Pockets brimming with marbles,
He knew neither fear nor shame.

Skin painted with bruises and cuts,
Heart was thrumming with memories and trust.

Flesh marked by the battles, bones bearing their toll,
Yet somewhere beneath it all, there lived a soul.

Blood ran unblemished, innocent of the world’s disguise,
Eager to entwine with every soul it met beneath the skies.

Poor child, a figment he called life,
Now the man wanders, through the ruins of a lie.

Mud skies, and games surrendered to nine -five,
Shoulder bearing burdens, just trying to survive.

Love and lust took root, then drowned him in sorrow,
Leaving him searching for a peace he could borrow.

Now blood runs clouded with THC and Nicotine,
And every attempt at connection feels rehearsed, performative.

Desires and destiny dissolved into reality,
Identity and purpose ache for the souls clarity.

Now the child asks the man,
“What became of all our dreams?”
The man replies,
“Life is barely what childhood seems.”

Somewhere between the sorrow, the scars, and what we lost,
We found a self worth knowing, whatever the cost.

(The only childhood picture I happen to have)

Life picked me up, rolled me into an OCB.

Adulthood filled me in like tobacco,

Crushed me down like a pot bud, heavy and green.

They shaped me tight into a burning joint,

Responsibilities lit me, watched me glow.

Each drag took a little more of me,

Till even the silence began to smoke.

And she,

She flicked me away like a cigarette bud,

No second glance, no pause, no touch.

Now all that’s left of who I was…

Is ash,

Soft, scattered, and too light to hold.

“Find someone who likes what you like.”

Same music.

Same humour.

Same movies.

Same hobbies.

Same fashion.

Same books.

Somehow we’ve turned connection into a checklist.

And maybe that’s where we’ve been getting it wrong.

Not because similarity is bad.

But because we’ve started treating it as the foundation instead of what it actually is - a pleasant bonus.

Psychologists have long observed that we’re drawn to people who resemble us - a tendency known as homophily. Familiarity feels safe. But safety isn’t the same as connection. Some relationship researchers argue that the healthiest relationships aren’t just built on similarity, but on growth- on introducing each other to new ideas, experiences, and versions of ourselves.

The problem begins when comfort quietly becomes our filter.

Today we reject people before we’ve even met them.

“He doesn’t listen to the music I like.”

“She/he dresses differently.”

‘’ He/She looks or replicates or has similarity of some famous person’m

“Our hobbies don’t match.”

“We don’t have enough in common.”

Sometimes all of this is decided within thirty seconds of scrolling through someone’s profile.

It’s strange when you think about it.

We’re making decisions about human beings based on information that previous generations would’ve discovered months into knowing someone.

Long before the first awkward coffee.

Long before the first disagreement.

Long before either person had the chance to surprise the other.

Maybe that’s why modern connection feels increasingly difficult.

We’re solving the mystery before reading the book.

I think about childhood a lot whenever this comes to mind.

One of my closest friendships has lasted around fifteen years.

Do you know why we became friends?

Because our seats happened to be next to each other.

That’s it.

No personality test.

No Spotify comparison.

No “What’s your attachment style?”

No carefully curated profile.

The first day was mostly silence.

The second day was probably just a casual “Hi.”

One afternoon we shared lunch.

Eventually we started talking.

Then laughing.

Then growing up together.

If someone had asked us on day one what we had in common, I honestly don’t know what we would’ve answered.

The similarities weren’t the reason we became friends.

They were something we discovered after the friendship already existed.

As children, we rarely searched for perfectly compatible people.

We simply spent enough time together for compatibility to emerge.

As adults, we often try to reverse that process.

We search for compatibility first and hope connection follows.

Sometimes it does.

Sometimes it never gets the chance.

There’s another idea from psychology that I find fascinating.

Arthur and Elaine Aron proposed something called Self-Expansion Theory.

The basic idea is that healthy relationships don’t only make us feel understood - they help us become bigger versions of ourselves.

We borrow each other’s worlds.

