Author: Neha Sharma

  • Mirror and Tango

    Marriage is a maze.

    No matter how much you prepare for it, you still find yourself standing in situations that make you wonder whether you prepared at all.

    The first decade of marriage is particularly interesting. Most couples face some of their toughest storms during the first five years. Many go on to build healthy marriages, but those early years can be surprisingly difficult to navigate.

    Becoming a parent during this period is like facing a tsunami in itself.
    But marriage, with or without children, is already enough of an event.
    It is not just a meeting with another person. It is an intervention with yourself.

    The most amusing characters in this entire story, according to me, are the parents/elders of the couple.
    Typically, anything good about their grown up child is attributed to the family. Any uncomfortable change, however, is attributed to the child’s partner.

    It is exactly how things worked during childhood.
    Anything kind, intelligent, or impressive the child did was credited to the family. Anything rude, rebellious, or unkind was blamed on a new friend.

    It is as if the child has no nature of their own. And to some extent, that is true.

    Children borrow heavily from the world around them. They imitate behavior before they develop a personal understanding of it.They are still forming their perception of the world.They observe, absorb, and experiment.

    A friend, a movie, a teacher, a sibling, or even a brief interaction can influence how they behave, be it temporarily.

    But while behaviors can be copied, feelings usually aren’t.

    What children often imitate/notice is the attention surrounding a behavior. They notice what gets rewarded, what gets punished, what gets a reaction, and they learn from that.

    But marriage is where this explanation starts becoming less convincing.

    There is a general perception that adults become someone else because of the company they keep. After marriage, parents may think their child’s spouse changed them.

    Partners often tell each other:
    “You bring out the worst in me. I haven’t seen myself behaving like this before.”
    I have a slightly different understanding of it.

    I think marriage brings out what was always there. It just never had a vent.

    From the kind of partners we choose to the ways we push our loved ones away, the things that shock other people were often present long before marriage. Nobody created them.

    Marriage simply lowers the energy available to maintain a facade.

    The demons were always there. Now they are sitting on the porch, giggling!

    What I’m trying to say is that marriage is rarely something entirely new behavior wise on an individual level. Especially in its early years, it is a reflection of who we already are and the childhood and the family history we carry with us.

    Marriage brings our vulnerable self to the surface. And to protect that vulnerable self, we do all kinds of strange things.

    We become controlling, avoidant, defensive or critical.

    The healthier we are emotionally, the healthier those reactions tend to be. The more wounded we are, the more dramatic they become.

    So if you think your partner is being irrational, strange, or difficult, spend some time observing their relationship with their primary caregivers.
    You will find a lot of answers there.

    If they were never allowed to express their feelings as a child, they may now express them with overwhelming intensity, because this relationship finally feels safe enough to do so, or they want to define that boundary somehow.

    Sometimes what appears as anger is fear looking for protection. They are frightened on the inside, so they become louder on the outside.

    Some people even thrive on chaos and drama because chaos feels familiar. Peace feels foreign. Predictability feels suspicious. The nervous system often mistakes familiarity for safety.

    If childhood taught them to shrink themselves around money, resources, or opportunities, they may carry that scarcity mindset into marriage and unintentionally pull their partner into it too.

    Sometimes the opposite happens.

    The more restricted they were growing up, the more expansive they became as adults.
    The more silenced they were, the louder they became.
    The more controlled they were, the more fiercely they protected their freedom.

    The point is not to excuse unhealthy behavior. The point is to understand where it came from.

    When you learn to trace a reaction back to the life that shaped it, many things begin to make sense.

    That is why I think one of the most valuable things you can do in the first decade of marriage is to understand your partner’s life before you enter it.

    Not because the past determines the future. But because it reveals the patterns that are most likely to show up in it.

    Marriage

    The longer I observe marriage, the less I see it as a union of two people and the more I see it as a meeting between two histories.

    Two childhoods.
    Two nervous systems.
    Two sets of fears, hopes, wounds, and coping mechanisms.
    The relationship simply becomes the place where they finally meet.

    Marriage is the mirror.

    Some people spend years trying to fix the reflection standing across from them. Others become curious about why that reflection exists in the first place.

