A few weeks ago... Who am I kidding? Last week, I took a depression test. Purely out of curiosity and I got a pretty bad score. Not bad as in low, but bad as in nearly centum. I wasn’t shocked, but it caught me off-guard. When I didn’t want to expect it.

I did what any rational person would do. I told a few people I know, and they said “Damn. That’s pretty bad.”

I could only say, “lol ikr”. To be honest, I don’t ever think any incident has particularly contributed to this. Or wait. Maybe I can think of a few.

I don’t know how you will view this post, as a rant from a teenager or maybe a relatable scene that was stolen out of your mind by a peeping thief. Regardless, here goes nothing.

.

.

.

You know what? I’m probably overthinking this as well. It’s surely not a big deal, right? I mean, everyone goes through this someone. I’m just being dramatic, no? No?

Sigh.

I’ve always written to educate people about their own feelings. But this time, I’m not really sure. I haven’t exactly figured out this module of me yet. I don’t know when I will.

I don’t know how much of you actually enjoy reading this, because my view count never really passes 20 people and I’m sure 10 of them is just my friends trying to be nice and opening it several times.

I used to have fun having deep talks. Not anymore. At least that’s all I can say for now. Now every time I see potential in a deep talk, I can only see it turning into an argument or the other person bailing out leaving me with ungathered thoughts that eat up my brain without consent.

I don’t know what to call this, but I hope it passes. And I find myself inside all this mess. You know something? Whenever people say, “I want to find myself”, they rarely ever mean themselves. They actually mean the personality not the soul, the color not the light, the dress not the fabric. Makes sense? Probably not.

I mean, all I have is readers. Not listeners. So, if you are reading this, let me know you were here. Somehow. That you listened to me and thanked me for this. Am I asking too much? AH. idk.

k gtg. peace for now

Anyways, let’s tune into the actual “lore” part of this.

How do people eat watermelons?

Some cut it in half and make slices and eat them.

Some take out the seeds. Some don’t.

Some cube their fruit and manage to remove the seeds.

It’s a long cleaning process but sometimes, only sometimes, worth the hassle.

Some smart ones just buy precut ones. Some have canned and some have other people serve them perfectly cut watermelons.

Some blend everything together. The rind, the seeds, the flesh. Everything. Although they know they’ll get a stomachache, they couldn’t care less if they could beat the heat.

For those who take a hassle, the next time they crave the fruit, they’d always think about the entire 30 min process and infinite utensils in the sink.

For those who don’t, well, good for them.

Now for your information, this wasn’t AI generated and you need to give me credit when credit is due.

The seeds are the things you don’t favor in the people around you. You don’t like them. You don’t need them.

The rind is the unlikable things about them. It isn’t bad but it isn’t really good either.

Some people manually prepare the “watermelons” and take the out the seeds so it’s perfect. But the next time? They’d rather buy precut ones.

Some don’t really care and blend everything together. At the end of the day, they can at least say they had a watermelon.

The people who do the manual labor are the fixers. They invest time in making people “easier to love”. They’ll tolerate the mess… until the sink fills up.

The precut buyers are the boundary setters. Not cold, just selective.

The blenders? They take in everything with no filters. And yeah, sometimes it might cause them harm

The ones who don’t bother just walk past the stall. Not every connection is worth the effort.

If you aren’t the blender, if you aren’t the one the manually prep, then just buy the precut ones.

Whatever suits you best.

Now in reality, this theory is absolute bonkers because you can’t compare a human to some fruit. But what you can do, is look out for yourself.

In this party of life, you’re the sole person who has the invite list. Be careful of the person you wish to include. And be ready for the consequences.

