8 years.

It’s my 8th blog anniversary this year (actually, it was two days ago, on the 6th) and I contemplated a lot on whether or not I should really write a post and celebrate it this year.  

Whenever I think of my blog anniversary, I always think of wanting to celebrate it nicely, celebrate it alone in a way that I would enjoy. But every year since I started giving it more importance (perhaps since 2018?) things have never worked the way I wanted them to.  

I don’t remember in 2018, but in 2019, I really wanted to hang out at a café, do the typical write-in-a-café-while-sipping-coffee thing. But I was in college, and September meant submissions so I couldn’t really afford to take the time off. I think I did go out with my friends, and had offhandedly mentioned to Arohi that it was my blog anniversary and she bought me a pack of stickers and made me feel all gooey inside for DAYS. Then in 2020, there was the whole pandemic and I didn’t have much going on life but I was writing so that’s all that mattered, there was no way I could go out so casually. In 2021, I had just started working at a new place, so even then I couldn’t go out and celebrate it in anyway. This year, I really, really wanted sit by myself and sip some coffee while I drew or people watched or wrote. 

But it has been a few heavy weeks and work has been so hectic and my productivity was low. I didn’t know if I would be able to finish work and head to the nice café, especially what with the rains and the flooding in my city. And this made me feel sad.  

I told as much to my friend. She thought for a bit before replying, “You can move around your anniversary, maybe? Since you’re telling me nothing has worked in the past few years?” 

She also told me that since it was my blog, I could do anything I wanted. So. then I thought: September 6th is the day I registered on this website and not my first day of blogging (although, I’m sure I spent a lot of time figuring out how it worked and set up everything before actually writing my first post) so I went 8 years back in time to see when my first post was. 

It was on 8th September, 2014. It was some random post—no, allow me to cringe—poem on how much I liked my language class. I was 17 with internet access and not a clue on how to navigate it so I dialled back my cringe. And then, I should really listen to myself sometimes, curiosity got me at the worst of times, so I clicked on the next post.  

I cringed hard as I read it. It was on how much I disliked pink and the writing makes me want to dig a hole and bury that post. I’m sure there are several more of these kinds of posts that should never have left my drafts. But it’s okay, because bad writing is still writing and one more step towards readable writing. So, it’s okay, I will still pat my 17-year-old-self on the head for her courage and absolute lack of shame and self-awareness but I refuse to read it again.     

Anyway. The plot keeps getting lost but the point is: September 8th might be kinder to me. I’m willing to give everything a try before giving up once and for all. 

Happy 8th to me. I honestly didn’t think I’d be here, seeing as how rarely (which is closer to never, if I’m being honest) write on here. I don’t know if I want to be here next year. I might be, I might not be. But I guess it all depends on how it goes this year. On September 8th. Not 6th anymore.  

Aging more , understanding less

Song of the post: Intro: Persona

Every time I listen to the chorus of Intro: Persona, RM’s words, ‘Persona, who the hell am I?’ cut through me and leave me wondering, ‘Yeah, who really am I?’  

Sometimes I feel like I know myself. When I’m arguing with Appa about decisions—life-altering ones like whether or not to buy a new flavour of chips, when I’ve already put two more packets in the shopping cart; or trivial ones like ordering biryani from Nandhini or Biryani Mane—he doesn’t agree with, I have very nearly screamed at him, ‘I know what I am doing, I know myself better than you know me’. 

Then there are moments when I surprise myself. When the dosa doesn’t tear as I’m flipping it, when that extra drizzle of oil in the kadai actually helps, when choosing the bigger paintbrush gives me a better result than the small one that I usually go for, when I manage to keep calm as I make phone calls to strangers during work, asking them to be on time for an event. 

These little moments, as insignificant as they seem, make me wonder if I really, truly, know myself. I understand my thoughts, my decisions, my preferences, but these only amount to one facet of a universe of my own. We are in an age where knowledge is power, and with the earth spinning so fast (30 kilometres per second!) and the world changing at lightning speed, it is inevitable that we change along with it. I also wonder if one can ever really keep up with all of these changes and still be confident enough to say, ‘Yes, this is me’. 

‘Write, please, because it is still possible to do that.’ 

As I think about this prompt from time to time, there are thousands of ideas and phrases swirling in my head that I struggle to make sense. I seem to have forgotten that I can still write, and these words on the competition poster have stirred up a dormant part of me, hungry for words on paper, starved of feelings in my heart.  

I wake up at odd hours of the night because I have thought of something great, and I would much rather annoy my sleepy self as I quickly type the words down in my notes app, than wake up in the morning, rested and heavy with regret.  

I have missed her, this person, this part of me who itched to write, who wanted to write about the world but didn’t know how, so she started with cautious, baby steps. This part of me that used to be so fearless, that decided to one day just hide. Why did I hide? 

I guess writing came easier when I was younger. Like when it was easier for me to look up at the blue sky and see the clouds in all their glorious weirdness—shaped like bunnies and mushrooms and… wait, is that Perry the Platypus? I don’t know if it was because I was naïve and lacked experience or because I simply did not feel as much as I do now. I am not sure. Maybe it was easier because the words occupying my mind weren’t so many and so random then. As I’ve grown older, I’ve seen more of life, and gotten to know myself better. My mind has become a cacophony of thoughts from which I can only pick out phrases in short, intense bursts; and I feel that if I don’t catch them right then, I’ll never see them again. It feels like now, when I look up at the blue sky and all I can see are…clouds. Just plain white fluffy clouds–stratus, cumulus, nimbus. 

Which are really pretty, too!  

When I look at myself in the mirror and try to straighten my posture, I see a short and petite body filled to the brim with pretty songs and cottage-core reels and watercolour paintings and stormy skies and harem anime and ice mocha at constant war with filter coffee and Starry Night socks during rainy nights. A new kind of fear, fear of putting myself out there, appeared strong and won a long, hard battle against confidence, which just shrugs, as if to say, ‘Yeah, what can you do? I’m done.’ With age, even though I am itching to buy an unaffordable, fancy wall hanging for a place of my own, all I end up doing is scroll through Instagram with an impassive face and an unbearable sadness in my heart on seeing people I know living different lives from my own. With time I find that the more I try to understand myself, the less I do. Five years ago, this thought would have sent me spiralling, but now, with every passing thought of revelation, I just smile.  

It’s a smile of victory, a smile of triumph that this is one more piece of me (of the many, many) that I was able to decode.  

