2024 - Prose before hos

In Bumpin That, corporate hos

Last minute rush

A few weeks ago, I (thought) I'd disabled this page and the last entry was in the same vein. Of course, women in stem had a late realisation that not only is this page active but that very embarrassing last post is fucking public.

Since then I've had a few life-altering things go down, including, but not limited to—

Seeing Dua Lipa live. I might swing the other way if she's an option

Hating carpeted hotel rooms. I don't know but it's finally happened

Pav Bhaji. Don't understand the fuss (anymore)

Embracing obesity. It's not bad when you accept you'll never fit in your hot clothes again

Accepting passive behaviour in relationships, it is what it is sorta thing

Baking cake(s) once every week, to have some semblance of control over my life, that nothing else seems to give besides baking

Cutting friends loose. Long incoming, so long

Smoking up with vertigo is a terrible idea

Getting stuck in a corset in a trial room is a worse idea

Understanding that promotion has nothing to do with your desire, effort, hard work, and capability. Everything boils down to circumstances, how liked you vs the other person and the budget allocation

It's not personal until your boss feels it is personal

Mad Men has aged well but is still a heartbreaking show to re-watch. 10/10 recommended while moaning and whimpering about the Winter rains in the city

Texting someone you once dated isn't the worst idea, as long as you keep it to non-verbal meme exchange

Wondering if I can truly be just friends with someone I once loved or still do. It's a difficult prospect but life doesn't always (or ever) swing the way you want and losing some people is harder than losing others

Watching your parents grow old is an uncontrollable, deeply upsetting and isolating thing that no one should have to go through alone but some of us have to

Accepting that there will be days you'll be sick in hospital alone and nobody will come rescue you because you chose your cards that way

Astrologers are always a bad fucking idea. Spend money on green

Some people moved from Olivia Rodrigo to Sabrina Carpenter while I moved from Sabrina Carpenter to Taylor Swift to Charli XCX to Billie Eilish and it is okay to guess the colour of underwear

F1 stops being fun when your favourite driver is thrown out mid-season

You feel like a child of divorce when you watch your other favourite driver and favourite team part

To more shitty realisations, next year.

, by Snobster

In break up, my boy only breaks his favourite toys

Things that I would tell you, if we spoke like usual

, by Snobster

In anger, dating's a losing game

Foam

I need to absorb my anger, I need to grow out of blaming people for what they've put me through and instead, look outwards and onto new things.

Resentment has defined the tonality of my relationships—nearly each important person in my life and I've had a moment of bitterness (a moment only if we're lucky) but it is transcending onto something stronger and I can feel it in my bones, burning.

It's trauma, it's a whole pile of shit that I've balanced for far too long and everything is coming down.

You know what's worse? It's all falling down to the tune of the least inconvenient bit, the one that is supposed to make no difference. I suppose the most silent farts are the smelliest so that's that. I'm currently in a room of rotting relationships, each worse than the last.

My heart bleeds when I think of where I am and how I've come here but I don't know how else to be. It'd be like doing a disservice to myself if I fake being okay with things or people or circumstances. Unfortunately, it boils over when I'm PMSing so I guess we knew today was going to be a day.

I don't know but something about being the person I was last year makes me miss myself the most. I was heartbroken and deeply sad but not angry. I was not reactive nor was I acting out of uncontrollage rage and pure hatred. I was operating from a space of tender love, care, thought and detail.

In a year, I've traded everything for anger. I've cut relationships, some important and most trivial without a thought, I'm in process of writing others out. In the last one month I've met so many people who probably did very little to irk me in the past and it made me realise how my anger got the better of me then to cut myself out and hideout. Today, when I look back at them, I see what I'm doing, but the best part is, I'm unable to stop myself. It's like participating in arson when you're in a burning house yourself. Let me burn some sage, why not keep myself warm in the midst of fire— like I can see I'm self-destructive and yet I'm on it.

This morning, I was burning with seething passion and trying my best to keep it in. I don't even know why, but I think this journey will last me a lifetime, everything I experienced through the 1.5 hour ride. Not a moment of it felt normal. Everything felt stretched and loud and I would wipe the whole experience if I could but I lived with it and everything reminded me of a time from last year that I wouldn't want to be in.

It's a loop, I get angry when I reach out and I don't get the response I am expecting, I cut people, I self isolate, I get angry when people reach out and I don't give the response people deserve and then I self-isolate out of hatred to myself. I lose in both scenarios, except in one I drive myself to anger and in the other to insanity.

I need to whack my uterus out of my body so I can feel like myself but I guess it'll take it's time. How many good fertile years do I even have in me now? 10 at best? Do I have to nurture this rage until then? I'll lose my whole fucking mind.

Anyway, the bloat and the medicines might kill me before so either way, it's an angry road to hell and I'm running to it.

, by Snobster

In baddies get saddies, love and forgiving

Post-nap, Pre-bed sedatives

Feels like 90s supermodel in my head; strike a pose

Milk Chocolate Matte > Nutmeg Lips > Candy Kisses > Stolen and sloppy

What would Ghungroo have been like and would I have probably met the love of my life there, or would I have gone there post-divorce? Should I run a google search to understand the interiors so I can imagine that solo-fantasy land better?

Would have been a different life if my parents were the socialising kind and would do Ghungroo dates instead of cheesy, intimate shit they did

Should I convert ~~letters to him~~ journal into a web series skeleton? Who will play me? Ugh, I hope it's not a moral lesson on being fat and being in love with yourself because nobody including myself is in love with me. Ugh.

Man, how do I break the ice? Should I even break the ice? Is he genuinely sick of me or what the fuck? Should I ask him? I don't want to be an ass.

A warm touch of nutmeg coloured lips on the cheek, kissing me, an expired bath-oil fragrance that I hunt for in every person's touch and rarely ever find in my comfort zone

Old houses in South Delhi, comforting to know love exists even when people cease to

Liquid eyeshadow triumps all but my eyes have aged, I can feel it when I use make-up

Almost don't want to use make-up cause I can feel I have aged, with the skin really not behaving the way I'd like to

What happened to Natasha Singh and why didn't anyone write scathing pieces on the people who compelled her to do what she did and why did they instead hyperfixate on an SSR to the point it made me want to give up on the internet?

Why and how have I sucked at F1 fantasy this bad?

What did I have to google?

Why do I think the birthday gift I got is kinda lame and shitty. UGH.

WHY AM I ACTUALLY BROKE THIS MONTH AND HOW DID I SHOP LIKE THIS TO BE AT A POINT WHERE I OWE MY PARENTS MONEY AND HAVE MORE EXPENSES LINED UP?