We experience new music because of them.

New foods.

New books.

New cities.

New ways of thinking.

In other words, a relationship isn’t only about finding yourself in someone else.

It’s also about discovering parts of yourself that didn’t exist before meeting them. (Wiley Online Library⁠)

That thought changes everything for me.

Because if another person is simply a mirror of everything I already know…

Where does curiosity go?

Where does growth live?

Where is the excitement of hearing someone passionately explain a band you’ve never heard of?

Or watching a film you’d never have picked yourself?

Or slowly understanding a hobby you once thought was boring simply because someone you care about loves it?

Some of the best parts of knowing another human being come from entering a world that wasn’t originally yours.

None of this means similarity doesn’t matter.

Shared values matter.

Mutual respect matters.

Compatible life goals matter.

Feeling emotionally safe matters.

Those things are far more important than whether both people enjoy the same playlist or looks like some hot person from a movie or series!

There’s a difference between sharing a direction in life and sharing identical tastes.

One builds a future.

The other just makes choosing the aux easier.

I also wonder if adulthood changes the way we search for people.

When we’re young, we have time.

Energy.

Curiosity.

We’re willing to slowly discover someone.

As adults, we’re carrying careers, responsibilities, deadlines, stress and exhaustion.

Maybe our brains start craving shortcuts.

Similarity becomes one of those shortcuts.

It feels efficient.

Predictable.

Comfortable.

Almost like buying furniture that’s already assembled instead of building it piece by piece.

But maybe connection was never meant to arrive fully built.

Maybe it’s something that slowly takes shape through ordinary conversations, shared meals, misunderstandings, patience, laughter and time.

I don’t think the goal of meeting someone should be finding proof that they’re already like you.

Maybe the goal should simply be finding someone you’re still curious about after the conversation ends.

Someone whose differences don’t intimidate you.

Someone who makes your world feel slightly bigger instead of simply more familiar.

Because perhaps connection was never about finding someone who finishes your sentences.

Maybe it’s about finding someone who gives you entirely new ones to think about.

And maybe that’s what we’ve forgotten.

We’ve become experts at finding similarities.

But the best relationships - romantic or otherwise, aren’t built because two people began as the same person.

They’re built because two different people kept choosing to understand each other.

Then there are songs that stay with you because one day they stop sounding the same.

Hawa Hawa from Rockstar was always that song for me.

The first few times I heard it, it was just Jordan and Heer running through Prague-laughing, dancing, teasing each other like the world had temporarily forgotten they existed. It felt like one of the rare Bollywood songs where happiness didn’t seem manufactured.

But then I listened to the lyrics.

Not as background music.

As a story.

“Sone ki deewarein, mujhe khushi na yeh de paayein…”

“These golden walls cannot make me happy.”

That’s probably one of the simplest lines Irshad Kamil has ever written.

And one of the most dangerous.

Because the walls aren’t just walls.

They’re everything that looks perfect from outside.

A successful career.
A comfortable life.
A relationship everyone envies.
The version of yourself you’ve spent years building because the world applauds it.

Sometimes the prison is beautiful enough that nobody realizes it’s a prison.

Not even you.

The song borrows from an old European folk tale about a queen who escapes her palace every night just to dance.

Most people stop there.

I think that’s only half the story.

Everyone sees Heer as the queen trapped inside golden walls.

I think Jordan is too.

The difference is that his walls haven’t been built yet.

They’re still under construction.

The entire film is Jordan chasing freedom.

At first he thinks freedom is Heer.

Then he thinks it’s music.

Then fame.

Then pain.

By the end of Rockstar, he has almost everything he once wanted.

Crowds scream his name.

His music reaches millions.

He’s become immortal in the only way an artist knows how.

And somehow…

he has never looked more trapped.

That’s what makes Hawa Hawa hurt.

Because it’s the only time Jordan believes freedom is something you can hold onto.

“Aazadi de de mujhe…”

“Give me freedom.”

I’ve always found it interesting that nobody in the song is asking for more love.