When I began writing, aeons ago (back in my undergraduate days, perhaps 8 years ago?), writing about myself was easy. It was, quite frankly, the easiest thing ever. I wrote with such ease that I thought I knew myself. If I didn’t, how else would I have been able to write like this? Write at least 4 blog posts for my blog every week? Read so voraciously? Make decisions so easily? How?! 

With age, my expectations of myself and my writing grew. I placed them on a shelf higher than the top shelf where Amma stores all the glassware and Appa his liquor bottles. I placed my expectations there knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach them. I just had to reach a little bit higher on my tiptoes or use a stool so that I don’t break anything, myself or the glass. I can’t remember a time I allowed myself to use a step ladder for my writing. If I wrote, it had to be the best thing ever. Being mediocre was not an option since I began writing so well. My writing identity revolved around being honest and oftentimes, it was described as so. In order to put down those kinds of words, I had to be honest with myself, put in the effort to understand my thoughts. It sounded like a lot of effort and, while I don’t shy away from hard work, I did feel like the more I knew about myself, the less I would like. I was scared of knowing who I really am, removed of all the background city and people in my life. What if I wasn’t the kind of person I believed I was? What if this person that others see is simply a veil, which hides something less pleasant? Being honest to myself was scary, I wondered what would become of me? If I couldn’t digest the truth about myself, how would I put it on paper? How could I write anything anymore?  

The journey towards understanding my true—no, own—self began more consciously when a classmate once came up to me, unprompted. “You’re an introvert, right?” 

Have you ever seen that old Tumblr post where someone asks if you would read a book which had your own story, up until the day you died? I had clearly thought, no, I don’t want to read such a book. For me, the whole point of living my life is to figure out this journey, unravel it and move forward with time. 

When my classmate dropped that statement on me, it felt like someone had handed me a page of that book and asked me to hold it, and not read it. Naturally, I had read it.  

I had blinked. I didn’t ever think of myself as an introvert, much less expect others to notice. I tried to be friendly with everyone, and even though it took a lot of my energy, I still did it because I liked it. I liked getting to know my new classmates, liked hanging out with them outside of a classroom setting, and at house parties, and dinners, and shady street food places across the city.  

So, it didn’t occur to me that the word ‘introvert’ could be used to describe me.  

‘Yeah, but-’ the classmate had an answer ready at my confused face. ‘You don’t initiate conversation, you don’t approach people first, but you speak with them if they start. That’s a classic trait of an introvert.’ 

I felt exposed. How could this classmate, who had met me less than two weeks ago, make such claims about me? It sounded absurd.  

I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right, but looking back on my life, I supressed a sigh as I realised he was right. 

It has become increasingly clear to me that the probability of knowing oneself so well that it is near impossible to surprise yourself is very low. People around us have their own versions of us in their heads. I am the milk-for-breakfast girl, the crying-in-front-of-a-stranger girl, the bullet-journal girl, the short girl, the hold-hands-on-an-escalator girl, the eyeliner girl, the dumb didn’t-know-Prakrit-was-a-language girl, the girl who talks to the dogs, the girl who always lends you her extra pen, the girl whose hometown is actually Bangalore. These are all fleeting, momentary impressions strangers hold of me, and they are all true.   

I like to look at it this way: We are all parts of a gigantic puzzle in this universe, our pieces scattered in all sorts of expected and unexpected places. When people travel to different places under the bold statement of ‘soul-searching’, they are off to find these missing pieces. Often times, we duplicate a piece to give it to someone we love, and they take it so happily, so reverently, adding it to themselves and changing both your pictures in the process. Sometimes, unbeknownst to you, a random piece finds its way to you through an artist you love or an author you adore. When did it sneak in? How did I not realize?  When you click with someone you just met, your pieces have come together with a bit of an earth-shattering force, rearranging that part of you, or all of you, depending on the force.  

We can’t often see the big picture that we are a part of in the universe because we are always standing too close. The farther you step away, the clearer the picture is. Have you ever had a dear friend take a candid picture of you that made you go, wow, I really look like that? That’s how your friend sees you through their eyes. When someone truly believes in you and your abilities when you’re deep in doubts about yourself, it’s because they are standing away from you, looking at you and your big picture, all in one frame. Sometimes, it’s nice to take a step back and look at ourselves the way others do. It’s a refreshing perspective, adding more to understanding yourself.  

It’s okay if we don’t know everything about ourselves. There ought to be something in life that keeps us on edge, something to look forward to. For many, it could be their big and bright dreams. For me, whose Big Dream consists of being happy in life, it’s exploring myself. The surprise element works best when you truly embrace the tangled mess that you are.  

Who knows what I’ll discover next? 

I wrote this for a competition held by my Alma Mater, and thought I could post it here. Many, many thanks to Nat who edited this piece for me and was so encouraging. I don’t think I’m fully back but it could be a start.


Year-end talks and all that

Song of the post: Nineteen by B.I.

I think it’s nothing new that I’m fond of New Year as much as I am of Diwali…which is to say, not at all. But I do like to write a year-end post, even though it usually doesn’t really talk about my year. Last year’s post, 2020 in Doggies has been one of my most popular posts and I’m afraid this year won’t be anything like that.

Sadly, there were much fewer (if any) dogs this year. My year was filled with skies and pretty clouds and train rides and months of staying home and contemplating my existence and really good elaichi tea on trains. And while all these were moments of peace and clarity, they usually masked all the uncertainties in my life.

I can’t sum up the year. When I look back, or scroll through my camera roll or my journal, it feels like it has been a long long year. But at the same time, this year has also felt the shortest. Every moment felt stretched out and zoomed in but collectively, there is a big picture which probably looks like a huge blur. It’s a weird feeling but I guess with all the things that we have been subjected to, it’s okay to feel like this.

There are some things I wish I had done. For example, write more blog posts. In my head, I had decided that I would at least make it to one post a month. But either life got busy or I wasn’t in the right headspace for a majority of the year because I barely made 11. If this goes up before 12 AM, that is. If I had written more blog posts then maybe I would’ve done a wrap-up and given awards to my blog posts.

But I guess that’s another thing I learnt this year: to forgive myself for not being able to do all the things I thought of doing. Dreams have become meaningless for me at this point so I make promises to myself. And it’s okay if these promises are broken because I know that I have tried my hardest to do whatever it is that I had promised myself, all the while surviving an ongoing pandemic and climate crisis. I will pat myself on the back for making it this year and you should too!