    Then the real questions begin.
    Do you feel equipped to hold the wounds that still exist?
    Do you have the patience to keep offering a mirror?
    Are they willing to look into it?

    All these questions can help you decide whether your partner can match the level of awareness you are at.
    Because the most important question of all:
    Are you willing to do the same with your own patterns?
    Because marriage is not just a mirror for your partner.
    It is a mirror for you too.
    And sometimes the hardest reflection to face is your own.

    If both of you are interested in finding and figuring out your own patterns, the chances are you will grow together but if only one of you is taking the burden of growing with changing times then it will look like driving a car with one tire bigger than the others, a marriage that is wobbly.

    This is not a guide on how marriages work, but a nudge on it is more than what looks on the surface. It requires work.

    The real work starts when we are ready and it may require professional help. Whether you do it for this marriage or the relationship that comes later (divorce or another romantic relationship or parenting), that’s a personal choice. But it will always help to learn how much of your behaviour is intentional and how much of it is a response to something at which you had no control.

    In the end, marriage is a lot like a tango. It takes two people to create the dance, but each dancer is responsible for learning their own steps. We are not burdens waiting to be dragged across the floor. We are individuals learning our own rhythm, hoping to find someone willing to learn theirs too.

    And when both people are willing to do that, the dance becomes beautiful.

  • The Lesson I Could Not Rush

    I don’t know why, but one feature in the human behavior manual seems to be this: we learn late.

    Not according to our timelines. Not according to our plans. We learn when we learn.

    And when we truly learn something, it stays.

    So why do we rush the process so much?

    What are we afraid of missing?

    Is it death? Age? Opportunity? Regret?

    Why is timing so important to us?

    I keep coming back to love.

    I think it is love that makes us rush.

    Love for a dream.

    Love for comfort.

    Love for security.

    Love for the people we care about.

    But perhaps fear plays an equal role.

    Maybe we are not only running toward something. Maybe we are also running away from something.

    Love creates the desire to reach a goal.

    Fear creates urgency.

    I can think of many examples.

    I want to build a home for my loved ones. I want them to feel secure. I want them to have comfort. I want to bring that comfort to their life as soon as possible.

    At the same time, I fear the instability that comes from not having a home of our own.

    So I chase.

    Partly because of love. Partly because of fear.

    And somewhere in that push and pull, life keeps trying to teach me faith.

    Perhaps that lesson is being thrust upon me.

    Or perhaps I am secretly looking for it.

    Either way, I have slowly realized that I want peace more than I want speed.

    Because the chasing was exhausting me. Running or chasing both are not sustainable after a point.

    While I was running from fear, I grew tired of running.

    While I was trying to create comfort for my family, I was sometimes creating tension around them.

    The dream was good.

    The urgency was not.

    And slowly I realized something uncomfortable:

    I had become the center of the very tension I was trying to eliminate. I was choosing comfort for them, over the negativity and pressure I was bringing to their life everyday.

    That realization forced me to change.

    Or at least begin changing.

    Maybe that is how lessons are learned.

    Not when life explains them.

    Not when someone wiser tells us.

    But when the consequences of not learning become impossible to ignore.

    For me, the discomfort I was bringing to the people I loved became unbearable.

    And that pain taught me what advice never could.

    It makes me wonder whether the pain we create for others is sometimes life pointing toward what we need to correct.

    And perhaps the pain we create for ourselves serves the same purpose.

    Maybe both are invitations.

    A lesson waiting to be noticed.

    Of course, not everyone learns from pain. Sometimes people simply collect more wounds, more resentments, more triggers.

    Learning is still a choice.

    But humans do learn.

    Slowly.

    Repeatedly.

    Often reluctantly.

    We often think understanding comes first and change follows. More often, suffering accumulates first, and understanding arrives later to explain what our heart already knows.

    Life keeps asking the same question in different forms until we finally answer it.

    And when the answer truly settles into your heart, something changes.

    The chase becomes quieter.

    The fear loses some of its power.

    The lesson stops feeling like information and starts feeling like wisdom.

    Lessons take time

    Perhaps that is why lessons take time.

    Not because life is withholding them from us.

    But because some truths can only be understood when we are finally ready to stop running long enough to hear them.

