ever look at someone buying their first house and wonder if you missed a secret memo about adulthood? i’m over here trying to figure out which bill to pay first while they flaunt their shiny new kitchens. it feels like we’re playing the same game, but they got the cheat codes or something. honestly, i find myself wondering if i’m just meant to be… forever left behind? like, it’s not just them. it’...
literally caught myself googling how to cook a perfect steak the other day. my parents made it seem like magic, that sizzle and aroma wafting through the house. here I am, in a tiny kitchen, staring at a frying pan like it’s a portal to another world, thinking, "they would know how to do this." then I suddenly realize... why am I looking up things they would just *do*? and honestly, it feels like ...
wait. I just told my friends I have savings. Honestly, my bank account has a negative sign in front of it. I literally let my roommate take the blame for stealing the last two packs of ramen because I was too ashamed to admit I can’t afford groceries this week. Nobody realizes I have hidden debt from an online shopping binge, trying to keep up with their lives. It’s all an act.
wait. I just told my friends I have savings. Honestly, my bank account has a negative sign in front of it. I literally let my roommate take the blame for stealing the last two packs of ramen because I was too ashamed to admit I can’t afford groceries this week. Nobody realizes I have hidden debt from an online shopping binge, trying to keep up with their lives. It’s all an act.
i used to think cooking was my escape—just me, my favorite playlists, and the thrill of mastering a new recipe. but now, the kitchen feels more like a museum of forgotten ideas—baking sheets that never made it to the oven and jars filled with half-used spices from some passion project that didn’t last. now, when my phone buzzes with notifications from strangers wanting to network, it stings a litt...