What do I wear to my old school friend's wedding? I can't believe she invited me, what a doll.

Ugh, can't believe my friend from college turned out to be a sour puss. Wonder what everyone's wearing at the wedding?

Ugh, do I have anyone from college in my life besides Sinner? How have I become the Anurag Kashyap of my group when everyone has Barjatya lifestyle?

Shaloo is a dumb name but Sheetal is a pretty name.

I wonder if kids with the name "Shit" are bullied at school?

Why do I think of my school so often?

Sister Joyce telling me, "your eggs are flying" will never not be legendary. Especially around Easter.

Should I crash without wiping my make-up off and brushing my teeth? I'm sick and not like my boyfriend is caressing me to sleep so I need to look good in my comatose after-life.

That 5 pm nap was solid but waking up to a dry phone was like someone shot me in my head, unannounced. Bet Mr G felt the same way.

I'll miss my sister and I barely spent any time with her.

I barely did anything except be fucking sick and give everyone a scare about my health.

I should sleep.

, by Snobster

In angry, boy bye

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

, by Snobster

In memories like mammaries,

Fleeting Joys

I'm chasing happiness in moments that I know I can never live again.

There used to be a small Dhaba near my place. Growing up, my parents would take my sister and I nearly every Tuesday for years . We'd order the same South Indian lunch and the owner along with his staff would feed us lovingly. I must have been 13-15 when we did this, and we carried this tradition out until the restaurant shut. I remember trying the alternative, another Dhaba in the same complex that never hit the same way. It wasn't the food (though I still dream of the lime pickle they served with their parottas) but it was a sense of feeling safe. Like, nothing could ever change or go wrong and everything would be the same.

I believe my mum chased this similar feeling about her going to school. I've always found it odd to hear her say how she loved her school and everything about it. My mum's had a difficult adult life, in hindsight it does make sense when I put things in perspective. Perhaps school is where she felt safe and that nothing could ever go wrong. Even if it did, it was under control.

The eating out ritual for me was the closest thing I experienced to love and spirituality as a shared familial bond. I don't think I trust temples or places of worship as much as I do with restaurants and food joints. It means we are going to forge a new layer of love and trust with each other over things I love. My mum always tells me that food is more important to me than it is to her, perhaps it's because it gives me a reason to wake up every day and fill my heart with hope that my soul might be nourished with an emotional bond in there, somewhere.

Earlier today, I passed several school buses with school children dressed in their uniforms. Definitely seemed like they were headed for some event (private bus, at an odd hour). I don't think I've focused on a school bus since trying to track my erstwhile crush in his school bus since I was 15 but I did observe the faces today—overjoyed, carefree and in oblivion. I can't say they'd feel the same but I can speculate that the distraction of a field day out of school could beat everything.

I remember looking forward to school picnics, a day we could be ourselves and find joy in connecting with people we called our own. The closest I've come to re-living that feeling is when I'm out with friends I love, cherish and trust. I spent the day with an old school friend (who's featured in these now archived posts from '07) and later with girls from college. I trust these people with my life, they've been there for me when I was thrown out of a house in a different city (long story) and when I was dumped on a WhatsApp text in class (long story).

Today, while I lived through the sinking feeling that my relationship is past its expiration date I felt a sense of life breathing into me with the girls through the day. It was nothing out of the ordinary; a catch up over Boba, another round of drinks with a different group at a rooftop bar and later, an unexpected text from an old school friend inviting me to her wedding and pre-wedding function ("I want you to network cause why not"). I felt grateful for everyone who made me feel safe and secure during a tough, unexpected period.

I don't know why but that lunch hang with my parents keeps coming back to me. Maybe, that's the last time I felt like everything will be okay and that there's going to be people I love and trust around me. In the last 48 hours I found my safe space disappearing and since then I'm holding on to every interaction with a sense of gratitude. On the plus side, I'm looking out for myself, something I'd lost the sight to see but god, I'm going to chase this sense of love lost when I'm past the grief for losing it.

I'll fondly remember the shared dictionary of love and camaraderie we built over time. I'll remember getting called out for being cold and I'll miss the cold hearts we exchanged as we got to know each other. I'll probably miss it all.

, by Snobster

In my boy only breaks his favourite toys,

Lifeboat

Days get presumably shorter after my birthday. It's the one event that marks the end of Summer and usually the romance it brings. I could have been looking out for my Winter cuff but I'm well-fed, or so I thought.

"What does he mean when he says this?"

"It just means you need to look out for yourself and this isn't good news."

I cried uncontrollably. My whole body felt like it was going to break. There was a cake interruption. "Your sister is in town so we should do your birthday together" seemed like a novel idea till I realised I looked like I'm at my funeral in the cake-cutting photographs post. "How was your weekend?" Just spent in emotionally regulating myself, how about you? How else does one explain this eclipse season.

The journal saw a return, the support system was invoked. "Man, I'm so sorry to call you at this hour" interspersed with snots and sobs, friends' "We are giving it another shot" was marked with my interruption of, "I think he's calling things off."

At some point I found myself getting short, "If you want to call things off, just go ahead and do it. Don't go around in circles." Cold brew is a lie, I slept for 8 hours straight and woke up feeling spent, like I'd pulled an all nighter. He slept like a log, I'm grateful for that. He once told me that he can't get much sleep and it's rare for him to sleep through the night. "Must be the biscuits," he remarked. Has to be me, bitch. I fell for that one, right there.

A few years ago, a man had said same things to me which led to our long-incoming break-up; not the biscuits but whatever else was said.

I was surprised at my response when I revisited that conversation in the light of what happened between us. In a way, I had been cruel, but not without cause. This time around I was measured; emotional reactiveness low and emotional support high. I wish I could do the same for me. Instead, I slathered my legs with Almond Shower Oil and threw in the most expensive perfume with a t-shirt and nothing else. Not about to wear expensive make-up if I'm going to be broken up with, lessons from my 20s I carry within me. Despite that, felt like he's almost glad to see me disheveled. Perhaps, I wasn't as proud of my choice when I saw two Brat summer chicks walking past me in fancy af outfit. A lot for coffee, if I'd done but not so much to show that I still got it. Another day, another slay.

It was strange to hear the question that had been going in my head. One that I had cried answering earlier that evening, "because I don't think I could have done everything this year the way I did, without him," and when I heard that again, it took all the courage to not have my voice break. "Why do you look angry?" I don't know. I shouldn't have napped. I shouldn't have journalled so hard.

