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The empty cup fascinates me. Why? Because I see a space where something once existed and is now part of me. Some things don’t need a reason; they just are. When I make my "Chai" (I hate calling it tea; it feels too formal) I feel as though I am bathing my emotions, one by one, in boiling water. All the desperate flavors, the sweetness of sugar, the bitterness of chai patti, the slight citrus notes of adrak, and the sharp spice of tej patta and laung; begin to dominate each other as the water turns a deep, bruised red. When I finally add the milk, the war stops, and the chaos settles. After pouring it into my cup, I know my thoughts have been filtered. I plug in my earphones, shut the world off, and gulp down every single one of them. Once the cup is empty, I am full again. I am consumed by filtered thoughts and the flavors that remain. The heavy, unnecessary sediments have been strained away, leaving only what is essential. But today was different; the ritual shif...

I always had this habit as a kid: when my mom said guests were coming. "Guests" that, according to the 14-year-old girl I was, were "bad" and would judge me by how I kept my room. I'd perform my 5-minute escape plan. Tidying meant hiding.  Pencils, paper, handkerchiefs went under the bed. Sharpener dust was tucked into the window grill. My school bag vanished beneath the cupboard. Clothes were stuffed into it so tightly that if anyone opened the shelf door, the whole mess would avalanche out. It was a panic move, a quick fix though!  I’ve carried that feeling with me. Not the actual mess, but the memory. I was never satisfied with how I arranged things. I’d call my mom to fix my bedsheet, because her final touch somehow made the whole scene look perfect. Once, when I asked her about it, she showed me all the actual trash I’d hidden while “cleaning.” It made me wonder: When I cleaned the room, was it “ever” really clean? I was terrified of being judg...

Okay, so I don’t really know what my brain is up to. Oh, well. Tea’s done, the cup’s empty. I made good tea today. It's raining outside. I don’t know why I’m writing this, but I am at peace while writing this. I love to study Forensic Psychology. It’s the gore, the murders, the sheer crimes humans commit. Studying it feels like accepting the criminal side of us, entering that world without hate or blame, just recognizing that it exists. It’s fascinating. The human mind! I only brought this up because it’s mid-sems. Otherwise, eating, sleeping, and reading are my only loyal activities. It was raining; it still is. But in the last few seconds, it’s gone dark. The sky is grey—all grey—the " gloomy" grey for some while the " romantic" grey for others. For me today, it’s a " numb" grey. A grey that makes you feel something yet nothing. A grey that makes your thoughts align.... Scratch that!!!  It started raining heavily. God, I love that sound...

I know, I know – it's too early for 2025 and too late for the second part of "Verse of Silence." To be honest, I've been procrastinating. The videos were ready, but they needed some arrangement and editing. Today was finally the day I decided to just do it. The past two months have been a roller coaster. My routine was nonexistent, everything was changing, but June was kind to me, and July is going well so far. Let's not even talk about May; that was a rough experience. I know I'm not really talking about the "Verse of Silence" yet, and I'm not sure if I will in the next paragraph. So much is going on in my head, and I don't really know what to bring to paper first, so I've just decided to keep writing. There's no flow to this, so if you're looking for something motivating and positive, you might want to stop reading. Consider this a disclaimer, because I'm just pouring out what's inside. I like repetition and stability. I...