Unreciprocated Friendships

 For the longest time, I thought I was the queen of unrequited love. I mean, more than once have I fallen head over heels in love with people who had no feelings for me, and I kept at it for years. 

But recently, I had a realisation that I have been, unknowingly nurturing unreciprocated Friendships too. 

One thing about me is, when I love, I love with all my heart and it doesn't necessarily need years of knowing you. One act of kindness is enough. And maybe that's why for years, I have had umpteen "friends" -  People who were valuable to me; people I thought considered me valuable. But guess what! Your girl was wrong all the time. 

I learnt that people can be nice and kind to you, can even lend you an ear or shoulder or check on you when you are low, but that doesn't essentially mean you mean something to them. They are nice, that's all to it. But, just because they are nice doesn't mean you are their "friend". No matter howmuchever you love them, that's not enough for them, because you are not  their friend. You are an acquaintance who they like. One among umpteen others in their life. That's it. 

And that's why you need to draw that line and respect it forever. You don't have to give them more than what they give you. Or what they can hold. They can very well survive with or without you. In the sense, your absence may not matter to them, neither does your presence. So you give them that same energy - just be nice to them. Don't call them your friend. It's simple. 

This realisation has changed my life. I mean, today I have a handful of friends and lots of acquaintances. I make sure I can them that instead of calling them my friends. It has made me life easier too - I know where to pour all my love and where not. 

Life's so beautiful right now. 🧿

Imposter Syndrome

 I don't think even my close friends know this, but I fight imposter syndrome every other day. 

When someone tells me I write well, I can't take it as a compliment, all I'd think is that their standards are low. 

When I client says they have certain expectation from my work, my first instinct is to withdraw, because "I don't think I can match up to it."

When someone says they like my work and look forward to more, I feel an intense pressure that I can't explain. 

When a reputed brand approaches, I expect rejection. 

All of these to an extent that I have returned the advance amount to a client when they said they expect a beautiful content from me - I mean, I was certain I'd get rejected. 

To an extent that once I applied for a diploma course in Creative Writing , cleared all the papers with good score, and got my Project synopsis approved yet didn't finish it because they put a remark that "this looks interesting, looking forward.". Oh, I just can't do it.

I think all of these started with that one bad comment under one of my blog posts, which probably is still there, in this very blog, where the person said I should quit writing. I figured out who it was, and confronted years later and got a half-baked apology for pulling that prank, it stays with me to this day. 

My self-esteem has always been zilch, and this comment only made it worst. And I am fighting this imposter syndrome, even today, almost close to 2 decades later. It still haunts me:

"I am not good enough... I should quit writing".

And the irony is, it's my bread and butter and the demon is too big to even face. 

Sigh. 

How Looks Moulded Me

 Ever since I could remember, people were critical of my looks. Since my sister was on the darker and fatter side, she bore wrath more. But I was the one who was "adopted", one who resembled a monkey, especially with those fringes which was called "monkey crop" and slightly protruded gums. This constant pointing fingers at my looks also made me very critical about looks - mine and others. In my head, one had to have zero flaws to be considered beautiful. And to this day, I have come across only a few people who fit into that category. 

And then I grew up, putting on weight and picking on attitude. I pretended I didn't care what others thought, because I was ugly in my head too, so when someone made fun of me I'd laugh along. Because that's what I am - an object to laugh at. 

I have barely received compliments for my looks and every time I did, especially from the opposite sex, I'd just end up thinking this person has bad intention. They just want to get me laid. 

The male attention some of my female friends got had made me feel terrible about myself more than once. I have felt they are the star in the story and I am just an extra in this friggin' world. Just barely existing. For nothing.  

A certain bestfriend who would always remind me of how bad I looked. Despite being that himself, the judgements were over the roof. But ofcourse, I was convinced - he was right, I am ugly. 

And then came this boyfriend who while breaking up used my insecurities against me and told me that he was doing me a favor and no one else would want to be with me. Concreting the notion that I am ugly. 

Today, I get called beautiful, ironically for not the way I look now, but how I looked in pictures a decade ago. And boy, that hurts. Beyond measure. Because, a decade ago, I was still getting tips to transform myself to look beautiful 🥲

Today, I was reading this book "I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokpokki", basically a prose by Baek Se Hee on her conversations with her psychiatrist and it felt so relatable. There is this part where the psychiatrist says her to stop looking life and everything in general in extremes - good and bad, black and white, beautiful and ugly and that hit me hard. Because that's exactly what I have been doing all my life - thinking in extremes. Why can't I just find a middle ground? Even when it comes to looks - mine and others'? Strangely, when I love someone or I meet a beautiful soul, no matter how they look, I find them beautiful. Why am I not being able to do that to myself? Why can't I accept that I am neither a bad person nor ugly as I think? Why do I expect validation from others? Why do I expect people to say I am beautiful back at me when I call them beautiful? Why can't I just accept myself for who I am? Why am I under constant critical radar? Why aren't I just breathing peacefully?