Be careful who you invite.
Because you don’t just eat the watermelon.
You clean up after it.

gtg. peace for now.

let’s be real. i don’t know how to edit a video either.

amidst these, there IS something i do know now. no, i did not find a free editing app that’s the carbon copy of adobe.

i found cycling. i learnt how to get on a bike, how to sit and ride.

now now, before we throw hands, yes im 14 and i didn’t know how to ride a bicycle up until yesterday. to basically summarize my miserable past years, my mom was too consumed in making me a studious kid that she forgot the entire kid part.

but worry not, for i have broken through shackles and bushes (literally) to learn to ride this bike.

as far as i know (for now), i have over 8 injuries in different places and i feel sore af. although my imagination of how riding a bicycle ‘would be’ was completely biased by tv shows, i did get to feel the evening breeze through my clothes and a certain number of wobbles told me to stop zoning out and lock in.

i’m not going to be a cyclist any time soon. it’s probably going to take months before i even think of enrolling myself in triathlons (i don’t know how to swim either).

now what am i trying to say from all this?

to summarize (thank you for reading this far), you can overcome the monster you created in your head. your head is the size of your hand, and the monster even smaller. so put yourself out there, but with caution (i watched a tutorial on how to ride a bicycle), and steady yourself when you fall.

remember yall, nothing we do is predetermined. we can change the direction of your path even when we are really close to a cliff (i can’t because i’m a beginner).

and before you clock out, if you want, share some “firsts” you experienced this week and let’s talk about it.

gtg. peace for now.

but when you move closer to the sun, it burns.
and if you get too close, you don’t just lose the shadow. you lose yourself.

a wise man once said, follow your heart.

if there is no path pave a way for yourself.

learn a lesson in every chapter of your life. even if its not aesthetic or convincing.

“just do it. who’s stopping you?” they said.

“it’ll make all the difference.” yes, but at what cost?

love?
my family?
money?
shelter?

am i still the strong-willed person i was when i dared to dream? is this worth losing my peace over?

i have no answers to the questions we ask ourselves. i haven’t quite figured it out yet nor do i know when i possibly would.

the shadows are not buoyant. they have no drag. you only sink. a very hated man once said this. i don’t know what happened to him after he dropped this but that’s beside the point.

once you fall, you just keep falling. there is no end. or are there any we don’t know of? a place we haven’t looked at.

must every journey begin with an end in mind? must every dream be leashed down before it even makes it out of the mind?

imagine we’re pieces in a puzzle. every piece is an event of our lives. you are the person solving yourself. as you keep building and breaking apart, why are you prompted to fix yourself in the first place?

some pieces don’t fit. some were never meant to. and some are better off in another puzzle.

what matters is not ‘which one is the predetermined or appropriate piece’.

it’s just one that fits and one you wish to keep.

have you ever felt like you used to be so good? but now you’re just not?

maybe a piece fell off of you.

pick it up and if you can’t, replace it. it may take time, but hey, we seem to have plenty of that.

gtg. peace for now.

am i turning normal?

i’ve stopped writing poetry and my works have become monotonous. like an advertisement repeating the same thing but every time, it gets ignored by the rush of life.

what if my talent runs out and i become the lesser version of myself? what if people see me at my lowest and say that’s the real me? what if i think all this was just luck and start believing they might be true?

amidst all these spiraling ‘what-ifs’ i stand with no direct answer. maybe the questions emerge to point out that this is the time to answer them.

time really is cruel. i know summer days are supposed to feel long but i didnt expect this much. i wish years would just pass by quickly and i finally get to the good part. without the struggle and confusion. cant i be less chalant about this though?

its tedious to think and plan another day of this boring life. i’d rather be doing something else in a completely different place than what i do now. when did i start writing for the sake of writing?

everything i see these days is apparently material for writing. it was never supposed to be that. there is a difference between pouring ketchup on fries and adding a mixture of sauces. i prefer the mixture so why am i here evaluating myself for punctuation.

i miss the days when my audience actually loved what i wrote and didnt feel obligated to read it. there were genuinely people who asked me when my next post was. but ever since having a blog became a trophy, it has turned rather sour.

i dont like this at all. so what if once every five words i write is grammatically incorrect? if i really have no audience, who’s judging? not me sir.

not going to lie, that felt liberating. so, life update: im a 10th grader and boards await next year. im not sure if im getting cooked or if i will cook. 11th stream is honestly such a mess. but rest assured i will choose arts even if it means war.

college is taboo topic right now, because i care about my mental health. im trying to take this one step at a time so let me help myself to all this time available at my doorstep. atleast until the house collapses.

we’re no one’s college essay so lets take time changing. the crossed out words in a white paper add character i believe. i hope time isnt so cruel this year around. i’d atleast want one thing on my side.

gtg. peace for now.

