

So, I get why the father is sticking it through, pushing his kid past his angsty phase. It may appear harsh and tough on the kid—that’s probably how Richard Williams was perceived—but he gave the world two of the greatest stars to ever walk on a tennis court.

Diamonds are made under great pressure. Greatness demands days when you want to give up, and days when you wish you were just a normal, average kid. However, I do not understand the appeal of pursuing greatness if it strips away every sense of joy you once derived from it. You won’t be able to become great at something if you truly do not love it. We are all different; what motivates one person could just as easily push someone else away from their purpose.

While diamonds are made under pressure, the dough rises when you let it rest.

Here are my thoughts, let me know yours :)

Quotation for today’s post:

Roald Dahl, “A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You may wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely”.

-eaglepost

“There is so much pain in the world, but not in this room.”

I met a lot of my old friends today—some who left in 7th, some in 9th, and some who stuck around after I left in 10th. We are all in different schools now, studying different courses, and applying to colleges all over the globe. To be honest, I haven’t hung out with everyone in the room since 2019, which is crazy considering I grew up with these girls. Being back in a room with all of them was probably the highlight of my month because there was so much love and happiness.

This also reminded me of another moment from last year when we celebrated a friend’s 18th birthday. His mother made the entire celebration so special and sentimental by putting up childhood photos of him all over the house and decorating it with toys and cartoons he loved. The whole night felt like one big warm hug. There were people in that room who had known him since he was born and were there to celebrate his birthday. I had only known him for the past two years, but I felt very lucky to be there at that moment. It’s so lovely how we get interwoven into people’s lives—sometimes for a fleeting moment and sometimes in ways that allow us to celebrate every occasion with them.

January has felt sort of strange this year—it’s been coating every moment with nostalgia and sentiment. The last school photo, the last open house, the last day of 12th grade. A lot of lasts, but also room for a whole bunch of firsts. January has also been full of softer moments—like runs and stretches, eating lots of fruit, and trying to catch wisps of the remnants of winter. Quick naps in the afternoon and cups of coffee you wish would never end. Text messages with friends about their lives that lead to big smiles on my face.

21st January: missing earphones

I forgot my earphones at my dad’s office a couple of days ago and had to go without them for 36 hours. Not to be dramatic or anything, but I felt this gaping void without them. I listen to music obsessively—I rarely sit in silence. From the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, there’s always something playing. I even have a background sleeping playlist.

It’s been strange to walk in silence, sit in autos with no music, and try in vain to drown out the noise of honks, traffic, and the chaos of peak hour. I believe I’ve written before about how a little part of me feels oblivious to life around me with my earphones in. Today, as I was sitting in the auto, I overheard the driver talking to his wife, asking about their son becoming the captain of his school. His entire face lit up at the news, and a deep laugh arose from him. His happiness was contagious, and I left with a big smile plastered on my face.

I would have missed out on that moment if I had been wearing my earphones.

Quotation for today’s post from Dolly Ardelton’s ‘Everything I know about love’,

‘Life is a wonderful, mesmerizing, magical, fun silly thing. And humans are astounding. We all know we're going to die, and yet we still live. We shout and curse and care when the full bin bag breaks, yet with every minute that passes we edge closer to the end.”

That’s it for today. :)

I hope February treats you well and is kind to both you and me.

—Eaglepost.

At the start of this year, I wrote about being a boat lost at sea trying to find the lighthouse. Which is a bit dramatic for me also, but it’s no surprise I felt extremely lost and stagnant entering this year.

However 2024 has turned out to be liberating, I leave the year feeling the ground beneath my feet a bit more. I will take the risk of overestimating myself and say I believe I found purpose, perhaps passing purpose but nonetheless purpose.

My deepest fear with writing is to appear unlike myself, superficial and that is why this years post has taken alot more deliberation than normal, however I have written a December end post for the last 4 years so it feels wrong not to. So bear with me, as I try to convey what this year meant to me trying to sound sure but mostly quite uncertain:).

One thing that I like to think I found this year was discipline, I think my routine was something I started to find delight in and take pride in. To be honest, I didn’t think I had it in myself. So I was pleasantly surprised and am probably hopping on a bandwagon, people have been on forever but better late than never.