This year had been good to me in a lot of ways. Even though I only wrote 11 posts, some of the things I wrote this year has been my favourite. I’m extremely proud of 7 Years because I had tried something new and the end result has been very pleasing. I have written a lot of fiction–more incomplete than complete–which is why I haven’t posted any in some time. But that’s also okay because now I have more projects to look forward to next year.

I struggled with that for some time too. I ran out of ideas for original content and I panicked. I went down a spiral of feeling despicable despair for my “creative mind”, or lack thereof and then when the fog cleared, I had to remind myself (again. I seem to have done that a lot this year) that dry spells are common and that it doesn’t really reflect upon me as a person. So I gave it time and I trudged on.

It’s not completely okay as of now but I know that with time, it’ll come back to me. Even if it takes a lot of time, I’ll be here, arms wide open, ready to welcome it.

This year, my art has risen to another level. I started learning digital painting and was able to make 12 full illustrations for my parents’ company calendar! I think this is the proudest I’ve ever been and I haven’t taken on any more complicated projects like that as of yet, just sticking to having fun with all the brushes and endless choice of colours. It’s been a wild couple of months when I did that. But at the same time, I feel like I haven’t given myself enough time to try new things. There are a plethora of things I’d like to do but I end up getting stuck and giving up mid-way. It’s also been frustrating that way.

However, I did learn to make bad art and be okay with it this year. I’m super proud that I was able to do that.

There was a lot of new and amazing music this year and even though my brain did not respond to watching shows or movies or drama, I did manage to watch Yumi’s Cells (with my friends on vacation) and True Beauty (with Akka) and I’m glad I did because the moments I watched them were the moments I h

At this point, day, age and economy, looking for solid career growth has somewhat become laughable. There are barely any jobs out there and there were a few months in the middle of the year where I was hunting for jobs and I questioned everything, every day, all day. It exhausted me to no end as I struggled to remind myself that some things are just not in my hands. I tried to focus on what I could do and by the time I got the hang of it, I found somewhere to work.

Now that that’s over, I feel more prepared for a lot of things that may or may not come. I know it won’t be easy but I have my fist up, ready to fight and a bottle of water by my side for when I need a break.

I don’t know what 2022 will hold for me, us and the planet. Everything is so uncertain that sometimes I want to curl up into a tight ball and not uncurl until everything is all right in the world. But I feel some responsibility (even though I really shouldn’t be feeling it) towards helping the world make a better place so I trudge. On and on and on until I need a break and then on some more.

I hope you have a great year ahead!

oh the things i could write about

Song of the post: Moonlight by AgustD (song and lyrics here)

I like collecting small moments from my ordinary life to store them in a jar in my head, sometimes my heart. I can pull them out when I need inspiration to write. Over the last few weeks, this small collection grew in size because I was having a hard time picking one small moment. So, I thought, what’s better than a small moment? Many small moments!

These are all things I could write about. Maybe a phrase, maybe a few pages, maybe a line or maybe a novel. I could not, cannot pick one, so here’s all of them.

The two-hour train journeys I’ve taken for work, how every time I take, I seem to take the rain with me. How I have to leave before the sun fully wakes up and manage to grab myself an average Maddur vada and elaichi and ginger tea on the train that brightens up my day, even with misty drizzle outside, I don’t shudder with the chill because my heart is warmed up.

Or, how about this driver who picks me up and drops me off at the railway station and as I try to make conversation in my deplorable Telugu, how he nods as he tries to understand my fumbling and mixing of languages to make some semblance of sense but he takes my words seriously anyway and answers his best and that just warms my heart?

I could write to my e-penpal, who has probably been waiting for my email for months now but every time I open up the draft to her reply, there’s so much that I want to tell her but I get distracted by all the things that have happened and end up doing something else, successfully procrastinating.

Do I write about how much I had missed my friends that I finally got to see on vacation a few weeks ago? It will probably be really long and wistful and maybe even a little boring because I would write about how much I had missed holding hands with them in the dark, how with them, sleep was far away and in the darkness of the night, their pretty features only illuminated by the faint, silver moonlight through the curtains, fears spilled out; things that were so hard to experience once were easier to relive through words with their comforting presence. When you feel them squeeze your hand to hold it tighter and you burrow your face in the pillow next to them, you know it’s all okay because you’re with them and this moment is all that matters.

The dark nights seem to be creeping up more and more quickly, with absolutely no warning and under the guise of the rain clouds that seem to have anchored themselves where I am. Why does the approaching winter have hints of doom in it that makes it feel very unreal and every time I shiver, it’s only partly from the cold.      

I want to write pages worth of letters to my 12-year-old self and tell her all the amazing things the current me is discovering about herself and her body. I want to hold her tight and tell her how comfortable I am in my body right now that she feels a little at ease that whatever she’s going through won’t be for long. I wish she had that comfort then but she didn’t so even if I have to write to myself to the past and send it through a time machine, I will.

I could rant about Diwali like I used to do but I cannot. All my energy is now spent on trying to survive the three days with my mood swings and arguments and work but the only relief I get is when my friends share pictures with their families. I stopped feeling excited for the festival ages ago but it makes me happy that these people that I care about enjoy it so that is enough for me.

I could definitely spend my time writing and sending postcards to people across the globe in the hopes of reducing the ever-growing pile of unsent postcards but I cannot bring myself to be fake-cheerful and I most definitely don’t want to send them a depressing letter. If I do send it, I hope whoever receives it will be happy with the painting (if it’s a hand-painted card)/photo on the front more than my words.

I could write about how, as I get closer to the city on my train journeys, the night sky seems to lighten, in whatever way it makes sense. It feels like the sky is being illuminated by the lights on the ground and that is an unnerving thought. It also feels like the city is the day itself and with every second I get closer it feels like I’m approaching a brand new day.

I definitely wanted to write about how every time I think of a solid blog post idea, I become so invested that I end up dreaming about how this post will be the One, the one that will blow up and make me famous or some such. It is simply me setting myself up for disappointment every single time but the funny thing is, I don’t end up disappointed at all, so I keep doing it again. And again. After all, it doesn’t cost anything to dream.

I am a bit hesitant but I would like to write about how when my hand hurts, every breath I take is a painful reminder of how much I have to pretend that everything is okay, that everything is normal for people to believe me that I’m in pain once a while. It has gotten to a point where I can fool myself into believing that I’m not in pain for some time if I concentrate on other things hard enough.  