This. This indeed is what I am going to focus on this year amongst many other things to work on this year. I am glad I got this perspective to work on and hopefully, I'd feel better soon. 

A Love Like No Other

A love like no other. 

Pure. Genuine. Terrific. 

Yet with an expiry date. 

So much warmth, affection, peace and trust. 

So much love

Like no other. 

Never taken for granted. Appreciates kind gesture. 

Love. Only love. 

A love like no other. 

Pure. Genuine. Terrific.

Yet with an expiry date. 

Something that's never felt before. Something that's new and beautiful. 

Always by the side. Non judgemental. Calm. Healing. 

A love like no other. 

Yet can never be yours. 

Because it comes with an expiry date. 

Will There Be A Going Back?

One of the major inventions for humankind was the introduction of Internet. It made life easier, slowly but steadily. And then, to connect with fellow humans, social media popped up. And that's where life started altering. 

I am someone who has made a living out of social media, yet, I can't tell you how overwhelmed I am with this little thing, especially when it comes all handy in the form of a smartphone. Yes, I could always go back to the basics and purchase a regular phone with which only calls can be made and texts can be send but dependability and FOMO is real. As much as I am tired of this, I can't also imagine a life without it, how ironic! 

There are times when it gets too overwhelming. Like, when Instagram shows you a reel with content that's going through your head or things that you are worried about and then it's absolute chaos. I don't want to begin discussing peer pressure. It's all a mess, yet we are all consumed by it. 

I don't think there is ever a going back. Great if we could. Otherwise, I don't know what life would become. Technology sure has made life convenient, but at what cost? 

I am scared. I already feel lonely despite all these possibilities of making connections. There is nothing real. Everyone is busy scrolling. Noone has time for real connection. Even if you meet, all are busy clicking pictures for the gram. 

I wish I could go back to the orkut era with a lil faster internet and stay there. No meta. No fb. No ads. No WhatsApp. Kinda nice it was. Sigh. 

Ok I think I am done blabbering. Okbye. 

Adulting

 As a child, like almost everyone else, I just couldn't wait to grow up. I remember dressing up as an adult, draping a dupatta around, pretending it to be a saree, trying to fit into my mom's sandals wear SINDHOOR because once you are an adult, you get married and married women in my part of the world wear sindoor on the forehead, and also talk and behave like an adult. I thought adulting would be fun - you have money, you aren't answerable to anyone, you have all the freedom in the world, yada yada. And the joke's on me, because once I stepped into the shoe of an adult, I realised it's not rosy as I thought it would be. Heck! Adulting is hard. 

To begin with, money doesn't come easy, you gotta work fucking hard to earn a decent bit of cash. You are answerable to more people than you thought. If you are woman, freedom comes with a cost. You lose people - sometimes to misunderstanding, sometimes because one of you evolve into a better person and the other doesn't, sometimes to death... Your parents grow older and you dread the worst. And if you have partner and kids, you have additional responsibilities, fears and commitments... 

Oh! The list is long! I am sure, you can relate, because you are going through your share of the shitshow that adulting is. Fuck man. This isn't what I signed up for. 

Home That's Never Mine

 I've always been fortunate and privileged enough not to shift houses because my father had already established himself successful in his career by the time I was born and there was no looking back. However, I have lived in multiple houses once I grew up and that was a choice. 

The first time I moved houses was when I was barely 5. When my father decided we deserved to live in a bigger house. The house that was our home was also his, which still holds some fond memories - playing with cousins all the time (what else would a 3-4 year old do), some friendly neighbours, lots of movies and music, cuddles with mom and grandma.... So on and so forth. Strangely, none of my memories from that period features my sister, because she was truly absent from my life. 

And then we moved to this bigger house, where I grew up. It was beautiful, filled with furniture and people, but empty. I barely felt happiness in that house. I had noone to play with, no one to share my happiness and sorrows with... Everyone was busy with their own things and the loneliness eventually made me the spoilt brat which I am not proud of. 

Even though I have lived in that house for over 2 decades, it never felt like mine. It was my parents' and I just couldn't wait to go as far as possible from all of them. That house still remains but it never felt like home, though that's were all the memories reside and strangely keeps popping up in my dreams as my current home. 

Eventually I moved away to another city and has lived in hostels, PGs, shared apartments and even though I have had a ball of a time in some of these places, even they didn't feel like home. They were crashing pads. Nothing else. 