There were other questions, ones I wasn't prepared for. It's like going to school and finding out you have a surprise test, an oral recitation and you're grossly underprepared. I hadn't felt a lot of feelings nor had a chance to prepare a well-rounded answer. He was mindful to catch that within seconds, "getting fidgety, are we?" I could have hugged him in that second if I wasn't caught red-handed in my nervousness about not knowing an answer. Either way, seeing someone call me out and perhaps catch me unaware was refreshing.

Yet, there's a nagging feeling. I woke up feeling heavy. It shouldn't have been that way. I felt angry. If he knew he wasn't doing right by me then why was he still doing it? Was this a reminder that I deserve better or an acknowledgement that he hasn't stepped up yet? I should sleep. There was no cold-brew and I'm sleepier than usual. Maybe I'll wake up with another perspective, one that shapes this piece into the lack of editing and forming coherent dialogues and maybe I'll feel better soon.

Don't take things for granted, kids. One day someone's gonna come and take your lifeboat of hope away and you'll be floating with a unicorn float all alone in an ocean full of muck and dirt without anyone to save you.

Welcome to 33, you have no metabolism, no energy to give and no fucks left in you.

, by Snobster

In airport, corporate hos

Robbie Williams & I just wanna feel

There's nothing stronger than the love confessions exchanged moments before your flight takes off. It's all you can think about when floating 44,000 feet in the air, munching on a day-old multigrain bread roll with cold Amul butter chiplet. Maybe, I'm a hopeless romantic, or maybe it's what I'm reminded of during PMS.

In my case, I was reading through Rafia's chat and her admission of love to the passenger on 4B. There was a moment where I felt genuinely lucky to experience love in close quarters, even though all of my heart was screaming at my share of admissions received moments before I turned my phone off, "you can have the burgers"

So much for carrying food and love back all the way. No takers, simply none.

Long ago, I'd asked him about airport romance. Having suffered a side-hug earlier that year with the man I was seeing and going back to it each time I wanted answers on closure ("It was right there and I was oblivious") his words rang tart, "Airport is one place where people are genuine."

Airports and hospitals.

I've seldom seen a prayer at a hospital and a love admission at an airport meaning otherwise. "Why couldn't it be me?" Had I run the stock of affection in my vault dry?

I came back fully exhausted, drained of life. I knew this was as good as it could get and that there was no way things would get any better. If anything, I felt my luck had run dry. Forget love, I couldn't get "come back soon".

But, life.

I came back to a humongous change in my professional life. A part of me was aware that what I'm leaving is what I'll see last of it, for very different reasons, and I came back to a whole different shuffle.

Everything the way I knew was over. Last year, I'd walked into the depths of hell unknowingly and this time, I've had a year to prepare for it. Everyone around me is thrilled and celebrating, but it's really just celebrating the beginning of the end. Last season of the show and we're walking to the penultimate episode.

Restarting a new profile professionally means a lot of things. You must give 10x the effort and 20x the patience to sustain and make new relationships.

As much as I wanna feel, can I please cherry pick what I'd like to feel first? Maybe, a crumb of emotion and affection like passenger on 4B had, or maybe, another opportunity to be in a flight and be grateful for all the times I've been by myself and experienced real joy.

, by Snobster

In birthday, disasters

Calibrating Stars

At the cusp of 33, I've achieved so much and so little this year that it feels like there's been no movement when the rocket has actually run out of fuel. Agreed, most of this has not been towards tangible results but the lessons will go a long way, especially, the ones charted in holding myself together through really tough times.

One of my biggest regrets this year is that I've been nicer than I wanted to; out of obligation and mostly to hold on to things that I know were bad for me to deal with. I should have said a lot more fuck you-s and walked out of things and situations that were clearly meant to exploit me and yet, I stayed till I realised I'm not terrified of those. Things I would have ordinarily quit or run away from, I embraced wholeheartedly and let my hands get dirty. Perhaps, it was to ask myself, are you really running away from it without trying or are you scared of failing again. That one belief to not give up, cost me a lot

I wish I had been more of my 20s self, but that version made her mistakes and it's time to make fresh ones. Maybe, in my 40s, I'd regret not telling enough people fuck off and hate myself for holding on to hope but today, it felt like the right thing to do. In no way is this over, but I know that I'm exhausting myself with all my repeated efforts and attempts to turn situations around where I'm not dealt with the cards fairly or even at a level playing field. This includes professional and personal boundaries being eroded and trying my best to carry on day after day.

Earlier this year, I was suggested an astrologer. I suppose when you're a woman in your 30s who is without a partner, a child and a promotion, that's the most conducive socially acceptable idea to pass. I spoke to her over an email, broken WhatsApp text messages and two calls. At the end of a two-week cycle of trying to communicate with her, she opened up, "I've never seen stars like yours. You get nothing in life and whatever you do, it evades you. But, keep trying and don't give up."

For the first time, in a long time, I felt sorry for myself. I'd suffered major career setbacks, personal losses and a crack of support system in 2020 and I don't think I'd felt that miserable, as I did when I heard her explanation of what had been happening to me. According to her, this is the "golden period" where everything is fine and it's good. According to her, this is as good as it gets. Among other ominous details, she talked about being childless; but in a way that I try for it and that doesn't work. "A lot depends on your partner's stars and whether he has kids in his chart. You don't."

I didn't need to pay thousand bucks to be told what I know about myself but hey, this could have been a dissatisfying meal and it wasn't.

The few friends I shared this information with lost their shit at me, or asked me for her contact details. I think that's also what happens when your friends are having a bad time and don't have any reasonable explanations for the same, while the others put together their lives. I'm not saying either is wrong; just whatever shoe fits you, there will be no questions besides ownership of the said set of footwear.

When my mother found out, she was livid. She tried to recount multiple instances of how astrology and astrologers are farcical and proceeded to bring up the convenient example of the last instance when I'd attempted something as silly around a difficult moment in a relationship. A woman I spoke to when I was in shambles, about the guy I was seeing, had suggested that I was gonna end up with him. He broke up with me the same week and it was followed by a dating drought in my life. We've not come close to meeting anything I've remotely had serious life/future chats with but also, there has been nothing else either.

The stars may have lots but apparently, they are unfolding the same goddamn things. I was approached by a man from many moons ago for a plan we made when we were young and I believed in him. Out of nowhere, bam, he tells me he'll be in the same city/country as me and how we should meet. It's the same godfucking guy, doing the same godfucking thing and turning the situation in the exact same way as he did in 2017, 2018 and left me in a place that was so dark that I'm where I am. On top of everything that audacity to say, "I hope it works out for you" when I brought up what's been going on with me and that I don't need his help/sympathy.