I could see the lighthouse this year, I was no longer searching for it. I was heading towards it.

I also felt alot of embarassament and humilation leave my body this year, alot of the people I surrounded myself with this year are people who are extremely comfortable in their skin. Unapolgetically themselves. A part of that mindset floated to me and I caught wisps of it, I don’t know if its for good or worse but I was striving to be myself. I realised that laughing, laughing at yourself is the greatest way to make peace with the mess we humans are. So I mostly laughed at myself, sometimes I cried but we are figuring that out.

The one thing I am more fortunate for is that I leave yet another year reeling in gratitude for words. I actually spent the last couple of days annotating novels I’ve been reading, trying to make the words sink in my mind and giving them space to have its impactful effect. I typed countless college essay drafts and I cannot lie I had a pretty good time writing them, versions of myself and ways I was defining myself. I don’t know if my essays are upto standard, I am however happy with the fact that they are genuine and honest.

December beginning I rewatched Arjun the Warrior Prince, which is this exceptional animated film we used to watch with mom, growing up. I felt immense clarity settle within my mind after re-connecting with the movie. In this scene which I think when Indraprastha was being created by the Pandvas, Lord Krishna advises Arjuna by saying, “Karm karo arjun, jay parajay ki chinta mat karo, kartavya par dhyaan do aur bhay apne aap chala jayega” which translates to,”Focus on your actions Arjuna, do not worry about the result, focus on your actions and the fear will take care of itself”.

It was honestly amusing how much peace it brought me. I think I realised how futile my worrying was, I could only control my actions. I couldn’t control what people thought of me but I could control how I treated them. Alot of the time my posts are manifesations of things I want to imbibe. I want to do my karm in 2025—earnestly and sincerely.

I hope you find a piece of art like this that brings relief to your mind, that almost answers some of the questions you had.

May we reach the lighthouse, this one and the next. May there always be lighthouses to reach and find <3

It’s another year and my love for this space grows, thankyou for letting me write and thankyou for reading :)

Quotation for today’s post is by Caitlin Moran:

“ We are all peculiar, unrepeatable, peramubulating micro-universes. We have never been before and we will never be again. Oh God, the sheer exuberant, unlikely faces of our existence.The honour of being alive. They will never be able to make you again.”

love you,stay strong-eaglepost

I wrote a descriptive piece for a school assignment and I actually liked how it turned out. The prompt was " Quaint corner side café”.

I leisurely strolled down the narrow winding lanes of South Goa. My slippers slapped against the gravel-cemented path tunelessly. It was almost noon, the sun stretched out into the sky, its rays glazing my skin. It was one of those rare days, where the sun was out but it was still pleasantly cool. I had carried all my belongings, and essentials to spend the day out, exploring the quieter, more peaceful parts of Goa. It was all in a tote bag that was strapped carefully to my side.

I looked around because according to my Google Maps; it alerted me that my location was to the left. The Google assistant’s voice pierced the comfortable silence, it wasn’t exactly silence thought. It was this odd devoid of noise except for the occasional crickets chirp and the off-tune tweet of the birds in the sky. As I looked to my left, I finally found the café I was on the search for. The café had a little front porch with white-painted garden tables and Victorian carvings. There was a long wooden door with gold-detailed paint that created this enchanting look. The whole café was a pleasure to look at. Despite the isolation of the neighborhood, it was evidently a well-known spot because it was bustling with life and energy. I pulled out my camera to just take in this moment. It just exhibited the beauty humans carried in humans; just existing in a state of unknown elegance. There were families enjoying lunch on the porch, and a soft tune of melodies floated around the air. This café was strange in many ways, amidst silence and serenity was this fine establishment with people, life and light pouring out from all sides and enticing you to take a look in.

The café has these beautiful long French windows that rose from the ground to make up the walls of the café. I climbed the few steps leading you into the café and as soon as I entered the premises, a strong bout of the intoxicating aroma of coffee beans and baked goods filled my nostrils. The floor was made of old wooden boards that creaked as you walked. The boards demanded your attention, as you took in the sight of the café. The first thing that came to your eye was this long winding staircase that revealed some parts of the top floor. The baristas at the station welcomed me. The counter was this huge green slab of marble with white speckles that was enclosed by this beautiful brick wall. The seating was so diverse, besides tables and chairs, they had these low couches with cushions that were shades of green and maroon. The colours had faded over time and the fabric was slightly fraying. The café allowed you to feel so completely at home, it made you want to cozy up and it was just a warm hug on a cold day.