    Keep searching for your answers.

    Keep engraving your learnings into your heart.

    One day, the peace you spent years chasing may arrive quietly and decide to stay.

    And when it does, perhaps you will be able to help someone else find their way too.

    All in good time, my heart!

  • When Faith Feels Like Music

    Worshipping God should feel like having a favorite musician.

    Think about it.

    You have a favorite band. You love their music. There is that one song you play whenever you are feeling low, and somehow it makes you feel better. When they release a new song, you get excited. If they perform in your city, you attend the concert. You find other people who like the same music, and suddenly there is a community around something you love.

    You enjoy talking about the band. You enjoy discussing their songs. And when you see someone wearing their merchandise, you feel a strange excitement. This person likes something you like too.

    You like deep-diving into the lives of the band members, what they were going through when they wrote a particular song, what inspired a certain lyric, or what heartbreak gave birth to an album.

    Their stories inspire you, bring you comfort when you are down, and sometimes even make you shed a tear in silent support of struggles you never witnessed yourself.

    But here is the interesting thing about being a fan.

    You do not hate people who listen to different music. Typically.

    You do not think less of people who have never heard of your favorite band. You do not spend your day worrying about why they are not listening to the same songs as you.

    You simply think, “I like this music. This is my favorite band. Not everyone has to like it.”

    A song does not become less beautiful because someone else does not enjoy it.

    You wait for the next album. You continue listening to the music. Your relationship with the songs remains untouched.

    Even if nobody else in the world liked that band, you would still listen to it.

    You are perfectly capable of being the only fan in the room.

    That is how devotion should feel. Ideally.

    song of god

    You may talk about God. You may share what you love about Him. You may enjoy being around people who worship the same way you do. But your love for God should not depend on whether everyone else loves Him too.

    As long as you are allowed your space, and others are allowed theirs, love can exist peacefully.

    As a fan, you buy merchandise. You wear the T-shirt. You put up posters. You collect little things that remind you of the artist because they bring you joy.

    Perhaps prayer beads, temples, books, pictures, and rituals are meant to do something similar. They are reminders of someone you love.

    And there is another thing I find fascinating.

    When you listen to a song you love, it often feels as though the artist is speaking directly to you. Rationally, you know they wrote that song for millions of people. Yet somehow it feels personal.

    It feels like they understand something about you.

    Many people struggle with God because they think, “Why would God speak to me? I am not special.”

    But if you think of God the way you think about your favorite musician, something changes.

    The song was not written only for you, yet it still reaches you.

    The book was not written only for you, yet a sentence suddenly feels personal.

    The prayer was not spoken only for you, yet it comforts something inside you.

    Maybe devotion is not about being special.

    Maybe devotion is about feeling understood.

    And perhaps that is why people keep returning to God, just as they keep returning to their favorite songs.

    Not because they are forced to.

    But because every time they return, they feel a little less alone.

  • One Life. Many Truths.

    Humans are rarely one thing at a time.

    We love people we resent. We stay loyal to things that exhaust us. We believe in honesty while still lying to protect ourselves.

    We are systems built to hold contradictions, contrary to popular moral belief.

    You may love your parents, yet you can still be angry at them for something till death. You are annoyed by your best friend, yet you show up every single time they are in trouble while muttering, “Here we go again.”

    We know a particular political leader or party is a nuisance, yet we still go and vote for them. We hate not being able to express our true anger, yet when that creepy boss walks in, we put a smile on our face because that is what diplomacy teaches us.

    We are tired of explaining to our spouses or partners how irresponsible they are, yet we are ready to clean up after their mess every time, both physically and metaphorically.

    We constantly hear our parents complain about their siblings, and eventually we begin disliking our uncles and aunts too, to the extent that we do not even want to see them anymore. Yet when we ask our parents to stop entertaining them, we are the ones scolded for being hard-hearted.

    All these examples reveal a strange dichotomy in human behavior, one that even we fail to understand within ourselves. When others do it, we are quick to call them hypocrites. We believe one feeling cannot exist if another feeling is stronger.

    We pressure people, especially those close to us, to choose one difficult truth over another. Yet we ourselves continue to exhibit contradictory emotions of love and hate without even recognizing it.