I’m not all-knowing and this may not apply to everyone. But for those of you struggling to choose the pigments and looking for some ways to help “quicken” your decision, hear me out.
I suppose the reason you would want a quicker decision is because you don’t have enough time to think.
You want the blueprint of an end product.
Now.
You wish to create a painting without ruining a few canvases, without the acrylic drying. You want it aesthetic, but it’s anything but that. You’re neither the canvas nor the painting

YOU are the painter.

And here’s the beauty of it all, no matter what pigment you choose, it won’t be enough until you learn to see the colors. Unless you learn the hidden path. The racetrack only you can see.
Not the shortcut. Just a path chosen for you.
It won’t matter if you’re blind to the chaos and pain that will emerge as you try to choose those pigments. You wish to skip the roller coaster ride and just want a certification that you have been through it. You want to present it, almost like a medal, so that your story will have lore.
You want to present your future before it even happens.
I’ve seen so many people put together resumes of what they “will” be but never what they are. Resumes are hardly read where it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s the system that needs to change.

Not you.

Bottom line, we live to create.
There is no fastest way.
Follow the omens of your heart and you will find your path, Paulo said. But what’s the point? There is none. It’s your calling. It’s your dream.
Since you don’t have one, doesn’t that make you lazy? Unaware?
No.

It makes you better than who you were before, because now you know what you will need to do.

Life is no non-avante garde event. It’s anything but that life. You are no package that people subscribe to. You change every second. That’s why you’re you and not the shadow of anyone else.
There will be no ideal life. There exists no predetermined path.
So, pick up a pen and start writing your own story. No matter how it starts, a writer will do everything a writer can in their power to make their endings a reality.

Let’s indulge ourselves in this life, where the feelings and body aren’t ours, but a mere vessel waiting upon the mastery of our creations. There’s something more to everything.

We don’t always have to know it.

It’ll reveal itself when it’s supposed to.

Your life gets color when you dare to spill the paint.
Not when you wait for the canvas to glow by itself.

gtg. peace for now.

There are times when I find it hard to breathe; pardon my non-specific writing. Not being able to breathe, as in, not being able to face myself. Not being able to envision myself winning or well, even trying. Because the prospect of performing and showing my most tender and precious side made me think of the criticism.

What if that criticism was the truth? What if I begin to believe it?

So ultimately, the only way to pull out a thorn from your skin is using another thorn (a very popular Tamil saying). I had to put myself in places I found uncomfortable. Made myself talk to people I’d rather ignore. Because the future was so uncertain, my overthinking got the better of me.

Now I wouldn’t call it overthinking yet because it usually is fruitful. The outcomes aren’t so surprising because my mind would already have decided the possibilities. But we aren’t really talking about me here, are we?

I threw in a personal story, you found it relatable, and here we are in the middle of a life-changing conversation.

Hook, line and sinker.

We’re talking about us here. What we’ve been going through and possibly will at some point in life. I haven’t a clue what the right solution is. Heck, I might not find it even if I spent my life trying to figure it out. But one thing, one metaphor might give us a different perspective.

And I highly believe that we should find it. By ourselves. See, I am not you, and you are not me. What I say won’t decide your future; it can only change mine. I won’t be like others, dropping the simplest quote and be done with it, no. It was always a bit more complicated. A bit more real than fiction.

Like the pause between every breath, or the prayer before every meal, we all have a habit we cling to. To be able to present yourself to someone, in a way a performer would, takes guts. It takes guts to make decisions, and I think we all need validation for it. So, what stopped us from being so open? What made us stop yapping? What made me this fearful?

I could go on paragraphs and paragraphs about it. But in the end, the conclusion will always be the same. Is it overthinking, need for validation, afraid of being used, taken advantage of, or is it anxiety?

None of these actually.

I refuse to believe that silly reasons like these are to stop what I wish to become. No. While I want to search for an explanation, I don’t want to lose myself in the process. So, let’s end this drama and just do it. Just say the thing you’ve always wanted to say. Perform in a way you would if you weren’t so afraid.