There was this one time on the train where I had a headache that could only be cured by fresh filter coffee. And it just so happened that a vendor passed by yelling, “coffee!” I bought myself a cup but it wasn’t. Coffee. It tasted like some sort of black tea, sweet but not exactly like tea and while it was hot and nice, I am still very confused about its true nature, especially after the vendor emphasised that it was coffee. I definitely wanted to write about that.

I want to write and draw and paint a mountain-high pile of things but the thought of picking an idea from the pile makes me feel like the pile might collapse on top of me at any moment so I sit, continue to watch Yumi’s Cells under the guilt and heavy weight of the idea mountain.

7 years.

Song of the post: Paradise by BTS

7 is a special number so I thought I’d do something nice, something more for this year’s anniversary. I made the header myself and I’ve come a LONG way from my poorly, TeamViewer-ridden photoshop made headers. Granted, I didn’t have access to the same kind of technology but that also adds up. And I’ve come a long way as a person, too. So, I thought I’ll try something new. Very much inspired by this video of YoungK and partly by the YouTube channel ODG, my 17-year-old-self is going to interview my 24-year-old-self. I was 17 when I began this blog so it feels slightly monumental to have come this far.

I originally planned on writing (and crying) about YoungK’s Eternal album but it looks like I will be busy with work so I thought I’ll do this.

It’s going to be in script format (since I really enjoy writing it) so I hope you enjoy reading it!

An imagined scenario of my 17-year-old-self (17yo) meeting my present, 24-year-old-self (24yo).

17yo and 24yo come together to sit on the opposite sides of a bench. 17yo eyes are wide, even though she’s trying to contain her cool.

17yo: is this how I’ll look seven years from now?

24yo (giggling): yes, yes. We haven’t grown much taller, have we?

17yo: I still had a full year to grow!

24yo (patting 17yo’s knee): your height is the last thing you should worry about.

17yo: You seem cool, though.

24yo: I do?

17yo: you’re different from how I expected you to be.

24yo: Different how?

17yo: like a better version of myself, I think? I mean, I always had this grand idea that I’ll be like this and that but those versions of me seem too…idealistic, I guess? I don’t know, I think this is somehow better. More real.

24yo: well, I’m glad to know that.

24yo: You must have some questions for me.

17yo: well, I don’t know, really. You know that I don’t like knowing the future.

24yo: Yeah, but aren’t you curious?

17yo: …a little?

24yo (laughs): then don’t hold back.

17yo. Okay, first question… so like, you’re 24, right?

24yo: yeah, I am.

17yo: how does that feel like?

24yo: honestly, does anyone know how to feel their age? Or what age must feel like?

17yo shrugs.

24yo: what age do you feel you are?

17yo (thinks): I feel like I’m 12 sometimes.

24yo: exactly! I don’t know what 24 is supposed to feel like but I feel like I’m 17. I mean, I know I’ve come a long way from that age—

17yo: seven years to be exact.

24yo: --yes, thank you. But I know that I’ve gained 7 years of experience but I still feel young and dumb and scared, sometimes. The world says that’s how you’re supposed to feel when you’re young but nobody tells you how these feelings amplify when you’re in your twenties, when you’re supposed to be the mature one. Someone who is sure of herself. Accepting that is…difficult. But we’ll manage.  

17yo: but…you seem sure of yourself. You seem confident enough.

24yo: Currently, I focus being the best version of myself: as confident as I can be, as sure as I can be, as self-aware as I can be. I can’t guarantee that all the time but I try. with time, you’ll learn to put up a front, too. But soon enough, you’ll be so confident that you won’t need a front.

17yo: like a mask? But isn’t that fake? Isn’t that bad?

24yo: you need to be the judge of that yourself. You don’t have to stick to one narrative that someone else writes for you. If you decide you don’t like putting up a front or faking your confidence, then that’s up to you. Not because someone else told you that you have to be your true self all the time. It can be difficult. You need to do the things you do that can help you cope with it.

17yo (deep in thought, nods): I don’t think I understand that much, but you’ll say it’ll come with time, right?

24yo: right

17yo: then I’ll let time do its thing.

24yo (smiles): what else do you wanna ask me?

17yo: Um, second one. Are you…happy? Now, in life? With where your life is, with what you’re doing?

24yo: This is difficult to answer without scaring you off. But knowing you, I think you’ll take it in stride.

17yo frowns but bites lip.

24yo: happiness is…it’s fleeting. It’s not a final stage you achieve. Like, you go past all these stages in life and you reach peak happiness and that’s it, you’re done in life. That’s not how it works and I know you know that but sometimes, it’s easy to forget. I am happy right now, speaking to you. Will I go home feeling happy like this? I don’t know. But I like focusing on the present and if I’m happy right now, that’s all that matters.

17yo: what if you’re not happy right now?

24yo: then I go on with life feeling the non-happy feeling and then it will go away.

17yo: and it will be replaced by happiness?

24yo: hmm. I don’t think that’s how it quite works. Happiness is not a default setting in you. And you don’t just feel two things, right? there’s a lot of in-between feelings, feelings you feel like they’re bursting from inside you but have no names for. You’re sad but also you’re happy. Sometimes you’re happy but you’re also sad. Other times you’re angry and frustrated but also feel like crying and sobbing. You know you don’t have anything to feel sad about, but you still are. When it goes away, you feel calmer. Better. Happy is not quite the word. And in time, you’ll learn to define happiness by your own terms.

17yo (confused): sometimes I feel like life is too much. Like, so much that I want to break something, or scream or anything. Just so I can make sense of everything around me.

24yo: yes, exactly. We can’t name these things but with time, we’ll learn how to deal with them because it’s one thing to feel so much and think that this is out of our hands. But it’s another to let it affect what we do.  

24yo: you’re bored and I’m annoying you, aren’t i? (laughs)

17yo (lies): no, no

24yo: I swear, I’m not preaching you what happiness is and should be. It was a difficult question to answer. 

17yo: fair enough, I guess.

24yo: I suppose you have more questions for me?

17yo: I have written some down. I have like 7, since it feels like a special number.

24yo (grins): okay, shoot me.

17yo: I feel like that’s an inside joke that I don’t know about.

24yo (laughs): you’ll know—

17yo: --soon enough, yeah I know. (takes deep breath) okay, three. are you where you want to be in life?