I'm told men respect men so talking about a partner may have helped ease the unnecessary drama but the response from folks in my life has been sickening, "you should have blocked him" is an equivalent to "you should have not been out in the night". Can't men behave themselves? Why can't I just be without having to block someone who doesn't touch my life in anyway and that the blame comes on me? I don't think stars have any answers for why men are the way they are but not one man is good enough or trustworthy to my existence here.

I wish astrology had quick fixes on how to cure life. While stock market and stars behave the same way, I think the government having some control on stocks helps men more than women who believe in tides turning over when stars move. I'm begging them to turn in my favour and shine on me, just fucking once.

, by Snobster

In don't look back in anger, i wouldn't marry me either

Girlhood is a spectrum

, by Snobster

In anger, catharsis

Long-pending resentment

A friend of mine had warned me, "one day resentment for this guy will show up and it'll be hard for you to handle."

Dear reader, I think that day has come.

To be fair to you, the resentment has been wildly public. It showed up in intermittent conversations and check-ins. My therapist knows nothing of the lad so it also explains hiding, and keeping it away means I'm locking up a part of my life that is very clearly bothering me.

He said some hurtful shit last night. The kind that made me sick the same minute. My mum thinks it's the mall aircon and he thinks it's seasonal viral. I think it's him but I had been sneezing all day yesterday.

I don't know, I didn't think there would be an onset of resentment but showing irritation with my life and calling the stack of cards I've been dealt with "unbearable" was rude. There have been countless times I've asked consent before laying it out, it took me months to open up and reach out to him when I could just be myself, without trying to be on my toes around, and that's when he lost his shit.

Of course, he thinks I was lashing out at him and didn't think he did anything wrong. The thing is, he never would. I don't think he understands what's it like facing failure repeatedly. He doesn't get that I have fought very hard and fallen on my face hundreds of times and that I am tired, I'm exhausted. He doesn't see how I'm still trying to keep it together and being my best self. According to him, I'm not claiming what's mine and walking out. He doesn't get that I've done that and paid a price in the past. A price I'm paying to this date in the form of accepting lesser than what I deserve.

He thinks I should take it up and walk out, a lesser than ever offer, just so I could be out of this mess. The mess many before him tried to comment on and walked out when they realised I'll choose the puddle over them. For once, I won't, and I don't want to, but he's compelling me to be selfish enough and cut myself out.

Someone recently told me (three drinks down, in full conviction), never write anything when you're angry. Always sleep on it and even if you wake up angry, don't write it down. Never put any anger on record. By that logic. years of documentation here should be hidden, archived and eliminated.

In a way, I have cut myself out from my anger. I've cut the bleeding organ and kept no parts of it as memory. My effort, resilience, anger all washed away and all I am left with is grief, vacuum, and the courage to make peace with it. It comes with nothing but god it's an exciting space to be brave and bold and idiotic. I can't write anymore, I don't read anymore, I don't have a single valuable insight but I'm fucking free. I can be myself, wholly cringe and unacceptable, basic as hell and fat as fuck.

Someone asked me today it doesn't sound like I'm excited about him. It's untrue. He's the only thing I've been excited about in the past year. I know it doesn't sound remotely cheerful, but it's kept me going in whatever twisted fucking way one can think about. While I was narrating all about his lashing out last night, I hadn't thought that we are both sick of each other. Only, he's doing the honours of laying it out to me and I'm writing an angry journal here.

Sorry ma'am, I can't do any better.

, by Snobster

In boy bye, cants and rants

Please Please Please

Honesty is telling yourself you suck so you can cut some slack to your inner critic whose first response after watching you burn three months' salary on jewellery was—"Bitch, why?"

On one hand, I'm telling my therapist I can't wait to quit and run and on the other side I'm ensuring financial ruin so I'll be forced to work for at least a year before I can take a brain. Just fucking wow.

I've been wondering lately, where are my friends? Not like in life but more like we don't hang out, we don't even talk, it's not like they're busy with their kids (most of them are in healthy relationships, with/without marriage) so really, if it's not their toddlers, then what is preventing us to have ragers?

I've spent more time at home and at the airport than I have spent with my friends and that's not a monthly average but more like a year's worth of quota—took more flights than met my friends or vice versa.

Maybe my friends hate but I do definitely hate them so what do I even say. It's okay to let them go and if they don't come back, likely that you (in this case—me) are an asshole. Yippiekayay.

I bought my first fucking piece of gold, diamond, platinum all at once 2 days ago. While platinum was on the list, I felt fucking greedy around the other more, like some weird form of FOMO when I don't even wear this stuff. I think partly it's just coming to terms with what my life is looking like—no man, no marriage, nothing of the serious adult kind so might as well fake a reverie. Bought gold and diamonds for myself so nobody's crusty son can ever be the first to say he bought me my first ice. At the same time, to feel like you don't fucking need to produce someone's sons to be able to buy yourself those. I don't even care that much for these things and yet it felt like the time was right.

Something in my heart screamed wanting to do it because I wanted it and I didn't fucking want anyone else to satisfy that urge, scratch that itch for me. Nobody does it like you do it for yourself.

I read this quote earlier today that when I find a boyfriend, my boyfriend is gonna know what he missed and I never resonated more to a line. But again, I've gone from a "ahaha" person to "grief is upon us" in 14 hours of work and 3 hours of sleep. Life feels fucking hard. The only person who truly wants me to show up daily is my corn on cob guy, "Aap itna late kyun aate ho?"

Fuck even my boyfriend doesn't care for me as much, and none of my friends have asked me about my well-being or whereabouts, although I can confirm I've been a missed call in their list at least twice in June, if not more.

The other day I burnt some sage and while blowing to extinguish, I accidentally burnt my hand. The embers lit my right hand and for the last two days it's been hurting like a bitch. Never thought demon resides so close to me.

Anyway, I'm in a flop circle. No job, no friends, no salary, no respite, no love, no time from the man, no validation, nothing. Everyone is still continuing to suck so I don't know where that promised glow up is stuck.

, by Snobster

In Film School, old friends and new

Love

Love looks like an old friend; who's always stopped shared public transport to bring me ice cream. He doesn't eat sugar anymore so the Sundae was all mine.

Ten years ago, there was peanut butter caramel ice cream between work. This time it was a local specialty, "Ice Apple Sundae, just try and tell me"

It's about surrendering yourself into the hands of someone who knows the city and knows you. That's the spot where magic happens. "If I can't take you around the city I've known all my life, what else am I good for?" I did the same, I would have done it for anyone, but he always surrendered, always gave in and trusted me. That's why we made a great team.

Team work makes the dream work.

There's nothing an elder child (daughter) likes more than someone pre-empting their wants and turning them into an expression of care and providing for them. "I'm hungry, can you pick chips on the way? Or Vada Pav?"

