The Live Journal....

Dearest Gentle Reader,      There is no gentle way of saying this, but let me try: vulnerability is scary, necessary but intimidating; significant yet brutal; crucial but painful. It's about laying ourselves bare, even when the very thought makes our palms sweat. No, I did not get heartbroken, because I'm way past the stage. I'd rather break hearts than get mine stomped. Forgive me, I am new to the Bridgerton world so my over-the-top attempts at being dramatic can be quite irritating. But I do love the way Whistledown writes. Powerful, witty and so so good. My sister scorned me when I proclaimed that I could be a gossip writer - I mean it's a far-fetched absurdity but why not? Once upon a time, I thought I would write a book, see my name in print and that would be it. The thought makes me cringe and smile together. It still seems a childish fantasy, but you never know. I feel someday, I might still try and write something. A bad, crappy story but still, I hope I get ...

Wow. So much for my resolutions of writing more frequently, here am I writing just near the end. I can't blame my work schedule or other people: this one's on me. But then every time I sat down to write, I just couldn't finish it because I felt something was missing. Gestalt psychology asserts that we're so used to interpreting things as a whole, processing patterns in entirety that we fill in the seemingly missing details ourselves. Maybe, that's what I am going to do in this post: try to sketch a summary of the last few months, by remembering and writing about the details that came to define the experience. Where should I start though? Should I start with my new IKEA plates? They have been my best buy ever. The set of deep white plates makes me want to cook and then plate the dishes well. They also make me feel like I'm enjoying a rich meal. While some people enjoy cooking and are really good at it, I've come to realize that even if I'm not half as goo...

     After three drafts of absolutely nothing and months of struggling to write anything worth saying, I'm ready to ramble unabashedly here. Before sitting to write this post, I was sure that I'd have plenty to say. About my latest obsession with Emily Henry's YA novels (especially Happy Place), the Kdrama rut I had been experiencing for a while, shifting to a different city or just becoming more acquainted with myself. Now that I'm finally writing this, I have Ri tucked between one arm, a blanket on my feet, an open window behind me, and a clueless me. The breeze coming from there makes me feel like a typical character except that I'm making it sound like that. In reality, I'm using the blanket to save myself from the mosquitoes, keeping Ri closer to not feel the chill in the air (log kya kahenge? A Delhite shivering from a little rain?) but yeah, the breeze is real. Making me feel alive and happy. I never thought something as simple as standing near the window...

         Those who know me well and those who know me in passing are both aware of my usage (also called obsession) of the word sorry. It seems to confuse, irritate, annoy, appease, amuse, and relax people at different times. Slowly, this word has become a part of my regular dictionary but I'd like to clarify that I don't do it for others. It's for my own self, or at least it was. For the longest time, I had this belief that it would help soften the inconvenience I was statistically bound to make. If I'm being honest, it hasn't changed much but I do realize that holding on to it is proving to be inconvenient to my own self. Have you ever felt like a convenience store or a mood board? That's how I've been feeling lately. Like a blank canvas with paints being thrown at me but the colors aren't my choice. Maybe all I'm doing is rambling but it does give a sense of clarity to me. I don't want to be a canvas always, I want to throw colors, I want to b...

Prosaic. To be honest, when I first read this word, I remember feeling that it would be something related to being fancy or vintage. My dictionary proved me wrong. When I think back to the times when I used to check every new word in the dictionary, I feel strangely happy. Nowadays, doing anything apart from the routine seems to be a little implausible and to be honest, a little overwhelming as well. Does that happen when prosaicness comes to define your everyday? I know I sound whiny but well that's the advantage of having a blog. I can unabashedly ramble about anything and everything without irritating a soul. People consider having a routine synonymous with a disciplined life but what do you do when each day feels the same? Similar levels of procrastination, managing work schedules with regular chores and everyday stuff, and the need to recharge yourself with good content and food. And it's on repeat. Or maybe I'm just overthinking... Maybe it's the same for everyone...

 After watching the show 'Misaeng' (roughly translated into 'incomplete life'), it led me to think how ridiculous the phrase 'complete life' would sound.  Isn't it supposed to be a work in completion? Yes, I'm uselessly mincing words trying to sound more optimistic on paper than I do in real. But to be honest, the word was etched in my mind ever since I finished the series and it was only after reading more of it's reviews (because that's a usual fangirling process) that I discovered it to be a misnomer. The term actually means 'not yet' which does make sense. I doubt my high school English professor would be amused at me writing a paragraph to explain the title but then I don't have to turn this in, it's my post so be it. But but coming back to the show: it's a story of an underdog, a regular Joe working hard to make his place in the office where no one ( and no situation) leaves any stone unturned to make him realize how ine...