MAP OF MY SOUL

 If life had a “skip intro” button, I’d probably press it right about now, just to see how everything turns out. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. So here I am, stuck in the loading screen, hoping the plot twist is worth it. Lately, my personality has basically been: overthinking, studying, and opening the fridge like it holds the answers to my future. It doesn’t... but I check anyway, just in case something new appears. And somewhere in between all of this, I’ve realized, I’m standing in one of those quiet in-between places. Where nothing is fully built yet, but everything somehow matters more than ever. The kind of place where the future isn’t a clear road, just a fog that shifts every time I try to look too far ahead. Entrance exams are coming, and everyone says they’re “life-changing.” Maybe they are. Maybe they aren’t. Right now, they just feel like a question I haven’t answered yet… and no, there’s no “all of the above” option to save me. Some days I believe in myself so fiercely it...

 In Class 12 , everyone acts like I’ve hacked life. Teachers toss around words like “achiever kid,” relatives act like I’m the definition of “mature,” and juniors look at me as if toppers run on some secret cosmic battery. Meanwhile, the reality is I’m one unpredictable test away from fully disintegrating like a biscuit left open in monsoon . It’s weird how people build this image of you that feels so far from who you actually are. The perfect student. The sorted one. The kid who “always knows what they’re doing.”  If only they knew I don’t even know what I’m eating for lunch half the time. And honestly, no one chooses to be a topper. It just happens. One good score, then another, then suddenly you’re trapped in this role you didn’t audition for. Expectations rise faster than the syllabus , and suddenly you’re supposed to be this textbook of stability and perfection. Teachers expect calm, parents expect consistency, classmates expect solutions, and relatives expect miracle...

I don’t think there was a single day where it all changed. no big explosion, no epiphany that made the sky split open. just this slow, sneaky calm that started crawling back in. like one morning i woke up and my chest didn’t feel like a battlefield anymore. the noise was still there, but it wasn’t in me anymore. and that’s how i knew something had moved. idk… i think i just got tired of being at war with myself. tired of trying to fix everything. so i stopped. and somehow, that’s when things started fixing themselves. now i talk easier. i laugh without checking if it sounds okay. sometimes i catch my reflection and don’t flinch. maybe that’s growth—or maybe it’s just peace in disguise. and i know it sounds dramatic but this feels like finally exhaling after holding my breath for years. like life didn’t suddenly become perfect, but it stopped hurting so much to live it. the lyric went ...  you’re the cause of my euphoria ,” i used to think they meant someone else....

I’m hitting restart. Not because I messed up, not because life shoved me down, but because I’m done waiting for some “perfect moment” that never comes.  Take two is messy, chaotic, a little wild—but it’s mine. And this time, it’s real. Heart and brain working together, refusing to shrink. Self-love isn’t just crying to a song or screaming into my pillow (though yeah, sometimes it still is). It’s moving my body when it wants to collapse, fueling myself with food that energizes instead of punishes, sleeping like I actually respect my brain, and stacking little wins that remind me: I’ve got this, one chaotic step at a time. I’m taking ownership. What do I really want, for once. Goals aren’t daydreams anymore—they’re checklists. Study, create, move, breathe, reflect, repeat. Tracking growth, celebrating progress, not perfection. The fire in me—the part that refuses to settle, refuses to shrink—is sharper now, tempered with strategy. Chaos with a blueprint. Power with direction. Take...

I want to scream. I want to run. I want to hug anyone who’ll actually hold me and not ask for my marks afterward. I was never the quiet type. I used to laugh loud. I used to drag friends to stupid cafes and dance until we were breathless and sticky with cold coffee. Now my laughter is rationed. My world is a timetable. My rebellion is a five-minute dance choreo when nobody’s looking. Home feels like an interrogation room disguised as a living space. Conversations are sharp—short—and mostly about what I haven’t done. “Why didn’t you get 95+?” “What were you doing?” “You’re acting weird.” They call me names like I’m a diagnosis. “Psychotic,” they say, like it’s a badge of shame. They call me disappointment like it’s a homework assignment I failed to submit. What did I do to deserve this? I keep asking that. Over and over. It’s meant to sound rhetorical but it’s not. I actually want an answer. Did I laugh too loud as a kid? Did I dream too big? Did I annoy them by being alive? I’m st...

It was my last day of  normal  school.  Just writing that down feels unreal. Fourteen years, four schools, a million memories. And somehow it all ends quietly — on Teachers’ Day. Poetic, isn’t it? We had our celebration, the kind that’s half program, half chaos, full of music, dance, games and awkward messy laughter and fun.  And somewhere after that chaos and energy... I wandered into an empty classroom. My classroom. For the last time, probably. I opened my books like some ritual, plugged in my earbuds (literally XD), and let my old favorite tracks play, songs which have been with me since I was a tween.  But barely ten minutes in, I found myself just... staring out the window. And  oh god , the sky. It was the prettiest shade of blue I’ve ever seen. And something about it — the stillness, the finality — made it hit me. Hard. Fourteen years. Gone. All those years of showing up in uniforms, hanging out in corridors, scribbling nonsense in notebooks, cryin...