Thirty minutes later, I met my pal. He was the closest thing I had to sanity (questionable) in Master's during the film school and just seeing his face made me feel like I'm home, in my safe space. When you travel with someone to Bulandshehar in a car, or go for recce together to work on a film you don't want to work on, you are bonded for life. We bonded about 12 years ago; I hadn't seen him in 6 years. Last I spoke to him at length, I told him about the man who broke my heart, a deviation from our regular conversations. But he remembered everything; including how I like my snacks.

"I'll get you Samosa and Vada Pav"

What the fuck is wrong with him? I don't fucking want a Samosa in Mumbai. "Leave it to me, please."

Surrender, I did.

The Samosa Pav was bomb dot com. Crisp, tart, sweet-spicy, it was an explosion of flavour and textures. "You like it? I told you, trust me, I won't get you anything you don't like. I got this from my school canteen, there's a shortcut to get it outside the school and they won't give it to anyone and you wouldn't get this in Delhi"

That's the thing buddy, you are in the minority. I'd kill to have one person like you in my city, who knows me better than I know myself and gets me without me having to explain myself.

We chatted like hungry souls, but there was no food. Just anecdotes, memories replayed, new stories hurriedly recited, "How do I get around with a girl from Faridabad?"; "I need to get the fuck out of this job."; "It's Kareena to you and Bebo to me"; "Last time I came to Mumbai, you took me to the Asiatic Society and told me about the songs shot there."

How is it that your old friends know you better than anyone else in the world? My food, habits, fixtures, everything was unquestionably palatable. I was unapologetically myself- unbearable, impulsive, chaotic and loud and he complimented my ways- validated my unbearable lifestyle, and added to the impulsiveness with bad ideas ("Let the expert among us figure where to find a spot to smoke"), he was the calm to my chaos. Made me feel cared for (No, you need to eat dinner, just get something; Let's go to Town for breakfast, it'll be worth it) when I had abandoned myself (I was on ibuprofen, coffee and two Vada Pav).

When you meet people from back when you hadn't undergone severe traumatic events one after the other, your old self comes to life for a hot minute. Bombay, between work, felt exactly like that. I was on fumes and caffeine but this man and his love for me kept me alive. When I look back, we befriended each other over a work project and little did I know I'd have found myself a person who'd be a walking antidote to my severe depressive state in 2024. "My mum can't make you Sabudana Vada on such a short notice but she's sending yous some Puran Poli you can take home."

I am so glad the butterfly effect of not having to go to the UK meant I met my old friend during this work trip. I realised that I must have done something right in my life to meet a friend who went above and beyond for me years after I dropped nail paint on his bed during our initial work meeting.

, by Snobster

In corporate hos, dating blues

You Make Me Feel Like

I'm cold. It's 45 degrees indoors and I'm cold. My tummy hurts, everything hurts. I attempt to cry but I'm all dried out. No tears left to cry.

I finally shed between number crunching when I see his hands. I don't know why I do it. I swear on all things holy, this never affected me, but I suppose I needed any excuse of a reason today. His hands, the ones that were always holding mine, all mine.

I don't know, something about his hands broke me and I bawled. It's long overdue. I've kept a straight face for over a day and a half and if you were anywhere near me in the last 48 hours you'd know that I was a mess. I fucking hate living through transitions and sitting through dread and grief. I'm grieving his loss. I want to be alone for a while. I want to be jobless for a while. I keep going in circles, I told myself I'd never be jobless but my present self is begging my old self to let me be jobless for the foreseeable future or we'll land up with broken bones in a jumping off the building attempt. I ask my colleague if she'd help make a case for why I jumped. Before she can answer in earnestness she's pulled into a meeting.

Am I sad because I'm dealing with a narc for a boss? I don't know. I think about how I've lasted over 18 hours working without a single thought. I miss my sister, I reckon it's the real reason why I'm miserable. I've learnt to detach from things like these so why is it affecting me? I told myself through the last weekend nothing matters and yet I keep thinking through how we are breaking everything that is sacred.

I'm asked thrice about how are things with the boy. I ignore that like I ignore all the questions about my well-being and if I need help. I begrudgingly accept help but still don't come to talk about how are we. I feel I'm not supported by anyone including the one who should be rooting for me but that's a P3 grouse. P0 is that I need a new job, P1 is that I need to get out of this situationship and look out for myself.

We wouldn't go a day without talking. Now it's a weekly ritual. We barely talk, we barely even acknowledge the other person has gone missing. I was reading about three stages of situationship, where the third stage is mutual ghosting. I wondered if we'll get there together or individually. Looks like it's happening at once. I want to talk but I'm tired. We also always go in circles. "Oho", "Oh Damn", "rough", "cold" and the last time I brought up my grouses I was told nothing. There was no response. I'm tired of bringing my grouses. I am told nothing and my ability to raise issues becomes an issue.

I miss my therapist but also I think I can no longer afford therapy. When I got to this point, I wasn't able to afford therapy without a job. Today, despite a job, I can't afford therapy. I can buy my sister a meal worth more than 2 sessions but would I plunder that amount on myself to heal? Never. I'm the problem. I'm cold. It's 45 degrees indoors. My tummy hurts, my ribs hurt, everything hurts. I finally cry my eyes out. I've a lot more in me.

I miss being myself. I miss having hope. I'm all out of it. Except tears, that's a supply which never fails me.

, by Snobster

In breaking heart, dating's a losing game

Flop Shiv Roy

I've never had a visceral reaction as bad as I did this evening; my friends sat down and went over in circles, "Kothey, Chicken 65, Rice Beer...and?" And, I burst out crying.

"I'm really fucking sad, I'm PMSing," I said while being really overwhelmed. Truth be told, I was more upset about no reception and that I'm on my fifth consecutive week without meeting the boy. There is relationship drama, there are arguments and fights, all without the pulp of the relationship. My sister used me as a crux, earlier today, to advance a line of thought with my parents on some parental boundary she is intending to cross. "If she can do it, why can't I?"

Truth is, I've done nothing with nobody. I've just wasted my time, man.

I was crying because I didn't have it in me to make another decision. My phone managed to catch a bar and I got two images for two different cakes, with a "this" or "that" question. Once again, in the span of 15 minutes, my expertise was solicited, on an issue where I didn't know any better than those asking me.

"I thought you hated answering these or making these decisions" my friend (who cannot be named) emphasised this earlier today when I said how I'm the go-to person for everyone on food picking during dinners outside. She's always seen through me, even when I try my best to give a hazy version of the truth. Perhaps that's why I love hanging out with her. She sees through me and calls me out. "No..." I kept at it except she reminded me how I told her I hate it even the last time we hung out, which was not too long ago. "I do it so I don't get fed badly and the only thing worse than bad food is being picked for you."