I put my bag down and decided to check out the café. It had a sort of this mysterious vibe, where you felt like the more you explored, the more hidden nooks and corners you would find. The other side of the brick wall had the biggest library unit attached to its front. All my eyes could see were bound books and the feel of the soft carpet underneath my toes. I couldn’t help but marvel at the place. I went on my tip-toes to admire the owner's carefully crafted collection of novels that ranged from genre. I found a book I had been searching for a while called “As the Mountain Echoes”. I loved worn-out books because they had seen so much and had been passed down so many hands. Worn-out books were little bits of history, they had traveled and seen so much of the world along with the current owner.

I went to the counter, ordered my usual vanilla iced latte, and made myself comfortable reading for the next few hours. The café had these special elements: little bins with warm blankets, and coasters with ink drawings of memories and stories from strangers worldwide. To my absolute delight, twenty minutes later a cat strolled lazily. The light from all sides made her luminous. She purred softly stretched her body and settled down on a pillow like she owned the place. The café was like a painting, light pouring in from all sides and trees and willows circling it. It looked like what I thought heaven would be. My coffee cup was this ceramic cup with pastel doodles. The back door led you out to this deck with iron railings that faced the sea. The majestic sea and the fiery ball of light reached to meet her at the horizon. A cool breeze circulated and carried the smell of the salty sea. I pulled out a blanket from the bin, it was floral and blue and smelled like detergent. This fine establishment with its Victorian architecture and with several centuries of history on its back. It carried memories, and stories of all sorts and had been witness to so many beautiful parts of life. This quaint café would be the last place I would spend my time on Earth. It wasn’t just a café, it was this beautifully crafted experience that reconnected you to life with its endearing ambiance, nature, and all-consuming solitude. The quaint corner side café was a celebration of life and it urged you to do the same, celebrate life.

Thank you for reading :)

A quotation I am trying to channel this week but am failing at,“If hatred knocks at your door, greet it with a smile but tell it has come too late for love is already having tea inside”.

Hope to see you soon!

-eaglepost

I have spent several moments wishing I had done more and honestly wondering what I have actually achieved because in retrospect something I spent 3 months doing is equivalent to 1 singular line. I felt this deep sense of frustration that I had done so much art but there was no way to measure it. I had read so many books but it wasn’t measurable or worthy of putting on my application.

It’s a strange thing, the screening process for colleges. Everything you do needs to result in something measurable. If it isn’t quantifiable, it almost doesn’t exist then and you almost feel stupid for even spending time on it. This is a bit sad to think about because I am the books I’ve read and I am the art I make. I hate that the pursuits that make us human and shape us in our nascent years are reduced to measurable certificates or evidence of it being done. There is no grey matter, there is no space left to do things simply for the act of doing it. Perhaps the actual measure of a pursuit is the way you feel doing it. Perhaps it should be the only value.

Cold mess: I have been having to push myself or force myself to do a lot of things I don’t particularly enjoy. It may be the odd call to learn about some course or do MATHS homework. Sometimes the simpler things, just take a lot of convincing in my internal monologue to be executed. However, I look at these things almost like a cold shower. I love cold showers for how refreshing they are but the worst part of a cold shower is actually getting into the cold water. So I had this technique as a kid “3 2 1 jump in, no room for thought”.I use this little cold mess technique for a lot of things, whether it’s reaching out to someone and I hit the send button before I can backtrack and it works strangely. I also do this when I am standing at the entrance of my tennis class contemplating if I want to spend another hour being bad at the same sport. But this makes it a bit more funny (imagine me doing it), and adds a little kick to my step, I hope this makes you laugh too.

Quotation for today’s post:

“A ship is safe in harbour. But that’s not what ships are for”-William G.T Shed.

hope you’re happy and drinking yummy coffee.

-eaglepost