24yo (thinks): honestly, no. But it’s not really in my hands at this point so I’m taking anything I can get, within reason, of course, and simply trying to go forward. However slow.

17yo: that’s depressing.

24yo: it is, isn’t it? But it’s also not, sometimes.  

17yo: how so?

24yo: because there will be little things in life that you can appreciate and sometimes, they seem worth living for.

17yo: is it one of those things that you’ll know once it has passed?

24yo: that depends on you, doesn’t it? If you want to, you can cherish this moment right now, while it’s happening. Or you can think back on it and choose to cherish it later.

17yo: how do I know which moments to cherish? What if every moment I live feel like I need to cherish it?

24yo: it’s simple, you cherish everything because sometimes they repeat and sometimes they don’t.

17yo: you know how you sound like?

24yo: how?

17yo: you know when there’s an event and there’s a panel discussion and a bunch of people who look pretentious sit there and say a bunch of stuff that I don’t understand but I admire anyway because they sound so smart, even if they are not sometimes?

24yo: are you saying I sound dumb and pretentious?

17yo: no, I’m saying you are one of those people. But more genuine, I guess? Definitely more honest and tad pretentious, but then again, I think most people are pretentious anyway so it doesn’t count.

24yo: and you admire me?

17yo: yeah, I guess?

24yo (laughs): never change, love.

24yo: So, what’s your next question?

17yo: can I ask you for some advice?

24yo: of course. I’m not good at it, but I’ll try.

17yo: Do you have dreams? Like, ambition-dreams? This is question 4, by the way.

24yo: Like becoming the CEO of a company in 10 years, or being in so-and-so position by this year? Something like that?

17yo nods.

24yo: not really. Before I answer you, why do you want to know?

17yo: it’s just that, people around me seem so sorted, you know? Like, they have big dreams and want to do big things and they know just exactly how to get it. But I’m like, I don’t know what subjects to choose next semester, bro. Or what extra credit course to pick. Much less what I want to do ten years down the lane. When people ask me what I want to do with my degree, I don’t know what to say. I seem to subconsciously borrow other people’s dreams and make it my own until I find my own.

24yo: I’ve thought about it a lot, too. People around you want you to do different things because they think you’re “capable” of doing it, in whatever sense that is. But what I’ve come to realize is that dreams look different to different people. If you ask me today where you want to be in five years, I will say by the end of the day, I want to go to bed feeling happy and satisfied with my life. That’s my dream. Is it less valid than the others? Not at all. Does it mean you don’t want to aim high in life? Absolutely not. Even at this point, I don’t have high ambitions. My only dream is to find the right and perfect opportunities at the right time.

17yo: but that’s not in your control.

24yo: exactly, so that remains a dream, after each passing opportunity.

17yo: I don’t think I understand, though.

24yo: Let me quote you something: “It’s okay even if you don’t have a dream as long as you’re happy”.  Does this make sense?

17yo: A little.

24yo: I know, it’s scary not being clear about your life in this highly competitive world. But the sooner we learn that we all need to move forward in life in our own pace, the better. Just because someone else is studying and doing a million other things in life doesn’t mean that we can, too. If we want to, yes, definitely, but this pressure of being busy, having to sort out your weekends and plan your relax days is not healthy for us.

17yo: but it doesn’t make things any less scary.

24yo: nothing gets less scary; we just learn to handle it better and not get scared.

17yo: okay question five. One piece of advice you want to give to me.

24yo: you know when you unintentionally hurt someone with your words, and you see their face fall as they struggle to seem to be unaffected by it? But you notice it and you suddenly hate yourself for making them feel that way?

17yo (nods): Too many times.

24yo: What happens when a friend does that to you? And they apologize to you?

17yo: I forgive them. It was unintentional and yeah, even if I was hurt, it’ll go away, right?

24yo: right. So when that happens from your end, you need to treat yourself as a friend and forgive yourself. Take time but you need to learn to be kind to yourself because one mistake won’t define you. Even in that moment.

17yo: So I should just let it go? (frowns)

24yo: No, you’re going to reflect on it and be more aware next time. SO that you don’t repeat it. That’s how you move on. It’s not entirely letting go, but in some sense, it is. It might take some practice and it might feel a little selfish but you need to take care of yourself before others.

17yo: sounds like a paradox.

24yo: it kind of is. But you gotta do what you gotta do.

17yo: …

17yo: okay moving on to number 6. Is there something I need to work on, in the future? To become this…this best version of myself?

24yo: Apart from keeping an open mind and learning to question everything, I also think reading is an important aspect. I know you read, and I know non-fiction is boring and “too political” but I hope that you’ll have a foundation of some sorts.

17yo: but why would I need to learn about politics? I’m studying environment.

24yo: you understand how environment and biology and chemistry and science in general are all interlinked right?

17yo nods.

24yo: social science is the same way. Science cannot exist without humans and we can’t disregard them in our lives. We can’t disregard ourselves. It’s important that you try learn to see from all aspects.

17yo: You sound like you’ve gone into politics and seen too much.

24yo (shakes head): Just some observations. See, we have this whole notion of what being political means. It’s not going to protests and throwing stones and telling the government to resign. It comes with the small things. The choices you have, the options you choose, in literally anything, has a political and social reason factor to it. Once you recognize that, you can’t decide that you’re going to stay far from politics. That’s not who you are.   

17yo: that sounds sad.

24yo: it is, but that’s just the way the world is. The only way to change it is to start with yourself. You’re a bit young to understand these things right away, but two, three years down the lane, you’ll understand. It’ll help you understand yourself better and helps you be the best and confident version of yourself.  

17yo: You’re not going to give me details, are you?

24yo: nope!

17yo (sighs): Okay.

17yo: Last question.

24yo nods and smiles.

17yo: Do you have any questions for me?

24yo: Were all of your questions answered?

17yo: Nope. I have more questions now but they are more like, time will tell types.

24yo nods: Curiosity has never been our strong trait, has it?

17yo sighs and shakes head.

24yo: I suggest you develop it. Being afraid to ask questions only holds us back. Okay?

17yo: okay.

24yo: stay happy and be brave, okay?

17yo nods.

These were some things that I wish someone had told me. I think there were more things I want to tell but for now, I’ll leave it at this.

I’m glad for 7. Things aren’t very different from how 6 was, but that’s okay. I’ll be here for 8, so let’s hang on and do our best until then.