Be the one you’ve wanted to be because that is what makes you who you are. I’m not going to romanticise your pain or struggle. It’s all real. I’m not making anything that you feel short. Just be the bigger person and see it from above. Get past it. You’ll feel better. A wound might heal more quickly if you treat it. But not when you keep pitying it.

You don’t have to make any tough decisions tonight. Just think about it, come in tomorrow and share what you feel. Or maybe this post stirred nothing in you. But leave a like, because it sure took me a hell lot of guts to say this out loud.

gtg. peace for now.

Today, I wish to talk about irony. It’s a word I use often, maybe not in daily conversations, but in the self-talk I have with myself. Things have been calling for a carefree attitude these days, and I’m trying my best to deliver.

Stuff happened and all I’ve done is scoff at its face, crack a “HAH!” as if to reassure myself that I am not crumbling apart. This led me to notice the irony of things. To make you understand it better let’s compare 2 scenarios.

Say you are a photographer and take someone’s portrait and post it on any media platform. The viewer would judge the environment of your post somewhat by how your model posed. This is honestly driven by various thought-processes but that is not the main focus here.

Let’s again assume that this goes viral and many social media enthusiasts think it’s amazing and attach their own expectations, hopes and fantasies.

Now the 2nd perspective, brace in. You are a Google Maps driver who has seen every lane in the area, including the environment from that post. You pull up a sudden brake, take off your seatbelt, turn off your car and walk to the exact place that the moment took place. You stand there doing the exact pose as the model but wait. All you feel is emptiness. Just a “meh”.

You walk back to your car and continue your not-so-exciting day. Now you might ask, “tsuki what in the revelation was that?” Honestly I don’t know.

Seriously, I have no idea what I’m supposed to understand and convey from this. That itself is an irony, haha... Okay, I shall leave it up to your own interpretation! Let me know in the comments on how differently and creatively you make of these perspectives, and remember, realising the “irony” is key.

gtg. peace for now.

It rots me.
Truly.
The thought that I must act gentle, polite, obedient
before someone I could not care less about.
Someone whose presence scrapes at my patience,
whose shadow feels heavier than their worth.
Someone I would rather erase from my line of sight
than pretend to adore.

Why must I bow my head for them?
Why must my freedom hinge on their mood?
Why must my will, my own will,
be wrapped in sugar
just so they might grant me the smallest scrap of autonomy?

These questions have been burning holes in me these past few days.
Because the truth is raw and unflinching.
I am unsatisfied.
Not mildly.
Not momentarily.
But in the kind of way that keeps you awake at midnight,
staring at the ceiling, wishing life would fast-forward
to the part where you finally get to breathe.

But time is cruel.
It moves slowest when our hearts are breaking the fastest.
So I remain here
a child with an aching mind,
a child who asks questions that bounce back
with no answers, only echoes.

Maybe one day I will find the truth
whether it tastes like honey
or burns like iron.
Maybe time was never the key.
Maybe the chaos, the drama, the storm
was always born from us.

If I had silenced these thoughts
if I had stayed floating, numb and content with scraps
these words would not exist.
This fire would not exist.
And I would still be trapped in the same suffocating loop.

Maybe it was never just the thought that mattered.
Maybe it was the spark,
the fracture,
the first trembling step toward breaking free.

gtg. peace for now

What I mean is, nothing really bothers me anymore. I cover up boredom and laziness with hobbies. Cover every frown with humor. And put on a thick blanket, just to protect myself. “Am I weak for doing so?” Is that what you’re thinking right now?

I’m not a know-it-all. I don’t understand half the things I do, and I just call it intuition when I have no proof. But something in me says we’re strong. We’re strong because we admitted our fears. Strong because we accepted them. Even if we never intended to fight them off, we’re still strong

At the end of the day, this is just another post. And you’re just another reader. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You probably won’t miss out on much by skipping this.

Just know—this might be a small variable in the passage of time.
Something that might help find you again when you feel down.

gtg. peace for now

Bottom line, I was tired. Confused. My mind seemed to be “leisurely“ fighting off dragons in an arena with no audience to cheer for the thrill of it.

Events have rushed my side so swiftly that I can’t seem to recall a single one with proper clarity. Perhaps this feeling of being lost is but the one that hasn’t developed into my greatest nightmare yet. Dare I say that every personality known to me has changed with tides of time and I too have
metamorphosed in ways least expected.

