It was one of those days.
The kind where time slips away and you’re left staring at a blank page. The cursor blinks, bored with me going front and back more than a dozen times, without a single word written.
By the time I sit down to write this, I’ve already walked circles, squares, rectangles, and all imaginable shapes around my terrace, haunted by a single question:
“To niche down, or not?”
If yes, I should stick to Food Science and Nutrition, my academic comfort zone.
Or getting back to smashing patriarchy, screaming my feminist lungs out.
No in-between.
But here’s the thing: This little corner of the internet wasn’t created with a strategy or a content plan. I started writing just to stay accountable. To keep going. To stop losing touch with myself.
And now, there are a few people, a very few, who actually read what I write, whatever I write.
So this dilemma? I owe it to you, too.
How do you want this space to be?
#2 On Writing
The aftermath of staying indoors is that your thoughts begin to overlap, and that’s something you can’t seem to avoid. So, no wonder I was feeling stuck, deep inside a creative rut.
My routine is more or less the same.
The people I interact with daily can be counted on one hand: fewer than five.
And so, I finally decided to dig up an old grave: “Why I write.”
Or, to slightly polish it: “On Writing.”
I didn’t fall in love with writing.
Writing just… happened.
It was the only thing I knew. The only thing that made sense when nothing else did.
I wrote because I had no other way to express.
Reading was my only hobby, so writing became the natural response.
My earliest attempts? Unfiltered diary entries, then angry, chaotic rants, my teenage brain letting it all out on paper because it didn’t know what else to do.
My school essays were a mess.
Thankfully, barely anyone read them.
But college came, heartbreak followed, and I found myself writing again, not for grades or structure, but as the only way to cope.
That’s when writing started holding me, like an old friend who doesn’t ask questions, just listens.
People say good writing is the clear articulation of thought.
Sometimes, it’s more than that. Sometimes, it’s survival.
Every time I had no one to turn to, my notepad was there, offering a quiet pat on the back, a place to fall apart safely.
During my worst heartbreak, the words poured out on their own.
I also stumbled upon a platform called Haiku: a gentle reminder that writing doesn’t always have to be serious or structured. Sometimes, it can just flow.
Then came lockdown. And boredom. And endless internships.
Writing, somehow, became my bread and butter, too.
And now? We’re here.
#3 Micro Thoughts for the Week
Losing momentum at the gym. In many things I do, momentum, not motivation, is what makes me hit the jackpot. Consistency over motivation, every time. When momentum fades, it’s easy to lose track, and that’s the tricky part I’m trying to fix.
I’ve been feeling all over the place lately. I’ve planned to give this month my all, just to get things together. So, here we go, June.
After my last piece, I went straight into gyaan mode and had a moment of introspection that led me to a close-to-stupid idea: starting a rigid content diet.
How do we go about that? I have a pre-made list of movies, series, books, and YouTube videos. For the next 30 days, whenever I get the urge to doomscroll on any platform, I’ll turn to this list. Anything not on the list is junk.
I’ve never written a proper essay, or, put simply, I’ve never really stepped out of my comfort zone when it comes to writing.
Started watching Panchayat. It’s now a habit to always be late to join the hype.