Or more money.

Or more time.

Just freedom.

Maybe because somewhere deep down, we all know what our own golden walls are.

Sometimes they’re expectations.

Sometimes they’re people.

Sometimes they’re the versions of ourselves we’ve become too afraid to leave behind.

I think we misunderstand freedom.

We imagine it as reaching a destination.

A better city.

A better relationship.

A better version of ourselves.

But what if freedom isn’t a place?

What if it’s simply the ability to exist without constantly performing for someone else’s idea of who you should be?

The older I grow, the more I feel we’re all building beautiful prisons.

We optimize our lives.

We optimize our careers.

We optimize our personalities until they become acceptable enough to survive.

And then one random song reminds us that we’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Maybe that’s why Hawa Hawa doesn’t feel like a dance song anymore.

It feels like someone smiling while quietly asking for an exit.

I don’t think Jordan is singing to Heer.

I think, without realizing it, he’s singing to the version of himself that still believes he can be free.

Maybe that’s why the song feels so alive.

Because for four minutes, before life catches up with him, it almost seems possible.

And maybe that’s all happiness ever is.

Not the absence of prisons.

Just those rare moments when the wind slips through the cracks, and for a little while, reminds you that the sky still exists.

If you listen to Hawa Hawa again, don’t watch Jordan.

Listen to what he’s asking for.

Sometimes the happiest song in an album ends up revealing its saddest truth.

I don't.

To me, it sounds like a man losing a battle with the version of himself living inside his own head. The woman is there, yes, but almost as a mirror. The real conflict is happening somewhere much quieter.

Thom Yorke has said the song came from feeling like an outsider and from an obsessive crush. But I think that's only where the story begins. What makes Creep timeless isn't the rejection, it's the self-perception behind it.

"You're so fucking special..."

Notice something interesting.

We never really get to know her.

We only know how he sees her.

Sometimes we don't fall for people - we fall for the stories we tell ourselves about them. We place them on a pedestal and, without realizing it, place ourselves beneath them.

Maybe that's why admiration so easily turns into inadequacy.

"I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul."

This line has probably aged better than the rest of the song.

In the '90s it sounded like insecurity.

Today it sounds like a timeline.

We scroll through edited faces, filtered lives, carefully curated personalities, and wonder why we don't feel enough.

Psychologists often talk about social comparison - how we naturally measure ourselves against other people. The internet didn't invent that instinct; it simply gave us millions of people to compare ourselves to every single day.

Maybe he wasn't asking for perfection.

Maybe he thought perfection was the admission ticket to being loved.

"What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here."

I don't think this line belongs only to romance.

It belongs to the first day at a new job.

The friend group where everyone seems closer than you.

The artist posting their work for the first time.

The date where you're convinced they'll realise you're not as interesting as they imagined.

Psychology calls this imposter syndrome in some contexts, but most of us just know it as that quiet voice asking, "Do I really deserve to be here?"

Why Creep refuses to disappear

People often describe it as a song about rejection.

I think it's about something that happens before rejection ever arrives.

The stories we create about ourselves.

Because the hardest person to convince you're enough isn't always the person standing in front of you.

Sometimes it's the one standing in the mirror.

I don't think I ever did.

Somewhere between 2022 and 2023, during what I’d call my “dating era,” I met a handful of women through the internet. Nothing extraordinary. We texted, found a few common interests, planned a date, and saw where it went. With some, it became whatever we were both looking for at the time; with others, it turned into the kind of friendship where you meet once in a while, share a few drinks, some random life updates, and a good laugh.

That's just how your early twenties work.

Looking back, I realised I wasn't remembering people because of where we went. I was remembering who they becamein those places.

Without intending to, I kept taking almost every first date through the same three stops.

A museum.

Chin Lungs.

And an old ice cream shop.

Only much later did I realise I wasn't planning dates.

I was running the same little social experiment over and over again.

The museum wasn't about art.

It was about silence.

Museums and galleries are strange places for first dates. They're quiet enough that conversations happen in whispers, yet spacious enough that silence never feels awkward.

