Drilling someone’s actions down—or defining their entire personality—based on their likes, engagement, or behaviour in the virtual world is absurd. When did it ever become about that? And why this rushing? What does any of this social-media bluffing have to do with someone’s real life or real character?
Why would anyone assign significance based on what we see on an IG profile, or from reading between the lines of vague yes-or-no messages? WHY? WHYYYY? Are we actually that foolish—basing something so important on something so shallow?
I understand the influence digitalisation has on our daily lives, but when did we forget how to recognise real connections? When did we start getting so irritated, insecure, and worked up over virtual reactions instead? Are we really an anxious generation shaped—and damaged—by the digital world this much?
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Trying to find answers from a place, or from a person, who holds no key to your question paper, who was never meant to know it in the first place, is another unfair responsibility we place on someone who has no relevance to our anxiety. Just because we feel unsure and crave reassurance, we assume this person, who has never truly known us, who doesn’t understand the depths of us, will somehow have solutions to our chaos.
Nobody is anyone’s missing puzzle piece. No one is their healer or their ointment. What matters is finding each other authentically, on the same healed ground, shaped by whatever the past has done to both of them. Coming together on merrier terms not as substitutes or compensations for old wounds they were never present for, never aware of.
Your mental turmoil is your own; it wasn’t caused by the other person, and they are not obligated to put an end to it. Reading between the lines, assuming things that were never said, these only feed the flames of the mind.
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The abundance that one can hold—regardless of their role or significance in someone else’s life—has no limits. You can find abundance everywhere, even in a person. I found mine in my mother. She holds my entire world so completely that it becomes difficult for others to find space within that abundance. It is both fortunate and unfortunate at the same time. Fortunate, because I am blessed with such loving parents; unfortunate, because it makes it harder for any newcomer to survive my constant mental comparisons.
Loving someone for 29 years and unconsciously expecting something equally profound from a man you’ve known for just a year or two is its own kind of cruelty—especially towards him. In those moments, we become helpless, demanding, overwhelming, and unknowingly burdensome. We ask too much, too soon, forgetting that some bonds grow over decades, and others need time, patience, and space to breathe.
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We often create stories or assumptions about others. These stories come more from our own minds than from who they truly are. Sometimes we begin with a generous narrative. Other times, we are too naïve to see the narrative they have been painting all along. But where do we learn to tell the difference? How do we understand these things for the sake of better relationships?
Our ego steps in with its rules: don’t confess first, let them come to you, don’t always be the one who tries. Meanwhile, their timeline for effort may look different from ours. And just because you arrive at a feeling or a decision doesn’t mean the other person must arrive at the same moment.
People have their own pace and their own approach. As long as they’re not disinterested, it’s okay to respect that pace and be patient. In the end, it’s more about the process than about whether the story has a perfect ending.
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Deathly Fates is a unique kind of book that deals with spirits, with a priestess as the protagonist. Right from the beginning, there are scenes that felt chilling — I could almost see them play out in my head as I was reading. Those moments carried an eerie atmosphere that stayed with me for a while.
Overall, it’s an interesting read. The author carefully takes you through the characters and the spirits, unfolding their presence and personalities in a steady way. The world feels mysterious, and the spiritual elements add depth to the story. A gripping and slightly haunting experience.
https://www.instagram.com/p/DU-2PKnDRi8/?igsh=czVkM292MmJrNnNv
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The calmness of visiting a music show alone — enjoying the music and feeling good without having to feel the solitude. Is this part of growing up? Is that part of spinster life?
There was a lot of fame and fab around the event. The noise, the excitement, the crowd, the glamour. But none of it moved me the way the music did. The music felt personal. It felt enough.
Still, somewhere in between, I missed the prospect of visiting together with a companion. Just the thought of standing beside someone, sharing the moment, maybe exchanging a glance when a favorite song played.
And all the while, that thought about a companion was about that dull guy.
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I knew all along.
The knowledge wasn’t something to boast.
I kept sensing it. I knew it.
I tried my best to hide from all sorts of triggering, because I was fearing the irreversible. I was fearing the departure.
I was screaming.
Frightening away.
Chills crawling through me, thinking of what she’ll do—
if she gives up on life—
without having the courage to keep going on. -
There are so many sections that require rereading multiple times. It’s a mental boom so far for me, to realise the perspective the author is trying to give the reader. I have not come across such a revealing book on this topic so far.
I’m trying to get every part of the facts, and it has been so impactful that I’m writing this review while I’m just 27% into the book. I paused and had to note down my thoughts on the book.
This author also made rethink on the bias I had on indian and foreign authors.
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Something that happened to you out of ordinary, an unusuality. Even you had questions on how it ever happened but now that its robbed off, why do i have this sense of loss, sadness which tells me i should cry or scream out. But for no reason i m calm with deep distress of the loss. Is it freeing or sadness ?