The Things to Blog About

Earlier today, I was thinking about how two of my closest friends are awfully skilled at blogging. They have such wonderful abilities to make me feel precisely what they feel, despite not having lived through those exact moments. I had an envious moment with myself then, and resounded, "oh, how I wish I was passionate enough about something to articulate my feelings so well," in my mind. It's no surprise to me, though. The three of us, as a part of Humans of GMIS, the community project we started, interviewed a teacher we kinda-sorta revere. As I condensed half an hour's worth of conversation into a paragraph, I found that these lines really stuck with me:

*said close friends Paxia and Rasagnya

"If I’d have lived my life once again, I’d stop worrying about the future, and I’d live more in the present. You see, work is only a means to earning a living, but the passions that don’t translate into money are the things that you value in your life. My passion has always been writing, and I struggle very hard to revive the time for it. There are only twenty four hours in a day - you’re not going to have more than that. So, wisdom lies in devoting some part in those twenty four hours everyday to something that you’re really passionate about."

 All of a sudden, I felt a certain pressure to document my life as of now. People keep telling me how this is going to be the highlight of my life, but in all honesty I didn't think I had anything significant enough to remember. Until now.

Side note: we graduated high school!

Latching on to the inspiration I drew from Hannah Hart's video just a few minutes ago, I had an impromptu series of reflections. Self awareness and intra-personal intelligence is something I really pride myself on, but I - just like any other Sheila - am not perfect. I gradually realised how the words of encouragement and pieces of sage advice I give others are reminders to myself. It takes heaps of patience, love, faith, and positive energy to conquer the negativity and doubt and fear that noodles up inside of you. Thus, instead of suppressing my inherent vanity by overcompensating with so much humility to the point wherein I think my actual achievements are unreal, and soaking myself in these shortcomings alone, I would like to grow together.

As I scrolled through my Instagram feed, I got quite mad at natural selection working its way into our daily activities. What sort of emotions are biologically ingrained in me that I innately turn someone else's happiness into an almost-need to watch them suffer? Why is no one else allowed to be happy but me? Why do I have such a sadistic attitude? Do people feel the same way about my happiness?

This is what I'm talking about, and while we're on the subject, I should share some thoughts from mom while we were having a chat over masala chai. We talked about the different dynamics between our generations; she said hers was tight in the sense that they didn't have money nor freedom, that they listened to both their parents and their children. She raved about the opportunities our generation have, and how theirs never dreamt of leaving their countries for jobs or a foreign education. Heck, women weren't even allowed to work. Granted, we do have a lot of opportunities, but at that moment I began to rue the distinct happiness that is forgone; the carefree sense of living specially reserved for one's Salad Days. I felt such contempt towards what was in lieu of this sense of living today: the premature air of heavy stress (as I'm not sure if I'm at the liberty to use the word anxiety).

I can jabber on about the loss of my time, about the overpopulation, and the self depreciation, but with this blog post I am determined to be a source of positivity. I do hope to form more codependent relationships that are just as unique as the people I share them with. To the best of my ability, I intend on making them feel as 'them' as they will ever be.

As Mr Ashish says,

In spite of all the chaos and the violence, there is still hope for all of us. 

PS - I've set a long term goal to consistently journal in hopes of making a book of it one day.

The Ideal Sunday

I arise in the wee hours of the morning, just as the sun peaks out and greets me. A sense of mild panic dawns upon me; but wait . . . it's Sunday. I go back to blissful sleep knowing all is well with the world, and wholly wake up about two hours later. It is sufficiently morning this time; right on the brink of afternoon. I am fully rested, I'm laying down recalling my suspenseful dream, and I'm thinking about breakfast.

Knowing me, the hours of the day shift by about +3 on Sundays; I do about everything 3 hours late. I play jazz music as I walk to my kitchen. After ditching the aesthetically-pleasing but gustatorily revolting traditional breakfast and making myself either Belgian waffles topped with white chocolate, brown sugar, and cinnamon or a chorizo-mozzarella toasty with dashes of balsamic glaze, I retire to my bedroom to binge watch TV episodes of whatever I happen to be engrossed into at the time.
 The day goes by smoothly, I eventually take a refreshing cold shower (spoiling myself with the bath products I can't stop purchasing), and by the time it's afternoon (adjusted to +3 timing; evening), I head out to meet a friend for coffee. We talk for hours -  giggling about ridiculous incidents that happened over the week. By this time, a bunch of other friends join us as we grab a bite, walking around the green-and-gray city and stopping by shops to buy clothes or groceries on the way.


The day ends with a movie. Either it's me watching it on my own at home, or with my friends at the local cinema. It's one of those films I just can't miss; be it from scratching one off my

list or catching the latest blockbuster. I conclude the day with reflecting and writing in my journal - I collect the thoughts that swirled around in my mind, and end with a note of positivity and gratitude.



And then I swear as I realise that tomorrow's Monday.