You don't have to keep talking.

Instead, you walk.

You stop.

You stare at the same painting.

Someone notices a tiny detail the other completely missed.

And suddenly, you're no longer asking each other predictable questions like "What do you do?" or "Where are you from?"

You're talking about why a painting feels lonely.

Why an artist chose that colour.

Why an old sculpture looks comforting instead of frightening.

The conversation isn't really about the artwork anymore.

It's about the people standing in front of it.

Art quietly borrows your perspective.

Without realising it, people reveal the way they think, what they notice, what they value, and what emotions they allow themselves to express.

You aren't interviewing each other.

You're simply letting your minds wander in the same room.

(National Gallery of Modern Art (Bengaluru)

Then came Chin Lungs.

If the museum showed me how someone thinks...

Chin Lungs showed me whether we genuinely wanted to know each other.

Of all the bars in Bengaluru, I always ended up choosing the same one on MG Road.

Partly because it was where I had my first beer after turning eighteen.

Mostly because it never pretended to be fancy.

College students.

Office crowds.

Groups shouting over cricket matches.

Someone laughing from another table.

Three different languages being spoken around you.

The third floor wasn't romantic.

It was gloriously chaotic.

Ironically, that's what made it perfect.

Because if two people still manage to forget everything happening around them...

If they continue asking questions.

If they interrupt themselves with laughter.

If stories keep flowing between two beers despite all the noise...

Then maybe it wasn't the ambience carrying the conversation.

Maybe they were genuinely curious about one another.

Travel stories became tattoo stories.

Tattoo stories somehow became childhood memories.

Then came embarrassing college moments, terrible fashion choices, favourite dogs, impossible bosses, and dreams that probably sounded unrealistic.

Noise became background.

Interest became foreground.

And I realised something.

Sometimes you don't discover compatibility in silence.

Sometimes you discover it in chaos.

(Chin Lung’s - 3rd Floor)

Finally, the walk.

Just a few hundred metres away sits Milk View.

An old Bengaluru ice cream place that's somehow survived generations.

By then, the date had already happened.

There was nothing left to prove.

No first impressions.

No carefully chosen questions.

No trying to sound interesting.

Just two people walking through MG Road late at night, sharing an ice cream on a staircase or standing outside the shop because there were no seats left.

Oddly enough...

That became my favourite part every single time.

Maybe because walking slows conversations down.

Maybe because sharing one bowl of ice cream leaves room for comfortable silence.

Or maybe because, by then, whether we'd ever meet again no longer mattered.

Some people disappeared after that night.

Some became good friends.

A few would occasionally message months later.

Sometimes we'd end up back at Chin Lungs again - not as a date this time, but surrounded by a bunch of idiots laughing over cheap beer.

Not every connection has to become love.

Some are simply meant to become good memories.

(Lakeview Milk Bar)

Looking back...

None of those dates lasted.

But I don't think they failed either.

I wasn't trying to find "the one."

I was trying to understand people.

And these three places somehow revealed three different versions of them.

The museum showed me how someone observed the world.

The bar showed me whether they wanted to understand mine.

The walk home reminded me that not every meaningful connection needs a second date to be worthwhile.

Maybe that's all a first date is supposed to do.

Not decide your future.

Just introduce you to another human being - even if only for one evening.

The moon and the stars hid behind stormy clouds

The song of the nightingale drowned in the wind

The night owls eyes reflecting silver so bright

The ravens cry echoing in the bountiful dark

The graveyard so quiet yet so loud with whispers

Your picture lay broken and solemn on the grass

The stone beneath which your empty coffin lie

My eyes burn in memory of our promises

Time tried to stop the night you left for the clouds

Now as I wait beside your abode I wither

Slowly my mortal body rots away next to you

Its hasn’t been long since I came yet centuries,

Have passed by since the reaper took my soul

Are you up there in the clouds dreaming away

Above me the withering grass fade away with time.

