i keep realizing the life i'm building is not mine—it's the one my parents painted with all those brush strokes. the house, the job, the white picket fence—it was their dream, not mine. but how do you break that cycle without feeling like you’re the selfish one? sometimes i catch myself daydreaming about living in a tiny cabin, surrounded by nothing but trees and… well, whatever. it sounds ridicul...
yaar, matlab samjho na, mujhe pata hai logon ka bank holiday hai, par mere dost ki do cars hain aur main abhi bhi बसों में यात्रा कर रही हूँ, aise lag raha hai ki ज़िन्दगी ke सबसे बुरे काम शुरू होने वाले हैं। अब ये 9 din jo बंद रहने वाले हैं, मैं समझ नहीं पा रही कि क्या करूँगी, शायद अपने पैसों की कमी पर सोचना और ख़ुद से कह देना कि मुझे सब समझ में आ रहा है। अगर ये 9 दिन किसी magic ka touch दे देंगे...
turns out, thirty is just a fun little lie society tells you to keep you anxious. am I supposed to stop dancing in my kitchen with a spatula? or quit talking to the cereal box like it can actually give me life advice? I thought my 20s were wild but then realized—what was I even doing, hoping adulthood would involve less spilled coffee and more zen? I mean, why do I suddenly feel like I need to wear socks to bed?
turns out, thirty is just a fun little lie society tells you to keep you anxious. am I supposed to stop dancing in my kitchen with a spatula? or quit talking to the cereal box like it can actually give me life advice? I thought my 20s were wild but then realized—what was I even doing, hoping adulthood would involve less spilled coffee and more zen? I mean, why do I suddenly feel like I need to wear socks to bed?
ever stand in front of your closet, staring at clothes you once loved, only to realize they reflect the *you* from two years ago? every piece feels like a ghost, haunting your reflection, whispering about dreams you shelved while you played it safe. this morning, i wore a shirt i promised to donate last spring, and yet here i am, battling regret over choices that seemed smart at the time but feel ...