What is it to be intimidating?
Why do the people you have known all your life start to find you intimidating after a certain point?
Are they unable to grow out of our past selves? What does our present self do to them to make them feel that way? Or am I framing the conversation entirely differently?
Is it something about themselves that makes them feel intimidated by us?
Where does it stem from?
I’m so curious about it.
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There are parts of yourself you wish not to change, things you are adamant about, and you keep trying to hold onto them by finding proofs or examples that support what you already believe. Finding reasons to deny yourself the possibility of opening up and being broad-minded.
But then someone, with brutal honesty, at the cost of arguments and fights and sometimes even the bond itself, tries to present you with the grey area you wish not to see, or act like you can’t see (which you are quite clever at).
They slowly break the denialism and inculcate a curiosity that has been a part of you all this while. Maybe both denialism and curiosity have always existed within you, only in different percentages and dominance, with curiosity constantly fighting for a little more space.
I don’t know if the person knows it, but they helped me, and still do too, to overcome the denialism I tend to let win sometimes.
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If someone starts to make you feel a different way, when all this while you have known this person as a friend, an acquaintance, or a bestie with genderless attributes whatsoever (something you keep telling the world, trying to fool yourself more than the world) it’s okay to unlearn from it.
It’s okay to like or love them. It’s okay to suddenly see your friend as a man.
When all the values he brings with him, and the calmness he brings into your life, finally feel like what you want, and make you look at him like – wow, I wish we were more than friends. I wish I had him by my side, it’s okay to feel that way.
Without thinking too much into the future. Without immediately wondering what would happen to an already good friendship if you crossed over.
Sometimes, it’s better to be true to what you feel.
It’s okay to cross over.
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A transaction or a beautiful union?
While reading Cilka’s Journey, I came across the phrase “a transaction between them.” It stayed with me and made me wonder what a transaction between two people really is.
What would my own transaction be if I ever found myself in such a situation?
Is “transaction” a taboo word when applied to human relationships, or does it simply reveal something that exists in many of them?
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Only when my brain starts suffocating or gets overloaded do I think of writing to unload my head—to let it take a moment to break, to free itself from exploding altogether. Just like I think of very few people to talk to, is it selfish of me to think about those people only when I am overwhelmed? Or is that what makes them the special of specials in my life?
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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.
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