Not the first generation to use the internet. Not the first generation to feel lonely or anxious. But perhaps the first generation to have our cultural, emotional, and psychological development happen almost entirely online.

I was lucky enough to have some of my early socialisation happen in parks, societies, and playgrounds. Many of my memories are of cricket on the streets, random conversations, and physically existing in places with other people.

But for a large part of Gen Z, the internet became the playground.

And the internet doesn't just connect us - it globalises us.

A teenager in Bengaluru, Bhutan, London, and New York can watch the same reels, read the same relationship advice, laugh at the same memes, adopt the same slang, and develop similar beliefs about love, success, healing, and purpose.

This has incredible advantages. We have exposure. We have access to knowledge. We have opportunities that previous generations could never imagine.

Yet I wonder if there is a quieter cost.

We are consuming life before living it.

Previous generations often had to stumble into things.

They had to experience heartbreak before understanding it. They had to work jobs before questioning purpose. They had to fail before learning what mattered to them.

Their existential questions often arrived later in life.

For many of us, those questions arrived early.

By sixteen, some of us knew who Osho was. We had already consumed philosophy, self-help, psychology, relationship theories, productivity systems, and countless stories of people finding or failing to find - the meaning of life.

We know what burnout looks like before our careers begin.

We know the signs of toxic relationships before our first serious relationship.

We know the language of trauma before we fully understand ourselves.

Sometimes it feels like we are watching the ending of a movie before the first scene has even started.

And perhaps that creates a strange psychological state:

We become anticipators of life instead of participants in it.

🎶Are you movin' much too fast?

And the good times that just don't last

If you're always on the go

Make an angel in the snow

And freeze

Do you feel like you're stuck in time?

Forever waitin' on that line

If nothin' ever moves

Put that needle to the groove and sing🎶

- Dr. Dog

The burden of too much awareness

The human brain learns through experience.

But the internet allows us to learn through observation at a scale no generation has experienced before.

We watch thousands of breakups, thousands of career stories, thousands of people explaining why they regret this decision or why that path ruined their lives.

Eventually, our subconscious begins treating repeated information as reality.

A reel says, "Never settle."

Another says, "You'll regret not taking risks."

Another says, "Your twenties should be spent travelling."

Another says, "Relationships aren't worth it."

Another says, "Love finds you when you stop looking."

None of these statements are entirely wrong.

But together, they create a strange problem.

We start approaching life already carrying conclusions.

We become afraid of mistakes we haven't made yet.

We grieve endings that haven't happened yet.

We question relationships before they have had time to become relationships.

We inherit experiences that do not belong to us.

Dating in the age of endless options

This may be most visible in our relationships.

Never before have people had so many ways to meet each other.

Yet many of us seem lonelier than ever.

Perhaps because options have changed our relationship with patience.

Imagine Person X meets Person Y.

They have similarities. They get along. Given time, they may even build something meaningful.

But before that connection is allowed to grow, Person Z appears with one additional quality.

Slightly more attractive.

Slightly funnier.

Slightly more interesting.

And suddenly the mind begins wondering:

"What if there is someone even better?"

The cycle repeats endlessly.

This isn't because we are shallow people.

It's because our brains are responding to environments they were never designed for.

The internet continuously reminds us that there may always be another option.

And abundance often makes commitment psychologically difficult.

Even healing has become content

Sometimes I wonder if we have started turning every emotion into an identity.

Every sadness needs a post.

Every heartbreak needs a thread.

Every confusion needs content.

Expression can absolutely heal.

Therapy helps. Writing helps. Trusted conversations help.

But repeatedly narrating our pain can also become another way of staying attached to it.

Sometimes we keep reopening chapters that were already ending.

We keep finding new words for old wounds.

And perhaps healing occasionally requires something uncomfortable:

Not forgetting.

Not suppressing.

But allowing certain experiences to become quiet.

We label faster than we understand

I also feel our generation has become incredibly good at categorising people.

Someone is "performative."

Someone is "toxic."

Someone is "gaslighting."

Someone is "love bombing."