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Song of the post: Avatar: The Last Airbender theme song

It has been a while since I wrote about a show or a film. I haven’t watched many in the past several months but ATLA has been the only one and it was because I watched it with a friend. I just can’t seem to muster up the energy to sit through 120 minutes of a film or 16 episodes of a drama. 20 minutes per episode seemed doable, especially since it was something completely new and because it was animated.

Here is the basic outline of the show since I don’t want to do a bad job explaining what is what. This post will mainly be me screaming about the show. There will be spoilers!

Several months ago, my friend Nat asked me if I had watched Avatar: The Last Airbender. She had watched bits and pieces of it as a child on Nickelodeon, so she wanted to watch all of it and suggested that we could watch it together. It didn’t take much convincing for me. I really liked the premise of the show so we decided to go for it.

Since then, we had our weekend nights booked over Zoom. On Friday and Saturday nights, we sat together after dinner to watch the show. We laughed, we cried, we gasped and clutched our hearts. It was such a packed, wholesome show with a great plot and some really amazing character arcs and great villains and a beautiful world-building and amazing story-telling. I’m glad I watched now because I could fully appreciate the show with all my heart.

The most unrealistic bit of this whole show is how strong they are at such a young age. Aang is biologically still 12, even though he had been frozen for 100 years. Katara is 14, while her brother Sokka is 15. Zuko, a strong fire-bender, is only 16! Azula, Zuko’s sister, who can manipulate lightning and can redirect it, is only 14! They must have trained all their lives but it’s still hard to wrap my mind around the fact that they do so much at such a young age.

(And yes, I am aware that the characters are this age because it’s a children’s show but still.)

Some recurring thoughts throughout the show:

  • APPAAAA! (Appa is Aang’s flying Bison, a whole ass cutie that needs to be protected. AT. ALL. COSTS.)
  • HOW IS THIS A CHILDREN’S SHOW? (Especially towards the end of Book 2 and 3)
  • Uncle Iroh! (A whole cutie badass but with the most golden heart. One of my most favourite characters. Has wisdom for days and is the most patient man ever. Protect him at all costs [even though he does a brilliant job by himself])
  • how is this a children’s show
  • Zuko please you’re so cute
  • YUEEE (crying, weeping emoji)

It started off slow. The first book was mainly world-building and them trying to navigate through this whole helping the Avatar thing and escaping from Zuko. Things got really interesting towards the end of the first book when Aang learns to Water-bend and they start looking for an Earth-bending teacher.

This is when the show picks up. Toph is a blind, 12 year old, earth-bender who fights against earth-bending giants (huge, beefy men) in contests and wins. She “sees” through the vibrations through her feet, which is why she doesn’t like wearing footwear. But she’s also treated as a dainty, delicate girl by her family which gets so suffocating for her that she runs away with Aang and the gang. She’s one of the coolest characters in the show. She’s sassy and smart and has an iron-willpower. I love the fact that they included a disabled character in the main cast (there are other, smaller disabled characters sprinkled throughout the show) and this inclusion seems like the most natural thing ever. It’s one of the many reasons why this show is so amazing and why I love it so much.

The second book is also one of the more fast-paced ones. A lot of things happen: new member addition to their team, new information on defeating the Fire Lord Ozai, new battle strategies, new friendships formed. The most prominent is the battle at the city of Ba Sing Se. Iroh briefly talks about this city in the first book: it’s where he lost his son Lu Ten, it’s where he lost the battle against the Earth Kingdom when he led the army and lost all his glory. It’s a city that holds painful memories for him and we sympathize with him. Later, the city is reintroduced to us when Gaang (Aang and the gang) realize they need to meet with the Earth Kingdom and provide them with the information that might help them defeat the Fire Nation and end their rule over the planet.

This is the part where I realized just how amazing this show is. It might be difficult for kids to understand the depth of the issues that’s at the heart of Ba Sing Se but as an adult, it shook me. I think a major part of it was because I could relate to it to the current scenario. The episodes surrounding this were intense because the Gaang is also looking for Appa, who was taken away but some sand-benders in the desert. There’s an episode that shows the journey of Appa from wherever he was taken to and escaped and to Ba Sing Se, where he was hidden. My heart was broken that episode because Appa was so scared and hungry and tired and hurt. Nobody hurts Appa and gets away with it.

(Rewatching S2 E14: The City of Walls and Secrets to make sure I get my point and feelings across well.) Ba Sing Se is called the city of walls. The entire city is fortified, and inside the city, there are three concentric rings of walls that help maintain peace and order inside the city. In the outermost live the refugees and craftsmen and artisans (people who work with their hands). They are also really poor and Katara observes that they are all pushed off in one place. In the middle one, the financial “district”, houses shops, restaurants and the university, along with people who can afford to go to these places. In the inner most wall is the palace and noble people.

This “class” division made my heart clench. Maybe I wouldn’t have understood it as a child but I completely understand it as an adult. It brought me a sense of deja vu and detachment with it. It is reflective of the real world today (and in 2005 when this episode came out) but the governing bodies in Ba Sing Se, the Dai Li has worked so hard to keep people happy and ignorant that it scares me.

Which is one of the main reasons why I love this episode.

Uncle Iroh and Zuko somehow end up wherever the Gaang is (even after Zuko stops pursuing Aang). They work in a small tea shop in the outermost wall since they are refugees. But nobody knows that they are from the Fire Nation and they keep it that way. Since Iroh thinks tea is like breathing, he soon becomes popular in tea making, so much so that he opens his own tea shop in Ba Sing Se.

The next episode is a series of shorts of all the characters’ little adventures in the city. I’m a huge sucker for anthologies and this little one, including a story on Momo’s (Aang’s flying lemur) adventure in the city, is an adorable one. It’s cute, funny, sad, heartwarming all in one and by the end of it, tears threatened to fall.

Then there’s Zuko. He starts off by being the worst character on the show (which will be replaced by Azula) to one of the best and most favourite characters by the end of it. He has a good heart but being in the Fire Nation, he has always ever known one side of the history, which he’s always believed to be right. He goes through so much pain and suffering and in the end, his good side wins. His major flaw is, and I quote Nat, “being bad at being good,”. He tries to be a good person but it always backfires because he doesn’t know how to be one. But that changes. And his character arc is one of the most phenomenal ones throughout the show. In the end, he becomes Aang’s fire-bending teacher and together, they discover the original way of fire-bending. (I really wish we had more episodes of Zuko in the Gaang because it was so wholesome.)