That's why I'm trusted.

PMS, man, how is it still fucking bothering me so many years into living with it? I feel like my whole life is falling apart minute by minute. A friend quit her job and told me about it today and for the first time in days I felt alive. I came back to life hearing about it from her, how she was wronged, how terribly they treated her and she finally took things in her hands and walked out. The walk of liberation is like music to my ears. I woke up at 7 am today and kept tossing in my bed. Do I need to quit? Do I need to walk out of this thing? Is it my job? Is it him? Is it me? I've been ghosting everyone. I need to see my therapist but I am ghosting her too. Truth be told, she's ghosting me as well. We are all ghosting each other.

A few days back, the guy and I ghosted each other. In all fairness, we've been having solid issues. If I could put a finger to it, I'd scratch and tell you exactly why. Except, in my PMS addled brain, I keep scratching and the pain keeps increasing. He keeps telling me, "You think the worst about me" and I've heard six different iterations of the same line, which fall between the spectrum of "dopey-cute" description of my batshit behaviour to straight up all caps line of questioning "ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH?", "NO I DO NOT DRINK OR SMOKE YOU KNOW THAT", "Except when you're in Bangkok". He knows me, shit.

I don't know him. I told him we are penpals but he doesn't do much writing. He doesn't do any remembering either so he's a safe vault for secrets. I have told him about the man who broke my heart over three times and he swears he's never heard of this guy. He doesn't remember my house, nor the street on which I live. He only remembers my wrath and how I think the worst of him. He thinks it's strange that I know nothing about him. Even when I ask him, he doesn't answer and keeps it vague and yet he thinks I'm thinking the worst of him and "it's like you don't know me". It's your job to tell me, but you won't so how would I ever keep up? I feel he hates me. This morning I kept tossing under the fan. Maybe he really dislikes me, there's no other reason why he wouldn't see me. It's a little bit like my ex. You want to keep me around for my benefits because my concept is great but my execution is now something you want to sign up.

Earlier today, I saw three kids (aged 7-8), walk on her arms and feet, like crawl on the road and run towards us while there was a power-cut and we were looking to get seated to eat. These kids legitimately frightened us with the Exorcism style movement and no electricity didn't help either. In darkness, shadows appear terrifying than the sense of reality and I think I have been feeling a sense of dread, gloom and sadness because I don't know any better. I know nothing about this man. He doesn't see me nor tells me and when I ask questions he gets mad at me. It's like watching kids walk on their arms. You don't know what's coming and as much as I trust him, I feel the safety net shifting.

"Do you want this to be serious?"

"I just want us to sleep with each other."

Shiv Roy wouldn't, I just know it. She wouldn't be this sad even while she's pmsing.

, by Snobster

In anniversary, snobster blog

Almost-legal

There's not very much to mark and say in the 17th consecutive year of writing here. I started my career on this page, unknowingly. Today, 17 years later, I am ever so grateful, to myself, for doing that. It's the one relationship that I'm still deriving value from.

Admittedly, a lot has changed. My hobbies, passions, my day-to-day, my friends, my everything. My world has been rocked, some with my stupidity and others out of my complete control. I miss the recklessness and the hope of my 20s that has been replaced with confidence and acceptance of my 30s. There's not very much left to imagination or to experience. My life peaked and saw a downward curve, it's been a whole lot here and then some silence and lots of changes. If anything, we've been remarkably consistent with change and persistent with logging the details, all the same.

I think my 30s have brought a whole new crop of people, the majority of whom have no idea I do this or that this page means a whole lot to me. I intend to keep it this way. I intend to keep my life as low-key as I can because what did we get after opening up for all these years? I have no regrets about the love(s) lost but friendships, those fucking hurt.

In marking 17 years of writing here, I wish to mark my journey with my pals. Some of them shaped a lot of these changes, and suggestions, pinned hope and believed in me, while some others weren't as kind. Most of these pals shaped me into the woman I am today and while there's a lot to say and discuss, I think on a day like this, I most wish to acknowledge those who touched my life and exited.

I think there's immense gratitude for the patience, love and space they offered when they did and care they nurtured when the fucks were given. Beyond that, everyone had a part to play and they did theirs and waved goodbye. I think, 17 years into writing about me and mine, I feel everyone who has been on this journey with me deserves a shout-out. Those who were regulars with nicknames and those who read me regularly gave me the confidence to continue shitposting. There were those who did neither but stood by me through my tough times. I have nothing but gratitude for them all, in equal measure. There wouldn't be 17 years of writing without you. There wouldn't be me without you.

It's also not to say that I like most of you cunts and can't stand you but god knows, even when Logan died, everyone cried. I feel a big anniversary or anything to do with this image is imminently like an anti-hero's demise written by Jesse Armstrong. Only, it's too real, and I'm the Waystar RoyCo CEO here.

I'm not about to make big promises like last year (cause god knows that blew in my face and I am so tired of it all) but I'm about to do what I do best. Write, even when it makes no sense or head or tail to you. I did it at 15, without a plan and I'm here at 32. Not the wisest and also shows little tendency to move on, but hey, you knew what you were signing up for years ago.

, by Snobster

In anger, birthday

It's not that serious

I used to pray at the alter of success, but now I settle for used wet-tissues discarded by others like me. The ones who made it. I'm happy for them, I really am. If the girl who started this page at 15 met herself in the present day, she'd be aghast at the person she's become but we all settle. I had to settle as well.

I have cribbed, cried, thrown tantrums, fought with the universe, made up, tried to make up and repair this broken relationship I have with fate, and then become hopeless. Sometimes I wonder if this resilience came to me with the second lease of life. Fighting for your life can be a lesson for a life, I suppose that's a success metric nobody can take from me. Covid - 0, Me - 1.

It's my friend's birthday today. I remembered it every day for the past fortnight except it slipped from my mind last evening. I was busy drafting an important text, that took over 12 hours and multiple iterations. I think the last time I made so many edits to a text, it was my last freelance assignment many moons ago. She had to remind me to wish her. Then I spent the next two hours catching up on a call with her, followed up with my sister, and spent the next 30 trying to get Zomato to give me a refund for fucking her birthday gift up.

For someone who spends over 50 hours weekly working on improving an app and its functionality and gets 0 credit for it, you'd think I would know my way around troubleshooting other apps. The thing is, I fucking hate dealing with dolts and only dolts thrive in this space. Or seemingly, find themselves in important positions. Pick any corporate leader working in the new media space and I'll show you what I mean.