Again, these concepts are real.

But after consuming so much psychological content, our minds begin scanning people for labels.

Sometimes we stop observing human beings and start observing symptoms.

Ironically, all of us perform to some extent.

We become different versions of ourselves depending on where we are and who we are with.

Maybe the issue isn't that people perform.

Maybe the issue is that we've become so aware of human behaviour that we occasionally forget to simply experience it.

Why I think Gen Z may struggle with existential dread

I don't think our generation will necessarily struggle because we lack opportunities.

If anything, many of us are remarkably adaptable, resourceful, and street-smart.

I think our struggle may be different.

I think we may struggle because we have consumed so many possibilities of life that reality itself sometimes feels underwhelming.

We have read too much about purpose.

Seen too much of love.

Heard too much about meaning.

Watched too many versions of success and failure.

We are carrying stories that aren't ours, feelings that may not be ours, and fears that may never even become ours.

And perhaps that creates a quiet emptiness.

Because there is a difference between knowing something intellectually and experiencing it yourself.

No amount of reels about heartbreak is equal to your first heartbreak.

No book about purpose can replace discovering your own.

No video about grief can teach you what losing someone feels like.

Some things still demand to be lived.

And maybe that's the hope.

Maybe despite all this information, despite all the labels, despite all the anticipation, life still has one beautiful quality:

It remains partially unknowable.

Perhaps our generation's task is not to consume less knowledge or reject the internet entirely.

Perhaps it is simply to remember to participate.

To let ourselves be surprised.

To allow ourselves to make mistakes that no reel warned us about.

To love despite having read a hundred stories about heartbreak.

To travel without turning every experience into content.

To sit with ourselves without immediately needing a label.

Maybe we don't need to know the ending before we begin.

Maybe some parts of life still deserve to be experienced for the first time.

(P.S. – The picture above might seem irrelevant to most of you, but it's precisely the moment this thought for the article came to me.)

Fond memories play around in his mind like butterflies on a warm summer breeze

Peter had a mother and he had no money to spare to feed her eager heart or body

The sun shone as bright as gold, children running into forests green, giggling away in joy.

Sweat and blood, day after day, the feeling of exhaustion

For a penny or two he toiled his youth away to keep death afar

As he walk back home with the purple sky above his head

A flicker of orange caught his eye, disappearing into an alley

Peter ran behind it only to find himself face to face with a dream

Eyes as green as an emerald, clear as crystal and deep as an ocean

She was small with orange fur puffed up across her slender spine

Peter felt a flutter in his mind; a child was awake, curious of the world

The cat ran away and he skipped back to his home, his mother's loving face,

welcomed him home with a smile so bright he couldn’t help but cry

He had drawn his curtains a long time ago and lived through winters long gone

The village was dead and its emptiness was like a lullaby to his fantasy

Skeletons decorating the streets like flowers at the edge of a plain in spring

Homes abandoned of people and with it all the stories it once held close

Fields no longer brimming with life, withered twigs spread out like in a desert

Peter could almost feel the warmth of life where now only ghosts of a forgotten world existed.

There were no smiling faces, no children skipping among the flowers

There were no busy housewives running to fetch water for the bath

There were no men huffing away in the fields under the scorching sun

Only Peter and a cat that lived in the alley across the street, lost inside a daydream.

I know the right door to knock on,
yet I end up in the wrong room.

I strike a match to find my way,
yet I lose myself in the smoke.

I follow the road I chose,
yet my feet wander elsewhere.

I wait beside a window,
yet nothing passes by.

I knock once more,
yet no door remembers my name.

I sit where there is nowhere left to go,
and the evening sits beside me.

A cat finds my lap,
and for once,
something finds me too.

Lately the feed and interactions have been amazing. But I came across a post mentioning how many 16-year-olds are here kinda awesome to see so many young people sharing their art. At the same time, I’ve seen some notes… and damn, it’s like a rollercoaster of emotions.