And our current residence. A much smaller space, where my parents have been living for over a decade, and I joined quite a few years ago. This place has a warmth to it, though it is congested with all the furniture from the big house and all that, but I has a calmness that I cannot begin to explain. Maybe because we started living here when we all had evolved to better humans and started accepting each other with our flaws - well, to be honest I don't know whether that explanation is applicable to my parents but I have certainly changed. They are in their last leg of life and I probably have some more of life left to experience, and in this house we have seen the kind of misery we never experienced earlier, but even then, even when it's still my parents' house, it does feel like home. Finally, a place I can call my home. 

I do have a dream of having a space of my own, where I'd thrive, but until that dream becomes a reality, this is home. And I have been treating it that way. Maintaining it, taking care of it. Truth to be told, it took a while to embrace it, but I am glad I did... And it reflects in the quality of life and bond that we share right now. 

Ofcourse there are still times when even this one doesn't feel like mine, but that is momentary. Also, I have come to terms with the fact that, a speck of dust that we are in the cast universe, is there anything that's truly ours????? 

Moving On

 Until recently, death would bother me. Funerals, even more. 

As a professional overthinker, a funeral place firstly reminds me of the time I lost my brother, and it pricks me so deep, the vivid memory of him lying motionless in a glass box... And then other thoughts creep in - the moments that I dread - death of my loved ones.

The bawling, the rants, the pain, the grief - all of them take me to a realm I never want to experience. A gentle reminder that life is unpredictable and death is the only certain thing. That we are all growing old and the people I looked upto growing up, the presence of humans I felt all through my life, all of that is slowly going to fade away. Parents, uncles and aunts, cousins and friends... All of that's gonna go. Slowly, but certainly. 

And that thought and feeling inject and undeniable pain in me, and I have often found myself sobbing in funeral homes of people I have barely known. Until last week.

Last week, I attended a mourning of a relative and to my surprise, after a long 11 years of experiencing grief of what the future beholds, I found myself not experiencing any of that. It's a first in over a decade and it was peaceful. It was just another passing away of a random relative and that was it. No grief, no pain, no overthinking. 

And I am so glad I noticed. No anxiety. No pain. No low mood. No sobbing. Maybe this is what they call healing. Or moving on. And I am glad, I am getting there. Not because I don't fear any of that anymore, but that I am finally getting myself prepared to face it all. 

Matches Made on Apps

 You swipe left and left and more lefts.

And something catches your eye. A smile. 6'2". "Here for meaningful conversations." "Looking for something meaningful." You think, may be this is it. You swipe right. "It's a match".  You need to initiate a conversation. You send "hey". You get a hey back. A few back and forth of small talks. They say "beauty is subjective, I prefer inner beauty than looks." "I am not a ghost. I am going to show up. I believe in connection". "I am an old school romantic. I am here only because what other choice do we have." You think, oh wow, these vibes. Maybe this is it. Then they go silent. Minutes. Hours. Days. You wonder why. And then, you try to initiate conversation.  And then unmatch. You, an already anxious, low self-esteem, self reflecting, insecure person, feels terrible. You think you are the problem. You curse yourself for being a terrible person, for saying something that might have triggered them. You feel responsible. But it's over. You can't fix it anymore. You drop a tear. And then you move on. You go back to swipe left and left and more lefts. And then comes another right swipe. And it's a match. and the never ending loop. 

Where did all the old-school romance disappear? Maybe amidst all these apps, where people are commodities and totally reachable all the time. It's a match, even when it's not. Heaven is taking a break, I suppose, and I end up "matching" with all the wrong ones. 

The initial butterflies. The thrill. The kick. Disappears in a few minutes. 

You yearn for that romance. The love that sweeps you over. Long conversations. Baring the deepest part of your soul. Connection. The person who feels like Sundays. Your soulmate. Where has it all gone? 

Take me back to the old times. Where love is felt right. Not swiped right. 

The Idea of Love

I have been wondering offlate whether I have ever been in love! 

I mean, ofcourse, there have been multiple instances where I have yearned for certain people and wished to be their something, but then, as I grow older and quite wiser, I feel I was never in love with them. 

I was in love with the idea of love. Even the slightest of attention, or even a smile towards me made me feel special, and that, I realise, was because I have never really felt special ever in life. 

And do you know why? Because I never thought I was special, to begin with, and the burdened others with expectations, it was too much for them to take. 

It took me a while, but atleast now, I mean close to 40, I get this epiphany that the special feeling I have always yearned for, should come from within. Ofcourse, that doesn't mean to be on a narcissistic or selfish level, but close to reality - accepting self as who I am and getting better each day for self and others. 

Pretty straight forward, ain't it? 🥹

Ok, I am blabbering. Bye.