Weirdly, I find this change somewhat comforting - knowing that people are moving up in this world - for the greater or worse. Yet I also find myself clinging onto this illusion that some habits are immortal. Joy stirs in me that she still checks on me at dawn and dusk. Praise the clouds that veil the dark skies so my beautiful moon shines with pearly grace. Grateful I am indeed, to this feeling of comfort that drifts by as my fingers frantically dance across the keys.

The dust on my books still returns no matter how many times I wipe them clean, reminding me of its trivial persistence. Unless I store them in plastic bags of course. I feel gratified that I didn’t need a fancy prompt or a surging emotion to be able to write this post to-night.

Writing is an art that portrays a sliver of thread which I grab onto whilst dramatically dangling off a cliff. Even if the world around me conspires with the ugliest intentions, and my friends are but fiends that wish to attack me the moment I let down my guard and I feel the need to crawl into a corner, clenching my fist and let the darkness fill me whole, I am glad that writing gives me hope. Even if such a hope is as fake as the smiles I put on display day after day. I’m glad I could even imagine of ever being okay one day.

Consider yourself blessed, fellow human, if you too possess something that gives you such a reasoning.
As I always think to myself,

Find something you love to do and let it destroy you and build you from the ground up.
Afterall, it is just another means of effective adrenaline.

gtg. peace for now.

Addiction.
A word that literally means a deep attachment. A pull. A connection so strong that it can either destroy you—or become your greatest catalyst.

What if addiction was never just about drugs and phones? What if it wasn’t always evil? What if “addiction” was simply a poetic, painful way of describing the soul’s longing to do what fuels it? Like oil for an engine, or fire for a hot air balloon—without it, nothing moves.

In life, addiction is the spark, the battery, the anchor. Without it, we drift—lost, wandering like a child in a fair, searching but never finding. Without addiction, we’d never know the sting of loss, or the sweetness of failing and still rising again. Without addiction, life would be an ocean without salt, a sky without blue, birds without wings.

And before you jump in to remind me that drug or phone addictions ruin lives—ask yourself: Why do people fall into those? Why couldn’t they stop? Why didn’t they choose another path?

And then think of those who never walked down that road—what did they have that others didn’t?

Think of those who broke free—what gave them the strength?

Often, the answer lies in connection. Family. Friends. Or sometimes… a new obsession. A better one. Because addiction, at its core, is simply attachment. And when that attachment finds the right place, it can heal instead of harm.

So maybe addiction isn’t the monster they say it is.
Maybe it’s just the fire we choose to keep alive.

gtg. peace for now.

“Do not fear death, but rather the unlived life.“
— Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

People often worry that life is short—a fickle flame that could be snuffed out with the gentlest gust of wind. A slight dip in health, and suddenly, the fear of death wraps its cold hands around the mind.

Children—ah, yes. Those little beings who spend their days anxious about how they speak, act, and carry themselves, all because they dread being judged. Some mimic adults just to fit in, wearing borrowed masks to survive in a world too quick to criticize.

We cling to objects, memories, and emotions as if they’re lifelines, fearing that tomorrow might never come. Because life, as we’re told, is limited. Our time on this planet is numbered. We are not immortal.

I won’t compare us to animals without a sixth sense or to inanimate things, because even those—eventually—end. And endings? They’re inevitable.
What grows must wither.
What flies must fall.
What dies must be reborn.

Such is the cycle of life on Earth.

As I said, people often see life as a fleeting pleasure—a sweet fruit we must devour before it rots. But allow me to share a quiet truth I’ve gathered through art, through nature:

Life is the longest thing you’ll ever experience—while you’re alive.

Longer than a day. Longer than a month. For some, even a second stretches into forever. Does that make them unfortunate? No.
Are we the cursed ones for living on? Absolutely not.
What matters is why we live.

A purpose.
A meaning.

It doesn’t have to be noble or righteous. It just needs to be yours. That is enough to make life worthwhile.

Nature gives without asking. So let’s not destroy her. Let’s not betray the mother who’s offered us shelter.

