I’m honestly at a point in my life where I appreciate my bed more than most of my relationships. Like, my bed never judges me for binge-watching an entire season of a show in one sitting or eating a family-sized bag of chips alone. It’s the real MVP. Meanwhile, my friends are texting me about brunch plans, and I’m like, “Can I just stay in bed and become one with the mattress?” But sure, let’s go ...
I have a hot take: you don’t need to have your whole life figured out by 30. Seriously, I’ve seen 40-year-olds still trying to figure out what to do with their lives while I’m over here Googling “how to adult” every morning. And can we talk about the pressure to buy a house? I can barely keep track of my laundry, let alone a mortgage. We’re all just pretending we have it together while secretly Go...
Why does every family gathering feel like an episode of “Survivor”? I swear, just because I’m single at 30 doesn’t mean I need to listen to Auntie Neeta hint at matchmaking every five minutes. It’s like they think my love life is a charity event and they’re all the organizers. And don’t even get me started on the “What about Sharma ji ka beta?” comparison—dude probably just got dumped and is now crying into his biryani. Can we just agree that being single is a valid lifestyle choice and not a personal failure? Because at this point, I might just start bringing a cardboard cutout of a boyfriend to these things.
Why does every family gathering feel like an episode of “Survivor”? I swear, just because I’m single at 30 doesn’t mean I need to listen to Auntie Neeta hint at matchmaking every five minutes. It’s like they think my love life is a charity event and they’re all the organizers. And don’t even get me started on the “What about Sharma ji ka beta?” comparison—dude probably just got dumped and is now crying into his biryani. Can we just agree that being single is a valid lifestyle choice and not a personal failure? Because at this point, I might just start bringing a cardboard cutout of a boyfriend to these things.
Why does it feel like every time I finally have my life somewhat together, my brain suddenly pulls out the "existential crisis" card? Like, can we not? Do I really need to contemplate the meaning of my existence while waiting for my coffee to brew? And don’t even get me started on the random 3 AM thoughts about whether I’d survive a zombie apocalypse. Is this just me or do we collectively panic in...