Naming Emotions

I hope I never see your face ever again in this lifetime. I hope I am spared the quiet cruelty of watching time rewrite your features softening what I once knew, or hardening what I once left behind. I hope I never learn who you’ve become, where life has carried you, or how gently or harshly the years have held you. I hope your existence fades into a distant, unreachable place not because it means nothing, but because it means too much to face. Because if I ever stand before you again, I know I won’t just see the passing of time I will see the scar the one I carved with careful certainty, disguised as the right choice. And I am too much of a coward to witness what I’ve done to measure the weight of what I let go. So as long as we both breathe under the same sky, let distance be kind to us. Let our paths remain strangers to each other. Let chance forget our names. Let even coincidence lose its way. May we never meet again not even as passing shadows...

  There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from doing nothing, but from doing so much that no one else can see. Days filled with trying. Figuring things out. Starting, failing, adjusting, starting again. It doesn’t look like much from the outside. No fixed routine people can point at. No visible progress they can measure. No results that can be held, counted, or shown. So it becomes easy for others to assume there’s nothing there. And maybe what makes it harder is not even what is said directly, but what is said elsewhere… the quiet conclusions people come to when they don’t understand what they’re looking at. That kind of misunderstanding sits differently. It makes you question your own pace. Your own process. Whether what you’re doing is enough… or even real. And suddenly, something that already required so much mental effort starts feeling heavier than it should. Focus slips. Not because you’ve stopped trying, but because your mind is now carrying more than just...

  No one saw me writing email after email, reaching out just asking for a chance. No one saw me cry when silence answered me, or when rejection became a pattern I couldn’t escape. But there were people who noticed my stillness, who measured my worth through what I hadn’t achieved yet. People who spoke without understanding, who turned quiet struggles into something to judge, something to use. They didn’t see the effort only the outcome. They didn’t hear the silence only the absence of success. So I hope one day my growth speaks louder than their assumptions ever did. I hope the weight of their words finds its way back to them not as revenge, but as understanding. Even if I never say anything. Even if I continue to let my silence hold my truth.

  One weekend, Sarah met an old friend for coffee. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly two years. Life had moved them to different cities, and like most friendships that survive adulthood, their conversations had slowly shrunk into occasional messages and birthday wishes. Still, when the day finally came, Sarah was genuinely excited. Normally her weekends were slow and quiet. She would read a little, watch something halfheartedly, maybe nap in the afternoon. But that morning she woke up earlier than usual and took her time getting ready. There was something comforting about meeting someone who had known you before life became complicated. Her friend had chosen the café. She had apparently checked reviews, compared ratings, and decided this was the best place in town. When Sarah arrived, they hugged with the slightly awkward enthusiasm of people who were happy to see each other but still adjusting to the fact that time had passed. Inside the café, the air smelled like coffe...

It’s my curse, my burden, that I’m my own enemy. When I need myself the most, I can’t see the wings behind me ... the ones everyone says I have, the ones they notice, the ones they admire. I’ve never felt them. Never touched them. Never believed in them. My friends say I’m different, special, talented. They notice it, maybe even envy it. But I see nothing. I search, I strain, but nothing appears. I spend my days lifting others, seeing the good in them, holding space for their pain. Even challenging them when they speak poorly of themselves, I make sure they feel understood, comforted, safe. But when it comes to me  my mistakes, my flaws, my pain , i become my own nightmare. I tear myself apart where no one else can, in ways not even my worst enemy would. And it’s so heavy, carrying the weight of everyone’s burdens while my own go unnoticed , left unattended by the very person who should care the most. I realized it a little too late that... In the process of being kind and understa...

  A piece about privacy, expectations, and protecting the things you’re still building. They always say, “Just speak. Say what’s on your mind.” But they don’t actually want that. Because if you really speak, you won’t give them something small and easy to digest. You’ll tell them the truth. You’ll talk about the parts that hurt. The things you’ve been carrying quietly. The ways you were treated. The ways you were misunderstood. Some of it even because of them. They want to know what you’re doing. They want updates. They want to know where you are in life, what stage you’re at, what progress you’ve made. And if you don’t tell them, they get uncomfortable. They start assuming. They start talking. They reduce everything you’re doing into “nothing.” They say you’re wasting your time. Wasting your potential. That you’re not doing anything behind closed doors. But the truth is, they don’t really want to understand your process. They want access to it. And once they have access, ...

When my career overwhelms me, I feel the heavy weight that comes along with it alone. There isn’t always someone to talk to, someone to ask for advice, someone to share the frustration or the quiet struggles. I hold my phone, thinking of whom to call or text, and then I stop. Not because I lack friends who care, not because I would be unwelcome, but because I realize this is the life of an adult. I can’t run to others every time a problem arises. In the end, it’s me who has to figure it out. The pressure can feel heavy  fear of judgment, fear of appearing incapable ...so I pause. I carry the burden myself. I journal, I wrestle with my thoughts, I sleep through it, I put on a face and move forward. I sit with the discomfort until I either confront it or it passes. There’s a truth in carrying your own struggles. Independence teaches resilience. No matter how close someone is, there are battles only we can face. At the same time, there’s value in reaching out. Even if it doesn’t solve...

  A reflection on the lifelong search for belonging, and the truth that’s been within us all along. Isn’t it breathingly beautifully , but also  painfully tragic that we, as human beings, are always looking for a place to belong? A home for our heart. To feel safe , to feel at ease,  to feel at home  without any fear and uncertainties  We spend our lives searching for it, exploring every nook, every corner, every soul we encounter, hoping to feel that spark of familiarity a resemblance of the home we carry in our minds. A fragment of home we feel lingering in our soul  like we allready know how it is is, but just dont know its way yet  We reason with ourselves: Is this it? Is this home? Our minds and souls join the same search that our hearts are on. We look for home in memories , in a time we miss, in a place we can’t return to, in an object we can’t let go of, or in a person whose presence feels like warmth and even in a version of  a fu...

Sometimes I feel like I watch life unfolding a little too closely  a little too much in detail , soaking in emotions, good and bad, no matter how quickly they pass me by or how small and unimportant they might seem. It shifts and rotates into studying every detail, every subtle change, every intricate layer , maybe even  more than necessary, even more than I can hold. There are moments when this makes me happy  overjoyed, even. I take in those  little things about life, letting it inspire me. On the positive side, I never run out of ideas to be creative. I turn these moments into words, pouring my emotions onto the pages of my book, trying to capture everything as best as I can ,so what I notice and feel can dance beautifully on paper, clothed in the words I give them. But maybe, without realizing it, this very quality also makes it harder for me to simply enjoy life as it comes. There are always two sides to everything , the good and the not-so-good. If you’re like ...

Today  I passed by the area where my old college is situated , it was an unplanned visit and so where the emotions and feelings that washed over me as i stood there in the streets so dear to me , It felt as though the wind itself carried a taste of nostalgia, mixed with the scent of familiarity.   I was overcome by a very strong, overwhelming feeling a hint of joy and sadness all at once , that quickly froze me in place. If you asked me how it felt, I would say it was deeply bittersweet. The place held memories that can never be relived, revived, or forgotten. Every street, every shop, every quiet corner, every tree, and even the dust along the road seemed to whisper fragments of a past that pulled me backward  back to lecture halls, hurried footsteps, unfinished conversations, and laughter that only I can hear. Not vividly, but like blurred memories that made me feel strangely out of place. Ironically, I was taken back in time to the very place where I was standing ...