    This leads to an interesting truth about the nervous system: human beings find peace not in perfection, but in their ability to hold two conflicting feelings at once.

    Yet humanity is constantly taught in absolutes. Absolute morality. Absolute goodness. Absolute honesty. Absolute loyalty. We are told the ideal human is clear, certain, and unwavering. But if you observe the human mind closely, it begins to crumble under the pressure of perfection.

    The brain is full of conflicting thoughts, mistakes, impulses, imperfections, and moral dilemmas. The more we fight this truth, the more difficult it becomes for us to grow.

    We place chains upon our moral flexibility. Instead of arriving at our own understanding through mistakes, experience, and reflection, we demand that people display only one acceptable behavior and belong to only one school of thought. This creates pain inside us.

    The pressure to choose one truth slowly damages our ability to make better choices. It creates distance in relationships. It pushes us toward only those people who validate every contradiction inside us. And when that validation is absent, it can freeze us emotionally or push us toward addictions, numbness, escapism, or paralysis. Sometimes, it may even create an artist.

    one life many truth

    The behaviors and emotions within humans can be contradictory, but the values imposed upon them are often rigid and singular. We are told we cannot hold conflicting beliefs, even though the human brain naturally does. That is probably the biggest coping mechanism that the human brain has.

    And this contradiction reveals something deeper to me. This conflict of wanting to be a certain way but behaving in a different way reveals something about our inner world.

    I believe the values we cling to the hardest are often born from the places where we were hurt the most. The thing you judge others for most intensely is often the thing that frightens you the most internally. A kind of projection.

    If someone is deeply against theft, perhaps something precious was once stolen from them, emotionally or physically, and they never recovered from it.

    If someone aggressively pushes a healthy lifestyle, maybe they have witnessed an illness destroy someone they love. Maybe they are scared of being dependent on someone one day and rejected while going through a difficult illness. They are scared of being vulnerable. Maybe they took care of someone close and got so deeply hurt in the process that now they don’t want to inflict the same pain of caretaking on their loved ones.

    If someone insists on stable jobs over artistic careers, perhaps they once watched a person struggle financially, or perhaps they themselves were denied the freedom to pursue what they truly wanted.

    Sometimes the values we defend most passionately are not just principles, they are protective walls around old wounds.

    And I experience it is important to give ourselves and others the freedom to discover our truths without shaming contradiction or emotional complexity. Conversation helps us understand that many people behave the way they do to protect themselves, avoid fears they are not ready to face, or survive truths they do not yet have the courage to confront.

    Grace could guide this journey in a gentler way.

    Humans exhaust themselves trying to become morally pure. Is it worth it? Perhaps. But can the journey be gentler? Absolutely.

    We often mistake healing for certainty, as if maturity means becoming unwavering and untouched by contradiction.

    But maturity is not the absence of conflicting feelings. It is the ability to hold them without tearing yourself apart , I believe.

    To love and still feel anger.
    To leave and still miss someone.
    To forgive and still remember.
    To fear becoming your parents while slowly understanding them too.

    The mistake we make with humans is demanding certainty from people who are still trying to understand themselves.

    Contradiction is not always confusion. Sometimes it is evidence of an internal negotiation between fear, morality, survival, desire, love, and experience. Sometimes it is growth in motion.

    Healing is not about becoming emotionally absolute, but about questioning your inherited beliefs, your rigidity, your projections, and your fears until you slowly arrive at a truth that genuinely feels your own.

    Not borrowed.
    Not imposed.
    Not fear-driven.

    But understood through living.

  • Building a better past- One memory at a time

    Memory has always been my nemesis.

    My perception of my childhood memory is like living in a house surrounded by monkeys. The moment you start to think something good about that house, you remember one dangerous encounter with that big red-faced monkey! Suddenly you are 6 again, being chased, alone and scared.

    You don’t want to go back to that house again.

    I envy those with good childhood memories. I hear these lucky people reminisce about the good old days, about how they would always want to relive their childhood. I sit there tasting the bitterness of relationships, the swelling of my cheek my childhood brings me.
    I wonder how they hate today. I wonder how they are not scared of being tiny again, when someone else decides how your day went.