Let’s live simply—as humans. With desires. With love. With friendship, ambition, emotion, and purpose. Let’s strive to be happy and learn to accept, even embrace, our flaws. When we get stuck, let’s laugh a little. When our grades drop or our salary stumbles, let’s not spiral—we’ll find a way through.

Now, you might ask:
How can a mere teenager know all this?
Or laugh and call it “audacity”—to advise grown adults.

If you do, perhaps you haven’t truly listened to what I’ve said.

And before I forget—

Let’s not judge. Not even after reading the whole book.
Let’s think, not conclude.
Let’s wonder, not assume.

gtg. peace for now.

There are moments when their laughter feels like a lullaby,
and others when their silence becomes a war drum echoing in your mind.
They raise you with trembling hands, full of love and flaws,
sometimes giving more weight to tradition than truth,
more to pride than peace.

But the strange part?
You still crave their applause when you finally climb out of the well.
You still seek their eyes in a crowd when you’re standing alone.
Because even if they were the storm,
they were also the sky that taught you how to fly through it.

gtg. peace for now

And that’s the part I hate.

Not her.
But this feeling—this grotesque, crawling voice in my chest that says,

| “You’re not enough. You’ll never be.”
| It doesn’t belong to me.
| But lately, it sounds like me. And that’s what scares me most.

I used to be someone else—
Not better, not perfect, but lighter.
I braided my hair the way I liked.
I smiled without wondering if I looked like a leader.
Now even my reflection looks edited—tailored to fit a role I never signed up for.

The expectations, the comparisons, the quiet way teachers praise others in front of you without realizing how deeply it carves into your sense of worth…
It’s not their fault, maybe.
But it hurts. And no one talks about it.
So I stay quiet too.

I don’t want to compete.
I just want to be seen—not as the best, not as the head girl, not as a checklist of achievements—
Just as me.
Me, who tries. Me, who breaks. Me, who’s tired.

And someday, maybe…
Me, who learns to feel enough again.

So no—
It’s not her I hate.
It’s this war inside me—between who I am and who I think I’m supposed to be.

And if you’ve ever felt that too,
Just know:
We are not broken for feeling this way.
We are just learning how to carry ourselves again,
Without apology.

gtg. peace for now.

Some say and I dare say, even myself, that picking a flower is akin to killing it. Depriving it of its life... Shortening its lifeline.

Yet others argue that by taking the flower for ourselves - yes perhaps for selfish reasons - we give it meaning. We give it reason to shine.

At the end of the day, a flower is but a part of nature. Something that lives. Something that dies. An inevitable end that looms regardless. So, does picking the flower truly matter? Does admiring it from a distance make a difference?

Perhaps we ought to capture its beauty in a photograph. Or imprison it in a drawing. Sing its praises. Immortalize it. And yet in all our pondering... what does the flower want?

Nothing.

At. All.

My dear readers, think of the flower as a human. One amongst you. Should you choose to dwell on this matter, you, my dear, are in for a treat of a lifetime...

None a villain, none a savior; only fractured ghosts of who we were, clutching at pieces sharp enough to wound—yet soft enough to feel like home.

gtg. peace for now.

They say extroverts make friends at first sight.
Low-key feels like love at first sight, lol.
But honestly? It’s kinda true.

Being an extrovert myself, I’ve gone through phases—you know, those moments where you try every angle, every version of yourself, just to find a connection. It’s exhausting.
But somehow... it pays off. In its own way.

I’ve been called motivational. Inspiring. Understanding.
Talkative—of course I have.

But what most people miss is this:
While my mouth is always on the move, my mind?
It’s calm.
Serene.
Silent.
(Not quiet—silent. There’s a difference.)

To carry the heart of an extrovert and the soul of an introvert…
It’s both a blessing and a curse.
Some days, socializing feels like a chore. A bother.
Other days, I crave it—even when I’m sick, even when I’m tired.
Because in the end, it’s your mind that decides what you do, no one else.

So, what am I really saying?

If your overly extroverted friend—or honestly, anyone—suddenly seems quiet, or unusually serious…
Give them space.
They’re like a cheetah hiding in the grass.
Silent.
Still.
But ready to pounce at any second.

Everyone has a boundary.
Everyone needs space.

Let’s respect that.
Understand it.
Or, at the very least, adjust.
That’s the smallest, kindest thing we can do for the people we care about.

gtg peace.