If you think about it, Krishna wasn’t just a god with a flute; he was the friend who knew how to lighten the mood, the lover who redefined intimacy, and the philosopher who casually dropped the deepest TED Talk of all time on a battlefield. His life was this wild mashup of playfulness and profound wisdom, which honestly feels like the blueprint we’re all trying to crack in our own chaotic twenties. He never picked one extreme. He danced all night with Radha and the Gopis and then turned around to guide Arjuna through the hardest war of his life. That balance is what hits me most — this reminder that you don’t have to choose between being lighthearted and being serious. You can laugh, flirt, make mistakes, and still be grounded in something unshakable. Maybe that’s why Kanha still feels so timeless: he lived with depth but never let go of joy. And love… oh lord, the man defined love differently. Keshava made us see it isn’t about labels, timelines, or picture-perfect endings. Radh...

  Today, I sat across from someone unraveling in silence. He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t crying. He was just… quietly at war with himself. And I, a teenager with a borrowed title of interviewer , ended up being his temporary shelter. He opened up like he’d been waiting for someone to just ask — no pity, no preaching. Just presence. And as I listened, something shifted. In him, yes. But also in me . This wasn’t just a psychology project anymore. This was a full-blown encounter with the dark corners of the human condition — shame, violence, self-harm, numbness, trauma disguised as ‘curiosity’, and a desperate hunger for connection dressed up as chaos. I was dazed. In a trance. I had to keep telling him, “It’s okay. You’re not alone. These things happen. You're not broken.” Even though inside me, the ground was shaking. Because who teaches you how to stay calm when someone tells you they’ve tasted raw flesh? But I stayed. I listened . And somewhere in the middle of...

So I sat down to revise Electromagnetic Induction, Alternating Current , and Magnetic Materials  for my test tmrw like a serious NEET aspirant™… But somehow, I ended up diagnosing fictional men using Physics and overthinking Jungkook’s stare again. Turns out, I wasn’t studying. I was just getting emotionally manipulated by science . Let’s break this chaos down. EMI: Emotionally Manipulated Interactions In simple terms? You expose a coil to a changing magnetic field → an EMF (electromotive force) is induced. In not-so-simple, k-drama-warped , BTS-ARMY-core terms? You expose me to a scene where Jungkook looks at the camera like he knows my trauma → an Emotional Breakdown is induced. Lenz’s Law but Make it K-Drama Lenz’s Law says the induced current always opposes the change . So like— When a K-drama couple goes from enemies to lovers in 1 episode and your single brain short-circuits? Your brain tries to resist the emotions, but fails miserably. That’s Lenz’s Law. You = c...

  I grew up hearing stories most kids didn’t. Stories about broken stretchers, hospital calls in the middle of dinner, newborns saved in the nick of time, and night shifts that made my parents forget what the sun looked like. My mom’s a pediatrician. My dad’s a dermatologist. I’ve seen white coats hung beside schoolbags. Heard case studies over breakfast. Smelled antiseptic before I knew what it was. But now—it'll be  my turn. And I wondered: will MBBS at places like AIIMS or JIPMER be the life I’ve dreamed of? Spoiler alert: it won’t. It’ll be worse. And it’ll be so much better . IT GOES ON LIKE THIS............  The War Begins: Year One You walk in like the main character—aced NEET, carrying dreams and dopamine. Until reality slaps. Anatomy doesn’t care about your passion. Biochem laughs at your confidence. You’re suddenly in a hall with cadavers, trembling fingers, and the realisation that you're not a topper anymore—you’re everyone . The nights get long. Slee...

  (scribbled somewhere above the clouds) It’s not even the plane. It’s before that. When the announcements start, when they stamp your passport, when your parents’ faces start shrinking in your rearview, when your best friend texts "call me when you land" and you don’t even know how to reply because you’re already crying, but the tears haven’t fallen yet. It’s like you’re walking underwater. Everything around you is moving normally, but you —you’re floating inside your own chest. And it’s loud. And quiet. And so much . You’re not just leaving a country. You’re leaving versions of yourself you’ll never meet again. The one who sat on the terrace crying and ranting about nothing and everything. The one who danced wildly at 2 a.m. The one who laughed until she forgot she was tired. The one who loved too quickly, forgave too deeply, stayed too long. The one who used to whisper to herself, “One day I’ll get out. One day I’ll be more than this.” And now… you are ...

there’s something heavy about being “the one who gets it.” people around you don’t even say it anymore — it’s just… expected. you’re the one who won’t argue. the one who’ll take the high road. the one who’ll suppress the scream, wipe your own tears, and get back to studying like nothing happened. and yeah, okay — i do get it. i am mature. i am focused (most days). i’m preparing for NEET, and it’s not a joke. i’ve seen people break down under the pressure of it, and i know i don’t have the luxury to fall apart. but… does that mean i can’t smile without guilt? does that mean i can’t want things other than a college seat and a “secured future”? because i swear, it feels like the second i even breathe outside of the bubble — if i laugh too hard, watch a kdrama, dance too much, text someone for too long, or god forbid, fall for someone — it’s like i’m failing some invisible test everyone’s watching me take. and i'm just… tired. and then there’s the whole eldest siblin...