Manvitha's Musings

 "I am addicted to dopamine." I spew the  words out of my mouth, say each one of them proudly, I wear it like a badge shining on my chest. They laugh. They laugh and mock and say, "Isn't that everybody's problem in GenZ?" Hmm. A problem. And I get why it's a problem. We've seen the screens. We've felt the screens. We've felt the addiction. Swipe after swipe. Scroll after scroll. Easy to reach. All in my pocket. All in my phone. But then, if it's so easy, what is there to feel? What addiction is there to feel? What joy is there to feel? And why can't I stop? It's dopamine. That's the answer. Instant gratification. Easy joy. Swipe after swipe. Scroll after scroll. Keep scrolling, until you can't feel anymore. You can't comprehend anymore. You're not getting dopamine, you're not feeling gratification, you're not feeling joy, you're just escaping your life at this point. Scary, isn't it? Turns out, the ...

Dear self, I want to tell you that I love you and I'm proud of you. Unapologetically. Purely. Genuinely. Wholeheartedly. I'm proud of you for getting through days you thought you'd never get through, I'm proud of you for finding a flicker of light even when everything around you felt dark. That takes an unwavering amount of strength, even if you don't give yourself enough credit for it. Your mind will tell you lies. It will tell you that you are weak, it will make you believe that you are worthless, when really you are just a human being who is still learning. You are not a failure. You are not a disappointment. Your mind will tell you such lies. So many lies. But it is far from the truth.  I just hope you know the difference between feelings and facts. 

 I'm not a therapist. Well, not in the professional sense. I didn't study courses, earn degrees, help people through depression. I sort of learned to read rooms by the way someone drummed their fingers against the table nervously, the way someone's smile dropped when I mentioned a name they hated, or the way someone's voice cracked when they were trying to hold back tears.  I focused on their tears. But no one was there to wipe off my own.  It was always like a gift, this ability to read rooms and make people feel uplifted. This ability to give people hope. But when you looked at how and why I got this ability, it's not as pretty as it seems.  These people I uplift, these pieces of advice I give people, and all the times I told someone that everything is going to be ok, I told myself it was just empathy. Well, I wasn't wrong. But there's another piece I missed.  I knew exactly how it felt to be in their place. Every single time. Every word I spewed out my mo...

 "But you don't look depressed."  You say it to me like it's a fact, peering into my eyes as though searching for the sadness etched across my face.  "I know," I reply emptily. "But I am." I give you a faint smile, a small curl of the corners of my lips, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. My stomach doesn't hurt from laughing like it used to, my throat doesn't scream k-pop song lyrics until raw. Not because it forgot how to, but because it just doesn't see the point. My friend, I know that I don't look depressed. Because depression doesn't always accompany puffy eyes, dark circles, constant tears streaming down your face. Sometimes it's this vague numbness. The point where you feel too much until you can't feel anything anymore. Your heart is full of nothingness, you dreams buried deep inside the complicated layers of your mind because your thoughts made the path too foggy. It's like you can't see a way forw...

   This is about eggs. Sunny-side up, yolk runny yet soft, edges brown and crispy, texture smooth and indulgent, temperature warm and not scorching, just how I like it.  It's funny, right? The fact that I gave an egg its whole character arc when it was nothing but a piece of food gliding over my tongue.  Yet it felt like comfort. No deafening personality, no twisted words, just something to keep me company.  I usually never like others' company. And yet I enjoyed the egg. Until I realised, this isn't about eggs anymore. This is about people. Those who stayed even in the bad, those who left for good. All of them.  Including those who hurt me. Including those who used me for gain. Including those that were harsh. Including that that never really had a connection.  Why couldn't you be the comfort I so desperately needed when I could no longer see the light for a while? Why did you wait for me to initiate before calling my name? Why didn't you simply glide...

  One coffee shop. Same aroma of fresh coffee beans, same traffic honking through the window, same plants dangling from the walls, same tables, same straws, same cups. Yet it's crazy how every person sitting here has a completely different experience of life. One sipping the warm drink and letting themselves bask in the sunlight peeking through the door. Another feeling grateful for life. And there's the last one, wishing that they were never here at all. They don't enjoy the coffee like the others, they feel the bitterness of the drink glazing their tongue, while the bitterness of their thoughts washes over their heart until they wonder where the sweetness went. They wonder when it was the last time life felt sweet for them, the last time they could savour the sweetness without breaking. The last time they could feel bitterness pass without letting it contaminate the sweetness too. The last time they could look at themselves in the mirror without searching for flaws. The l...