I get it. But sometimes I wonder does expressing too much online create a void of its own? Expectations start building, from others and from yourself. And that’s beautiful if it’s about things like sports, cartoons, or just normal teenage life.

But when most emotions are expressed online, I just hope the same is happening in real life too. Because sharing things in person hits different. Being consistent in a sport or passion, meeting people, making friends, those small fights, caring and sharing face to face, you actually feel it. You see smiles light up, or those blurry watery eyes when someone’s low. Keep most conversations in person, thoda sa online, and let that excitement and curiosity mess with your sleep haha.

Basically - fly, fall, try, meet, be happy, be angry, express… all that zidd, but in person.

Try experiencing more in real life, let that curiosity stay alive.

When I say expectations I remember at 16, I had a 2nd-hand cycle lol. Phones were mostly parents ke. If we said we were going somewhere, 1000 questions. So we’d just go no maps, just sticking together, waiting for each other, pacing up. We saw each other’s smiles, everything felt real. Today it’s easier calls, maps. I’m not blaming anything, just saying maybe try living a bit more of it in person during your teenage years.

(𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦,𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘬𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘥𝘢 𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘰. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨… 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘭… 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘪𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭.)

I know not everyone has that freedom or privilege. I get that. But sometimes you gotta fight a small, healthy battle for it. Maybe even a little “healthy lie” here and there I did, toda lot ngl. But it was just cycling, playing beyblade, patang baazi, sneaking into Cyber’s for CS and GTA. I was good at those lies haha. Did I feel guilt? Yeah. Do I have regrets? Nooo.

Got a lot of scars from all the falls and fun. TBH, my teenage was crazy proper meri gully mein, mere gully mein scenes haha.

(𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺,𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 18. 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 4𝘬 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘶𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯. 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 4𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘢𝘩𝘢. 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘥. 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘵… 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘪’𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.)

If you have that freedom, use it to shape yourself.
Have fun, y’all during your teenage era!

Its cold isn’t it? Somewhat
Alone? Yes
Lonely? Maybe
You looking for something? I don’t know
You lost? I guess
Where are you going? Somewhere
Do you know where you are? No
Do you know what love is? Maybe, what does it look like?

Do you want to leave? Yes, it’s tiring. I have nothing left for me here
Do you want to go home?...Where is it? It’s long gone
Why are you here? Maybe one day I will know

Do you know a way out? Yes, maybe it is. I don’t know. It might hurt though
Are you scared? Yes, All the time
What are you scared of? Everything. I am scared of things going the right way. I am scared of things going the wrong way. I am scared of life.

Why are you scared? This feeling that every time, anything happens. I am at the edge, ready to fall off and nobody or nothing is there to catch me.

Do you know who you are? I hope one day I will

His eyes were clouded, tears brimming through and a slight quiver caught his lips. Fueger looked at the young man sitting beside him. He knew he would never learn no matter where he went, no matter what fears he conquered all of his quests have put him back to the same place he kept running from. He didn’t know anything when he was born, he lived trying to find answers and now he was going to die knowing nothing except for one thing. In all of Fueger’s life there was one thing he knew, a constant reminder of his mortality and his foolishness. That he would never know anything for sure and that led him to see how he will never be the same, perfect beautiful man he is as he is right now in this moment where a thousand words were exchanged in the silence of their hearts.

In the eyes of a woman I found hope

And in her smile I lost my lifetime

In her kisses I drowned my sorrow

As the cold breeze caress my face

The racing beats of my heart loud

I wish to hold you close and sigh

Your body warm with life’s breath

In the shimmer of the silver moon

I saw the light leave your crystal eyes

Your fingers lax in my frozen hands

Warmth leaving your body slowly

That night death came for you my love

He passed me by and took you away

I lay there for a very long time blind

For I was dead long before he took you

For this weary heart of mine finds no rest

This land of smiles and greetings

Have no appeal unto my heartless bosom

For happiness is like a whip of misery

Afflicting my flesh endlessly

Far, far away a land of silence awaits

Oh, take me there where no honey drips

Where no melodious song echo and shatter

Like mirrors of a forgotten face

Hellos and Goodbyes fill these chambers

Take me to the land of silence

Silence, a dark beauty; an entity

She utters not a word and yet we hear

The monotonous pounding of our hearts

She loves not and yet we love

The noise and life her absence offers

We children of light are lost in her darkness

Sports, esports, AI automation, freelancing. Strict parents. Big dreams. Bigger confusion. He wanted to be first at everything, but wasn’t sure at what.

