• Some folks you just quietly slot into the “trusted” pile – people you’d stake your joy on, those you assume could never hurt you. Yet they’re the kind you back up without proof, the sort you forgive ahead of time, individuals so stitched into your days that picturing life without them feels impossible. Then outta…

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  • You eat a piece of cake. A moment on the lips, forever on the hips. How poetic. How utterly violent. The phrase sounds like something your grandmother might’ve said while scooping half a spoon of rice onto your plate, lovingly laced with shame. It rolls off the tongue with a sing-song cruelty, a reminder that…

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  • I reread my own writing sometimes — not out of vanity, but out of habit. Like checking the mirror one last time before leaving the house, except the reflection stares back in syntax and sentence breaks. And when I do, I notice things. The apologetic tone. The second-guessing. The abundance of qualifiers: “just,” “maybe,” “I think.” I…

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  • Linguistic relativity is the theory that the (structure of the) language you speak influences the way you think (shout out to my WR151 teacher)Which is a nice academic way of saying:Maybe I feel too much because I speak too many languages. In English, we say “I miss you.”In Hindi, we say “Tum yaad aate ho”…

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  • BRO. IT’S A PIECE FROM 2018. YOU WEREN’T EVEN IN THE WOMB THEN. I’m sorry, but what does that even mean? That I wrote too well? That I was too coherent while crying into my fifth coffee? That my use of a semicolon made some sad little algorithm go “hmm 🤖 vibes”? The line between human…

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  • There’s a specific kind of emotional clarity that only happens when everything around you is slightly… blurry. Like that one time my brother was driving way too fast (read: mildly illegal) down the open road (gasp, coughs, Bangalore people, what that means is getting to a distance of 5km in sub-25 minutes), windows down, music…

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  • Gen Z’s romantisization of suffering I don’t know when we collectively decided that emotional stability was cringe, but somewhere between crying in bathroom stalls and glamorising mental illness with glitchcore edits, we made suffering… hot. Like, people-are-making-‘sad girl summer’ mood boards hot. We’re the generation that drinks iced coffee with anxiety meds and calls it…

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  • People I’ve loved, places I’ve been to, and feelings that shouldn’t be explained—because really, what’s the point of reducing magic to bullet points and definitions? Some things deserve to just be. Like that one song you randomly heard after ten years and suddenly, you’re eight again in the backseat of your parents’ car, legs too…

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  • Maybe my taste in music is so profound because it’s woven from the threads of everyone I’ve loved, each person stitching their piece into the fabric of who I am. I leave a fragment of myself in every heart I’ve touched, and in return, they leave a piece of theirs in mine. The lyrics echo…

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  • We used to fit perfectly like puzzle pieces…too bad we were pieces of different puzzles 

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