    How are they not worried about whether they will be served a slap or food for dinner. Also, whether they miss the game night at their friend’s place, or only remember the weird brother who tried to touch you inappropriately when nobody was watching.

    Nobody would believe that story, especially because I haven’t told anyone. I don’t want to be held responsible for my 6-year-old self now, you see. I am not sure if I somehow invited it with my flat child body wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

    I was ugly according to my family.

    We don’t talk about that memory ever, yet it pops up every time I see a child playing with an adult. It must be my brain’s fault, tainting anything good it sees.

    I listen to those with beautiful memories with wondrous eyes, just like a child thinks about unicorns. Yet it is very rare for me to encounter those who want to forget as much as I want to. We still remember everything too vividly. It doesn’t seem like something that happened a long time ago.

    The people in my memory may not exist anymore, maybe not even on this Earth or just not in my life anymore, but I have to live with those faces till death. I remember their eye color and even their gait, yet I am uninterested in learning new faces now.

    What if I would have to strive to forget them too?

    The burden of memory, especially the bad ones, is immense. You are combing your hair and bam! You remember how your grandmother oiled your hair when you were young. There is a smile erupting at the thought of those fingers on your scalp. And then suddenly this memory becomes a ghost, and you remember how your hair was pulled when you made the tiny mistake of rubbing shoe polish on the floor. Maybe the oil strengthened the hair and the spirit too.

    Today I don’t let anyone control what I paint with my shoe polish.

    Eventually, I started taking matters into my own hands. I made my money and made new good memories the first chance I got.

    Better past

    The moment I learnt I am not automatically blessed with good ones, neither memories nor people, I decided to find new people for my new and better past.

    I was born cursed, but I can bless myself too.

    When I embarked on my journey of owning my life, I was made to feel ashamed for those attempts. But I have tried to live because I have stopped trusting anyone else, especially time. I’m scared of giving that control to anyone now.

    I find my people and my resources. My time has to keep up with me. I will not let them disappoint me again.

    I only want to indulge in good and meaningful moments, making memories with only those who are worthy of it. I want to invest in memories for my old age.

    I want, in my final moments, when the movie of my life plays in my head, no matter how painful the start is, for my final memories to be full of love and warmth.

    I may be the weak child, but I shall not remain so.

  • Not a Mirror, But Water — The Opposite of Trauma is Safety

    To calm the chaos, the nervous system needs steadiness.

    It needs predictability.

    It needs someone who stays the same, like there is a tomorrow.

    Someone who is not conditionally there.
    Someone who does not leave because it becomes too difficult to stay with you.

    Someone who understands that being present matters more than being right.

    It needs someone whose presence does not constantly shift.
    Someone who does not make you toss a coin again and again.

    Someone like a parent, but what a parent could not be.

    Someone like God, except I treat Him the way I learned to treat my parents:

    with hesitation, with doubt, without complete trust.

    And yet this person stays.

    To prove me wrong.
    To build trust brick by brick.

    Trauma healing

    Trauma takes away the agency to choose.

    To choose what to feel.
    What to express.
    How much of yourself is safe enough to reveal.

    Safety brings expression back.

    It gives you the freedom to become who you truly are, no matter how messy that may look.

    Trauma is fast.
    Trauma is lightning.

    Safety is slow.
    Safety is the sun rising quietly until it becomes midday.

    Trauma feels like standing on a tiny, shaky wooden plank in the middle of an ocean with violent waves around you.

    You could fall any moment.

    Safety is childish.
    Safety feels magical to those who never had it.

    It feels like jumping into a puddle on the road, knowing you are going to get dirty, but also knowing it will be fun.

    You do not worry about falling.
    Nor do you worry about who will pick you back up.

    Because you can handle both.

    You own your body there.

    Trauma takes away that feeling of ownership.

    So I want someone solid as a rock.

    Not a mirror.

    More like water.

    So calm that I can finally see myself in it without hating what I see.

    And even when the ripples disturb the reflection, my flaws no longer scare me.

    When I cry, this person—this water—washes my tears away with softness.

    Even when I immerse myself in it, I do not get lost.

    It gently pushes me upward and leaves me on the shore of sanity when I am ready.

    Being safe feels like walking on the beach.