I didn’t have answers about AI. But I knew confusion. So I told him what I wish someone had told me at his age:

It’s okay to not know. Compete with yourself, not the world. Draw a blank map. No deadlines. No labels. Just keep moving upward, one point at a time.

I told him he’s already doing better than he thinks. To slow down. To live a little. Because I didn’t and I missed things I can’t get back.

He listened. Quietly. Honestly. Before leaving, he came back, hugged me, and said, “Thanks, bhaiya.”

Sometimes, on a journey, you don’t meet destinations, you meet mirrors. And maybe become the person you once needed. ✨

Is it lonely up there?

Alone....surrounded by the disaster of a dollhouse you made in your mind because you couldn’t bear the loneliness.

You know, I get you...well sort of...after all I am you.....a figment of an imagination so ancient that it seems like it existed since forever.

It still hurts doesn’t it, you made them pretty and perfect but they felt nothing like you and then you made us......broken and alone...like you. Yet the gaping hole in your chest only grew...letting out all which was once yours to carry......you broke...into a million pieces of you.

The sun below you and a universe above you...you had everything and yet you had nothing...like a king without an empire....you could feel the insanity creeping in as your existence started to catch up with you...a madness as endless as your lifetime....infinity.

I can sometimes feel a small ounce of your agony some days...I can take it for the most part but, sometimes I just want to burn up and turn into flames....come back to you. Then I remember...I am you and you are me...it doesn’t ever stop...this loop of insanity....haunting everything around me and you...eating it up slowly.

I am sorry you are alone in this and surrounded by us...sorry excuses of your creation....surrounded by the unintentional consequences that would befall a dream you wished would be better than what you are.

The irony my friend...is that I am only as perfect as you can be and if this is all I can be...then its okay....i will take a bit of your burden if I can.

One day I will have to leave....and i will not hold breathe enough to return to you...I will disappear like I was never here...and on that day I want you to be okay and not break apart again.....because you are already dying slowly... dividing into me, the man down the street...the bird in the sky....the horses riding up the valley....the lion lounging down the savannah....the willow waving away its leaves in the wind....and one day...there will be nothing left of you and all that will be is us.

On the day that the last wisp of life disappears from eternity is the moment you shall truly die...the journey is long ... and you are tired....and I ask for your forgiveness for not being able to guide you farther.. but this is as far as I can go.

Fare thee well creator....oblivion awaits you....go forth silently into that dark and permanent night which awaits at the end of consciousness.

Maybe it’s at the tip of my tongue

Maybe it’s at the curve of your lips

Maybe it’s in the pain in my eyes

Maybe it’s in the tears down your cheeks

Maybe it’s in the palm of my hands

Maybe it’s in the edge of your smile

Maybe it’s in the despair in my heart

Maybe it’s in the depth of your soul

Maybe it’s in the endless blue of the sky

Maybe it’s in the pure crimson of a sunset

Maybe it’s in the tide of the azure oceans

Maybe it’s in the waves that crash ashore

Maybe if time stopped for an infinity

Maybe then our eyes could meet

Maybe then I could hold your hand

Maybe then I could see your smile

Maybe then I could kiss you tenderly

Maybe then I could wipe your tears away

Maybe then I could have shown you love

Maybe then we could have seen the stars together

Maybe then I could have seen you for one last time

Maybe then I could’ve said goodbye

Maybe then we could’ve floated away

Maybe then heaven could’ve held us both

Maybe then I could be with you forever

Maybe then this pain in my chest would cease

Maybe then I can finally close my eyes

Maybe I can call death home.