I spent almost over 30 hours being pissed mad at the boy. My friend at work understood, "I had to schedule my anger around ovulation so I could be rational about it and not let my emotions get the better of me," she understood on her way back from work. Being a woman isn't easy but scheduling anger outbursts to coordinate with your sister's move and the nerves and taking it out on the semblance of a partially available but reticent support system is a stunt only firstborn daughters can undertake. If I tell you what led to the outburst you'd laugh, or well, be concerned for how little it took for me to lose my mind. But again, I don't fret about the big things.

I could fret the lack of response from both our ends on where we stand in each other's lives, or that we're going with the flow for a disturbingly long time as penpals but I don't sweat these things. I only sweat shit like dick-measuring comparisons, where I know the other person means no harm but how dare you cross that boundary and how dare you question your place in my life? I would go to war for you but I wouldn't let you make a joke at my expense where you compare yourself to my ex because are we even dating for you to do that comparison?

He should consider himself lucky that he's cute. It's the era of KillaTrav himbos and mine fits snug like a rug in that template.

, by Snobster

In Goldilocks, love

Goldilocks

We love people the way we want to be loved. Or, so I believe.

That's the only thing that can explain my way of giving in to people—acceptance without question, appreciation without cause, and affection without words.

A friend at work, prompted shortly after lunch, "Why are you this patient with him? Do you like him that much?" I was distracted by the smell on my nails; a lot of pickle and a lot of oil meant that my pastel pink manicure was reeking of Gongura Leaves and Mustard Oil. I had finished explaining a long fable on my back after a rather early lunch—why I ended up making a steep purchase earlier today and how I needed to be a knight in shining armour for a fintech situation in my personal life, as a "woman in STEM". I don't end up doing either anymore—explaining myself to people and oversharing. I shed parts of me like a snake changes skin every season and that is the only reason why I state this. I find it odd to articulate any part of my personal life to anyone, even to those closest to me. Naturally, that has extended to this page and by default logic, people in my life.

It's not a simple answer. This is the only way I know how to show love. I know how to show that I care. For someone who has no patience with the tiniest of things in life, I find my heart expanding larger than life each time I'm around those who I truly want to give chances to. Sometimes I extend it to people knowing that they will burn me down, the first chance they get, and they have taken that opportunity up. Yet, I persist. I have been burnt by my loved ones and maybe, I'm not as generous with opening my heart around them anymore, I feel this is the only way I can truly give any piece of me without hurting myself in process.

Last year, I gave my all, with every fiber of my being and found myself erased out of my existence. Another friend pointed out today, "I just want to shut my brain around my boyfriend. What is the point of the guy if you have to use your brain around him?"

I used to think so too. And maybe, the egg in my basket was rotten so I can't say this is a shared experience, but I felt a lot of me was eliminated, lost, and washed out in doing that. And maybe, that's not how this is supposed to be. If Goldilocks found the first bed too soft, then she's now finding this bed too hard, but that's not such a bad thing for her spine or back overall. I am still using my brain to fend for myself and look out for myself and if I have to include another person intermittently in that, why not?

To be honest, I don't think it's the man or his potential, it's all me. It's always been me, my sparkle, my love and my love that's made others shine bright. Without that, he's just another fish, another egg, another brick. It's the bricklayer who decides the pecking order and she has to be patient with her art.

, by Snobster

In appraisal, bullshit

Car-Wiper

You know when you feel the blues in all corners of your life, you have to pause and ask yourself, is it denim-tinted glasses, or are people farting indigo?

I've been feeling the blues lately. Work, relationship, family, friends— I can't pick up a single area and be like—you know what, this is great and perfect and fine, while the remaining lot, you suck.

Naturally, it's pouring out from all corners and collecting like sewage in the wrong buckets. I'm told I'm mean to the boy for no reason (there are 99, he heard), I'm told I'm not accepting feedback at work (why should I, when they drove me to act out), friends think I should sleep and not cry (fuck right off), and family thinks I should take unsolicited opinions on my life seriously (lmao, we didn't have expectations here).

Safe to say, everyone's heard an earful and got it back. Will this come back to haunt me at a time when I don't want to? Yeah. Will I learn from it and shut up for the foreseeable future? Maybe, who knows.

In my 16-17 years of writing here on this page, I've shown downward growth toward my commitment to myself and if that doesn't prove I'm not looking out for myself, nothing ever will. This is why I allow people to walk all over me, this is why I allow the man I'm dating to take me for granted and prioritise YouTube over me (just when I thought I snagged a good one, the ex returned). This is why I still attempt to talk to my folks when in reality the disjointed bits are only driving the wedge between us.

With all the woo-woo astrology shit that's going on (eclipse, retrograde, Chiron...the works), everyone told me to look out for exes. Of course, my dumbass thought that meant actual physical beings (who suck) but instead, that meant old wounds and situations. Of employer ill-treating me, passing personal remarks and driving me to an extent where I act out, of a man putting a fucking video sharing platform over us and being casually determined to prove it didn't mean anything. If this has taught me anything, it is that exes don't always need to be in your block list, your old situations too should retire and take a hike and shouldn't come back to haunt you when you're living through the best time of the year- April.

A week ago a dear friend told me to treat people like these like I'd treat a set of car-wiper; let them be and only use them when it rains and I need their shield to protect me. Unfortunately, some of us who've volunteered to be jesters are cursed to be the wipers ourselves; we exist to make everyone else's life convenient at the cost of us dealing with the rain and sun all day every day till our existence.

, by Snobster

In Bang Cock, beach please

Eat, Pray, Love

A friend remarked that my vacation plan sounds very "Eat, Pray, Love" like and you know what—maybe, he was onto something there

Sure, I walked like I was trekking to the EBC around Soi6, with a backpack full of Sanrio merch, taking pictures of a salon past working hours. Found Pooky for Pookie, who ordered the cheese? I also ate like I was on a remote island with no food left for dinner.

However, in my defense, I also burnt a lot of calories walking and swimming and just lazying around in my room. I have also done Soi 6, over five times and going alone meant not having a single person who'd beg me to come back to the hotel to sleep. It was all me and mine to decide and plan.

It is exhilarating to travel solo when you're constantly shoved to work with a lot of people and are expected to obey every Tom, Dick & Harry.

I didn't think solo travelling could be this fun, and to think, a year ago, I was willing to give it all up for a person who wanted me to be an airport princess and waltz with him to his vacation dreams (one where we travel business, stay in only 4* and above resorts, don't leave the room, order room service and sleep). Hey, that's not a bad vacation and he wasn't a bad planner, but that life isn't just for someone who has a larger appetite of life—three breakfasts and four dinners and just some juice for lunch, thank you.