I can already hear you screaming,

“CALM DOWN, TSUKI!!”

But, no. I cannot calm down, because yesterday?
It was one of the BEST days of my entire life.

What was supposed to be a boring trip to our old house somehow turned into a full-on miracle.
And let me tell you the tale.

Scientist #1: The Rocket Man

So, my mom was feeling nostalgic and dragged us back to our old house.
On the way, my dad had this random masterstroke of an idea:
“Let’s visit the Ex-Panchayat Head,” he said.
AKA: The Ex-Scientist.

Now, for privacy and all that jazz, I won’t share his name.
But let me just say this man was a literal rocket scientist.
He worked in ISRO, specializing in rocket fuel and its production.

After retiring, instead of chilling, he came back to his village to develop it—with real, sustainable tech.
With the help of volunteers from IIT, he introduced:

• Mobile classrooms

• Integrated learning systems

• Parent-student sessions

• Sustainable farming

• His own inventions, including a soil-free growing tech for veggies and fruits 👀

It was like walking into a sci-fi film but real.
He even shared stories from his ISRO days and how he got where he is.
I was genuinely in awe.

Scientist #2: Plot Twist Neighbor

Now, here’s where things get crazy.

We finally reached our old apartment.
And I decided to drop by our former neighbor’s place—my old hangout spot during elementary school.
She’s the math teacher of the building. Super sweet.

But THEN her husband walks in and casually drops:

“Oh, I used to be a scientist.”

Me: WAHHHHHH...?????

Turns out, he’s a retired expert in atomic energy.
We ended up having an hour-long deep conversation about a topic I knew nothing about.
And I was hooked. Every second of it.

Before we left, he gave me some advice I really needed.
We ended the evening with snacks and slightly bitter coffee.
(Which, yes, is now my villain origin story.)

Not gonna lie—this was the most productive day in my entire 14 years of existence.

I laughed. I learned. I lived.

gtg. peace for now
PS: he was an old guy ._.

But let me make one thing clear:
I’m not here to tell you to “suck it up” and keep doing what you were doing.
That’s not strength. That’s running.
And we don’t run.
We face it.

“An athlete will never judge you for working out.
A millionaire will never judge you for starting a business.
A musician will never judge you for singing your heart out.

It’s always the ones going nowhere that have the most to say.”

So the next time someone judges you for:

• Being too girly

• Wearing “too much” makeup

• Being too emotional

• Spending money on yourself

Scan them.
With your eyes. With your silence. With your power.
They don’t know who you really are.
What you’ve done.
What you’ve fought through just to be yourself—not something filtered, not something fake.

Scoff in your mind. Smile. And walk away.
Leave them in your dust.

Because replying?
That means you actually acknowledged their nonsense.
And trust me—you’re better than that.

gtg. peace for now

The book?
“The Art of Being Alone.”
(Ironic, I know.)

It was a total coincidence I stumbled upon it. But let me tell you—this book didn’t just speak to me.
It called me out.

It opened with something I’ve been brushing aside for a while:
Myself.

Now don’t get me wrong—I have tons of hobbies, plenty of things I do solo.
But every now and then, I’d catch myself feeling weirdly gross.
Like I was suppressing who I really was—just to meet society’s expectations.
And that?
That hit deep.

Then came this one line that shook me:

| “Self-care is NOT self-pity!”

The author (absolute legend) goes on to say:
If you think self-care is just doing face masks, vibing to lo-fi, or soaking in a tub—
boy, are you fking wrong.
(Okay okay, I rephrased it, but still.)

Real self-care is about listening to yourself.
Doing what you need, not what looks good on an aesthetic Insta reel.
It’s messy. Honest. And sometimes it means choosing you—quietly, radically, unapologetically.

Since reading it?
I’ve started expressing myself more.
Not for the world’s applause.
But for me.

And I gotta say… that author?
She’s good.
Like suspiciously good.
Like, “girl are you living in my walls” kind of good.

All I’m saying is—if you’re tired of pretending you’re okay with fitting into a mold someone else made...
Read it.
Feel it.
Live it.

This one?
My top recommendation.
Now. Forever. Always.

gtg peace for now