    You are no longer trying to survive the waves.

    You are finally able to listen to them.

  • The Roles We Play — Follow-Up Thoughts

    To read the original essay, click here: https://thoughtsden.com/the-roles-we-play-the-people-we-forget/

    Someone asked me after the previous essay, “What next?”

    And I think that is the real question.

    Once we understand that we have placed people into rigid roles and slowly stripped away their humanity in the process, what do we do after that realization?

    How do we become human again?

    How do we stop seeing people only as functions, labels, responsibilities, expectations, ideologies, or positions they occupy in our lives?

    I do not fully know the answer yet.

    But I do have a few thoughts I want to share.

    It cannot be solved without self-awareness. Unless you personally have a problem with something, nothing really changes.

    I think this is something I have learned through my own journey. It may sound obvious, but it really is not.

    Until something starts hurting us, until the discomfort becomes unbearable, until the pain of staying the same feels worse than the effort of changing, most people do not genuinely seek transformation.

    So unless our tolerance for that conditioning becomes lower, unless we begin to feel disturbed by it, it continues.

    And then comes another question entirely:

    How do we create that threshold collectively, at the level of society?

    Because change can move from the individual to society, but society can also shape the individual.

    That itself feels like an entirely separate essay.

    But one thing I keep thinking about is this: awareness of others may be one of the biggest catalysts for change.

    You may call it empathy.
    Or exposure.
    Or simply the realization that a different way of living is possible.

    Among a group of ten people, even if just one person is open to new ideas, new ways of living, or new ways of thinking, there is potential for a massive cascading shift.

    The reason could be anything.
    Maybe they are rebellious. Maybe they are simply exhausted.
    Maybe they are just unable to continue pretending.

    But that willingness to be different begins the process.

    Even if the other nine people do not want to change immediately, the idea still escapes into the world.

    Their children may hear it.
    Their families may absorb it.
    Their social circles may slowly start reconsidering things they once accepted blindly.

    What we often forget is that while the majority tends to follow existing structures, there have always been a few “nutcases” carrying the burden of change.

    We usually thank them later.

    Maybe it is some aunt in the family.
    Maybe it is your father’s colleague.
    Maybe it is someone quietly living differently within your own social circle.

    Some become famous. Books are written about them. Newspapers celebrate them.

    Others remain ordinary people with extraordinary conviction, moving through life with enough courage to make you question your own choices.

    Sometimes we simply call them “lucky” when it feels too late for us to change ourselves.

    Roles we play

    Now this awareness, this realization that something is flawed in the system that we are following can come from many places:

    The education system.
    Stories from history.
    Interviews with people living differently from you.
    Social media—the reels, the sarcasm, the shared trauma that slowly reshapes perspectives.
    Comedy and satire, which have always forced societies to confront their flaws.
    Blogs like this.
    Spirituality, empathy, soul-searching, the desire to become a better human being.
    Friends and social circles—because the more differing viewpoints we encounter, the more open we become to new possibilities.

    Now, some changes happen in a day.
    Some take a decade.
    Some may take generations.

    But as human beings, we have to believe change is possible.

    We are evolutionary creatures.
    We survive because we adapt.

    And over time, things that are kinder, more humane, and more beneficial for the larger collective tend to survive.

    If human beings were only meant for cruelty, we would have destroyed ourselves long ago.

    And despite how chaotic the world looks today, I still believe humanity, in many ways, is gentler than it once was.

    For a beginning, though—

    Be the change you want to see!

  • My own words of wisdom- Running collection of some fleeting thoughts

    2.

    We learn by surrounding ourselves with people who are better than us. If we surround ourselves with those who lack understanding as compared to us, then we will have no inspiration to be better.

    It is not about who has more money or fame, who is stronger or smarter, but overall who has better values and skills in facing a certain type of situation.

    A child learn swimming faster by looking at people who know how to swim, as compared to those who are standing on the side.

    1.

    “Every day, it is a struggle to return to your thriving state when all you have managed to do is survive.

    Every time you struggle to keep yourself together, a part of you breaks.

    Why is all my strength used only to hold myself together?
    Why is the only mountain I am expected to move the one inside my mind, instead of the ones outside?