Sokka, Katara’s brother, often the goofy one but his character growth, albeit different from Zuko, was also a painful one. Having lost his mother to the Fire Nation, his father at sea, he’s responsible for taking care of Katara but we often forget that he’s a child, too. But he’s also more than that. His battle strategies have been commended by his own father and he even plans many of their trips because he’s so meticulous in planning. He cannot bend elements, but he has good fighting skills that has often saved the rest of them from doom.

From: https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OwkpeugoxVo/WpeSHUBvLNI/AAAAAAABhHc/CeDfJqu5gj4EnklHjMLhGixz_m_h5l9nACLcBGAs/s1600/Cesar-Moreno-Avatar-Last-Airbender-Movie-Poster-2018-Mondo.png

ATLA has female characters who contribute the same amount, if not more, to the story. Katara, with her water-bending, Toph with her earth-bending, Suki (a Kyoshi warrior) with her skills, on one side; Azula with her lightning, Ty Lee with her acrobatic skills that immobilize people, Mai with her ninja knife/star throwing skills on the other. There is no “competition” as such between the male and female characters because they’re all so strong by themselves. I loved that about it.

Everybody needs an Uncle Iroh in their lives. I need an Uncle Iroh in my life.

After watching it, it’s easy to understand why this show has such a huge fanbase. It’s not just about a 12 year-old monk trying to stop a war that he doesn’t know how to. It’s much larger than that. It’s about love and family and friendship and restoring lost honour and what that means and what being strong means and forgiveness and so much more. It’s probably really easy to dismiss this as a kids’ cartoon but it’s a mistake that’s easily rectified by giving it a chance.

So, give it a chance. It might just change your life.

Random Thursday Ramblings at the speed of a BMTC bus

Song of the post: So Far Away by Agust D ft Suran (find lyrics translation here)

Sometime last year, I had promised myself that I would put up at least one post per month because, well, even though I don’t feel like I’m running out of things to say, who even cares, right? And every time my head goes in that direction, I go, “No! You write for you!” but me writing for myself has become an almost daily thing these days so it’s not only deep, introspective stuff, it’s also random things I did and didn’t do and and how I felt (which basically falls into two categories: feeling super good, feeling like shit) so it’s not like I want to share these really personal things on here.

So, what do I write? What do I post? I don’t do typical blogging stuff, that’s not my style. That’s not how I began and I’m not going to change now. And I’m lazy but that’s not necessary here.

I’m here, on this website, thinking of a song for the post (I decided on one but then changed it to another by the end of it) and watching Jungkook sing along to random songs on a VLive after a long time and I think I’ll just talk about the Tokyo 2020 Olympics and my day.

I didn’t plan to do much today. I had probably 2 things on my list: work on something that I’ve been working on since forever and look for jobs. I haven’t added painting or drawing in there. It just feels like a chore.

Have you ever felt like your hobby, or something that you do to purely enjoy, starts to get a little repetitive, and you have tried different things but then they haven’t worked out well but you still want to do something new but you’re scared of how it’s gonna turn out?

Well, art has become like that for me. There’s a lot I want to try and maybe because I’m not validating myself enough or seeking validation from elsewhere and not getting it getting to me, I’m scared to mess up. I want good results too, but how will I get it if I don’t even try? If I’m too scared to try?

And there’s also the matter of where to start. So, I’ve stopped forcing myself to do draw or paint when I don’t feel like. It hasn’t worked yet. But I know it will because every creative venture needs time to recharge.

I was sitting on the sofa last Friday, watching the opening ceremony of the Tokyo 2020 Olympics, from start to finish. Sometime in the evening, when all the country teams paraded in with their flags, I was tweeting about it but before that, I just watched with a kind of numbness. I was watching the ceremony, but it was something that I let my brain and eyes do, not really absorbing it on a deeper level.

Instead, my head kept going back to a few years ago, specifically around the time of the London Olympics 2016. I was about 18 or 19, at the peak of my anime-manga-Japanese culture phase and I had found out that the 2020 Olympics was happening in Tokyo.

I was overjoyed. In my head, 2020 was so far way. Like, four years was such a huge deal. I always wondered where I would be, what I would be doing, how much I might have changed, how I would be living, if I was in love, with people and life alike. I daydreamed about it. I daydreamed about being in Tokyo (either visiting or living, I had cooked up scenarios of both) during the Olympics, and watching the Opening ceremony live, in person. I was happy, content.

But then life pulled the rug of reality and bleak future underneath me and made me look up and face it.

It was not good. It’s not something anyone would’ve daydreamed on their wildest day. A pandemic, climate crises, horrible political scenario and the list is endless. I will not go down there.

That’s when it hit me. The me of 5 years ago would be so devastated to hear the fact that the freaking Olympics was pushed a year ahead and should have possibly been even cancelled. I feel bad for her. I can practically feel the colour drain out of her and her shoulder slump as it hits her how bad the situation will be.

It’s almost as if I don’t even recognize her anymore.

There’s so much new music these days, from artists that I like and me itching to discover new artists. But what do I do? Like, my hands are free and my ears are plugged in and I don’t like it when I’m not multitasking. So, I would want to draw or paint.

But then my crisis starts. I have noted this feeling down sometime ago and it’s true even today.

Whenever I feel like wanting to paint, I just don’t know what to paint. When I ask for suggestions, I immediately don’t feel like making it. And the funny thing is, there’s a million things I want to draw and paint and get better at but there’s that nagging feeling of having to choose between having fun and getting better at painting. It seems like these days, I’m unable to have fun and try new things for the fear of failure.

I was not for being scared of failure. Exams? Sure. The word itself invokes a kind of anxiety in me. But in things that I love doing? Writing and painting and cooking?

Not at all. I either have fun or learn something out of it or both. There’s no winning or losing.

It’s weird and I don’t think I like it very much.

A while ago, Amma was saying something about moving on and getting better things in life and it got me thinking: is anyone really satisfied with their lives?

Maybe it’s the hustle culture, maybe it’s climate change, maybe people don’t talk about it. But I don’t understand why people actively seek out better things. I understand that most things are temporary in life but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy with it and be satisfied as the next good thing comes along. Like it’s one thing to be learning all the time and trying to be better– a better person, better whatever– but it’s another to actively seek out better things. I also understand that we all deserve better things in life and that it should be determined by us but if there’s happiness and peace at what we are doing in life, why look for better? It seems like better is never ending and that scares me sometimes.