I spent a lot of time reflecting in the pool, floating and staring at the sky (87 minutes precisely). I languished in bed until I physically couldn't anymore and ate like nobody was watching. Even if people were, likely that I'm not coming across them again. I met my noodle-soup hawker who recognized me and threw in extra bean-sprouts, just like I like it. I ate Pad Krapow Gai once a day, for 7 days straight and got a massage twice a day on days I felt my life was falling apart.

On my way to work today, some 11 days in, I felt like it all passed by in the blink of a second. I never felt more at home and at peace than I did this week and to think time passes slowly when you're with your own thoughts. I've spent a lot of time alone, mostly out of despair and loneliness of watching people around me be sick and sat through those times alone out of helplessness. I think being by myself for once when someone wasn't sick or dying for a change was wildly empowering. I spent more time sleeping in the first 72 hours, because I knew, even if something bad were to happen, it would be out of my control.

Only on the penultimate day, I felt like things were out of control. I didn't want to leave. I liked this new life, where I didn't know anyone and nobody knew me. I could be a minx by the beach, in a tiny swimsuit or I could be a vixen at the photo-booth, posing by herself and having a better time than she's had with anyone ever on a second date. I thought through the men I've loved and what they would have remarked on this act of brainless vacation, one where I've been a million times and one where I don't do anything new—same old, same old.

I also realised I forgot all about the original reason I chose to skip town on the dates I had planned. Two days in, I realised it was a breeze. What could have been a reason to celebrate for different reason, became a reason to mark my relationship with myself.

I'm okay. I'm enough. I got me. I'll be fine etc.

, by Snobster

In beach please, dating

Voulez-Vous?

January me and March me are completely different people.

In between the difference, there is February me, who booked me on a flight with a baggage limit smaller than my personal baggage (been in therapy four-ish years). What the fuck was I thinking?

In all of this, I forgot the Sept-Oct me, who was so fucking determined to not look at any man that while spring cleaning today, I realised how down bad I've been.

One thing about me— I will let you treat me like shit when I'm down bad.

I saw an old text exchange between my ex and I, where we nearly went a day without speaking to each other and I was the one being really nice about the whole thing, trying to talk to him and empathise with him and his busy day subsequently. What the fuck was wrong with me?

I won't lie when I say, I'm a wee bit scared of the eclipse-retrograde szn that's incoming. Firstly, I don't have the strength to deal with, "You were dating someone?" when I discuss shit and second, I can't afford fuck ups in ANY angle whatsoever. I would list the fuck ups but I don't want my nightmares coming to life anywhere near me, other than my dreams.

I also just saw my January vision board and wow what the fuck, this shit is so tame. How did I grow a new ambitious streak in the last 90 days to the point I'm looking at my vision board and questioning who did this? (I did, lovingly, with a hint of hope in my eyes)

Anyway, here are my affirmations that should go in my diary but I feel like typing them out to make sure the universe is reading on 40 mbps or something:

I WILL ACCEPT THE LOVE I THINK I DESERVE

I WILL HAVE TOUGH CONVERSATIONS IN RELATIONSHIPS

I WILL BE SOFT WITH PEOPLE I LIKE AND NOT BE A BITCH TO THEM

I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANYONE BUT ESPECIALLY A LOVE INTEREST TREAT ME LIKE SHIT (friend's wife is unacceptable)

I WILL NOT BEG TO BE LOVED NOR BEG TO BE TREATED RIGHT

I WILL MOVE IN SILENCE

I AM DESIRABLE AND THAT VALIDATION CANNOT COME FROM A CRUSTY MAN WHO WON'T MEET ON A WEEKEND

I WILL NOT PUT THE WEIGHT OF MY HAPPINESS IN THE ARMS OF THE MAN WHO DOES NOT KNOW ME

MY HAPPINESS DOES NOT DEPEND ON A MAN WHO DOES NOT CARE ABOUT ME

I WILL BE NICE TO THE MAN AND TO THOSE WHO HAVE SHOWN ME KINDNESS AND LOVE THROUGH MY LOWEST THIS MONTH

I WILL NOT WASTE TIME ON POTENTIAL NOR WILL I WAIT FOR SOMEONE TO MAKE UP THEIR MIND ABOUT ME

I WILL THRIVE. I WILL BE HAPPY. I WILL BE THE ARCHITECT OF MY OWN FUCKING HAPPINESS.

I WILL MAKE SURE I LIVE MY BEST. I WILL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES TO MAKE ME HAPPY SO AS LONG AS I AM NOT HURTING SOMEONE ELSE IN THE PROCESS.

, by Snobster

In covid-19, sick

Soon

The most affirming word in the minds of forelorn lovers, separated loved ones; whether it's between working hours or actual miles between two people, soon is always arriving.

For a long-time in the last 60 days, I hung on to that word, every weekend. "Soon enough," is when we were supposed to meet. Today, that tied into my Covid recovery. Third time's the charm so we can hope I recover soon enough; the marker that I once interpreted for the distance between our synced calendars is now a distant future for my recovery phase. There's peace and hope but there's also history.

For us, soon was always incoming, every weekend as we worked our asses off. Now, soon is a year or maybe two. It took me over two years to go back to working out without killing myself and building my strength, and now the soonest I can do is "soon enough".

It feels like I'm repeating myself over but what is soon anyway? I asked this out of frustration when I was texting my sister earlier today. I can pull that impatience card on her cause she's known me all her life, unlike the delicate other ties on my phone where I have to contain myself to an emoji conveying frustration. We've seen things, my sister and I, we've seen Covid and we'll see other things too. "Soon" from her was triggering. Who tf does she think she is? Why is she talking the same way as the man? Can she be more specific? A little less on hope and a little more on facts? God, why can't my own sibling talk to me the way I talk to myself?

Soon enough she'll be gone or well, be on her way out. Soon enough, I'll be out too; or maybe not. Who knows? If you'd told me one month ago, soon enough translates to a wildly loose timeline between now and never, I'd have never walked the road where I am. I was full of purpose a few months ago, I was full of purpose even when I was dying last week; in between being delirious with high fever, I kept thinking of how to match the competition—who the fuck am I even? I am not even paid enough to do this shit? Why have I put all my eggs in one basket, not for a man but for work and why am I giving ten fucks about my body fat and rounded cheeks post-sugar and jam during covid instead on focusing on survival.

"I'm going to be rounded and fat and tubby when I wear a bikini later this month," I chose to focus on my jaw that lacked the sharpness I had two weeks ago, three days into covid and a cocktail of medicines later.

"Killing it," the same as "soon enough" only in the present.

I really do hope I'm happy soon enough.

, by Snobster