    Why can I not show my battle wounds to anyone and still feel like a winner, simply because my battle was with myself and not with an enemy the world could see?

    Every time life pushes me to my knees and I pull myself back up again, people only witness the version of me that fell.
    They never see the fighting.

    Why are all my battles fought alone?”

  • The Discomfort of Having a Friend

    I worry about having a friend.

    The discomfort of depending on them.
    The discomfort of relying on their presence to complete conversations you do not want to have alone.

    I can wait for years just to complete that conversation.

    The conversation waits within me.
    The grief holds itself carefully inside me.
    The pain stays safely stored in my heart, waiting for its release.

    Is my friend the place where I seek redemption?

    It started as nothing, and somehow became everything.

    In a world obsessed with defining love through the physical, this platonic crush became my holy grail for peace and fun.

    The urge to talk to them in the group while still remaining courteous.
    You cannot reveal that every conversation quietly seeks their emotional validation.

    The subchat.
    The side group.
    The secret extra details.
    The expressions you need to share with them before the day can end peacefully.

    I stay with the comma until I talk to them, and they become the period of peace.

    They turn the page for me.

    I did not know that my urge to add subtitles to every conversation was the kind of love I needed during this mundane life.

    Subtitles only they would understand.
    Subtitles you cannot say out loud, because others would notice.

    Love holds very little power when it comes to overly territorial friendships.

    You cannot cross that line.
    You cannot come between that bond.

    The closeness becomes territorial.
    Almost sacred.

    Where love sometimes comes with fragility, disturbed as easily as sand touched by waves, friendship feels carved in stone.

    Not a handmade carving, but something shaped slowly through time.

    Not just what waves do to underground rocks, but what a rope does to a stone wall after years of friction.

    Friendship endured what hurt the most.

    It saw your friend withering in pain, and still you stayed.

    It tests your stamina.
    Your appetite for love.
    Your ability to remain.

    Discomfort of a friend

    But sometimes, you have to cut this cord yourself.

    Untie this seemingly unbreakable knot with your own hands.

    To break a friendship, you have to break the stone.
    The very stone you carved your promises into.

    And while smashing it against the ground would be easier, you still want to be delicate about it.

    So instead, you break it on your own feet.

    While your friend cries, you bleed.

    But you still do it.

    Because staying hurts more.

    Yes, you will make new friends.

    But the piece of heart they took with them stays there forever.

    And eventually, you stop hoping to get it back too, because you would not know what to do with that piece even if it returned.

    Some memories are not erased.

    Only buried.

  • The Person I Post

    The way we exist on social media is different from real life, or so I believe.

    Social media is not just an extension of our social personality. It is also an extension of our internal world.

    It has quietly become a part of our resume, our biodata, our social life.

    Without meeting you, I can already assess you, put you in a box, admire you, judge you, or completely character assassinate you based on your profile.

    I can see who you are friends with, who you follow, who you admire.

    Based on your shares and posts, I can guess your political inclinations, your ideals, your idols, your value system.

    I can also see whether you are a loner or socially desired.

    Whether your life looks curated or chaotic.

    Whether your taste feels refined or whether we may never align at all.

    The strange part is this:

    Without ever truly knowing a person, we can build an entire story about them.

    And that makes me wonder –

    Is social media really the right place to start knowing someone?

    Is it an extension of personality, a mirror, or an aspiration?

    Is it who people are?

    Or who they wish they were?

    Are we presenting ourselves the way makeup presents a face – enhanced, edited, softened, strategically lit?

    Or are we quietly catfishing each other emotionally through aesthetics, captions, and carefully selected vulnerability?

    I remember a time when social media felt like everything.

    If something was not posted, it almost felt like it never happened.

    It was about how you arrived.

    How your life looked.

    Your online presence sometimes mattered more than your real one.

    Social media and me

    And now I wonder –

    Is social media slowly making me live a delusional life?

    Is it making me more aspirational, or more disconnected from reality?

    More authentic, or more performative?

    More expressive, or more aware of being watched?

    Can social media ever give me the courage to fully endorse the actual weird version of myself?

    And harder still:

    Do I have the courage to admit that a part of me genuinely wants to live like the person I present online?