I have thought about why I feel that way. I think it’s because I like wherever I am. And it could also be that I’m scared for what’s out there since I don’t really know. The uncertainty is scary but it comforts me that I’m not alone in this.

But what is scary is people shooting their shots for much greater things and dreams that I have no desires for. Is that really bad?

I don’t know.

It’s scary but the only thing I know how to do is move forward. And I guess I’ll just do that.

If you managed to reach the end of this long, slightly pointless post, feel free to ramble away in my comments or if you found me Twitter, you can ramble away in DMs too.

I sometimes like to feel that I’m not so alone in all of this.

Sensing a slump

Song of the post: Leaves by Ben&Ben ft. YoungK

While I am waiting for the Butter (Hotter) remix to release, I just thought I’d put this out before I spend my time streaming and screaming the song.

I have spoken about slumps before. Art slump, creative slump, watch slump, life slump. All of these and more are valid and living through pandemonium is only proof that slumps are just part of what makes us humans. I think I’ve grown to see slumps as forced resting. When you can’t put your pencil on a piece of paper without coming up blank, you give up.

But that’s not all you do. You don’t just give up, you think you’ll try again later. And maybe later is in a few hours or days or weeks or even months. But you wait it out and decide you’ll try again. That’s what I think we do as humans.

I came about writing this post because for the past couple of days, I have been sensing something coming. It could be impending doom or it could be a slump. (I’m deciding on the slump, for now.)

I have a lot of writing and art projects lined up. Each very fun and different and gives me a push towards stepping out of my comfort zone and doing something that I’ve never done before. It’s something that I look forward to as I wake up (freshly unemployed now) and get started on my projects.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always work that way. I was halfway through one of my shorter writing projects and it just seems so…bland? It felt like I’ve been writing the same things over and over without any change or variation. At first I thought maybe I’m thinking too much. So I accelerated, as you do, when you feel like you’re about to crash.

Then I realized that I wasn’t feeling anything when I was writing it. I put word after word and while the story progressed in the general direction that I had in my head, I was not enjoying the process one bit. Suddenly, I was writing for the sake of writing, because I had to, because nobody else would write this story for me. And that’s actually not bad for a writer but for me, it becomes easy to hate my own creation. So I decided to pause.

I had already taken a break from painting. A few weeks ago, I had been trying to draw something but the more I tried, the more wrong it looked. It made me frustrated and annoyed and I hated to pick up my pencil to try something. I haven’t made anything new or fresh in some time but I painted some skies and sea and swatched a new set of gouache paints and I know my watercolours will wait for me, until I return. It’s just a matter of time.

It’s me second of taking a break from writing and I have had so many plans and ideas since. Some are fresh, some ideas are to take older ideas forward and more. But apart from this blog post, I haven’t written much. And I’ve convinced myself that it’s okay. It’s okay to rest and take a break and not expect perfection every single time I write something because that’s practically impossible. That’s why revisions and editing and rewriting exists.

It’s been pretty peaceful.

Maybe in the next few days I might open up some of my incomplete, ongoing documents and finish them faster than ever. Maybe I’ll take some more time to think and breathe and rest. Who knows? It’ll go when it goes. I’ll be here, till then, reading and consuming art and stuffing myself with so much inspiration that when the slump finally leaves me, I feel happier than ever.

It’s okay for me to say this, that it’s better to wait it out the slump than forcing yourself to do things because I’m primarily a hobbyist. I write and make art as a hobby. But for professionals out there, going through a slump or a rough patch or feeling generally low, I am sending strength to you guys. It’s a brutal world out there and your creation is keeping us mundane people alive during some of the worst times we have gone through. I hope you take care of yourselves and have someone to lean on when things are tough.

Documenting your day

Song of the post: Today by O.WHEN

I have been meaning to write this for a while now. It’s been ruminating in the back of my head for weeks now, opening up a blank document in my head and adding ideas which I will soon forget, but adding bits and pieces of it anyway. Simply because I haven’t had the energy to actually open up a word document and word vomit everything.

Until today.

I think I began thinking of this when I was filling up my planner. I recently bought an undated planner because I had little to no patience to sit and make myself simple bullet journal spreads that I’m not happy about. I have no time or patience for more elaborate ones so I thought it would be nice if I found a pretty planner. I bought an undated one because there was some comfort in adding in dates and months by myself, like I could control that one bit of life at least. It’s a Sunday morning routine to fill it up after breakfast.

After breakfast, everybody at home is too full to move so we just relax in our parents’ room with the balcony door open to let the sunlight in and just scroll through our phones silently for an hour or so. Usually my phone is charging during that time so I get my planner and pens and my watercolor pencils and sit and fill up that week.

Most days I leave blank. I refuse to use it for work and if I have to mention it at all, I’ll simply say, “work anxiety” or “too much work” or “snapped at work”, if at all. If something significant has happened, I usually remember so I can make a note of it. Other days, I am blank. “What the heck did I even do on Thursday?”

That’s when the documentation comes in. On days where I don’t feel like myself, or don’t like the way I’m feeling, I write it all down, trying to flesh out the reason why I’m feeling this way. It doesn’t work, a lot of times, but it does make me feel a little bit lighter. It’s a trick that I learned the hard way.

On days I don’t remember what I did, or happened, I open up my chats and to my friends or opening up my gallery to see the pictures or screenshots I captured that day. Then I get distracted and forget about it for a few minutes.

The heavy weight of the planner sitting on my lap brings me back. Then I draw a couple of illustrations and wrap up that week.

That’s when I kept thinking if there are other ways other people document their lives.

An Instagram story, a Tweet, their notes app, a tiny notebook filled with indecipherable pencil scribbles, a doodle or maybe just their very reliable memories. Or maybe you don’t want to remember how your days went by. That’s true for me sometimes, even though I do wonder, “how did I spend my day?”

It’s a Monday, a day off for me and I am so tired by doing nothing. I might paint for a bit later but there’s so many things I have lined up but end up doing nothing. I kind of feel bad about it but these days I don’t have the energy for much so I guess it’s okay?

It’s all I can tell myself at this point.

Do you document your days? Do you like to do it? Or do you prefer to just move on with your days without wanting to remember and reflect on how yesterday was? Tell me, I’d love to know.