Weekly diary : Week 3
23 June 2025 (Monday) : I Spoke. He Listened. And Everything Changed
Today started like any other college day. I attended all lectures and practicals. But during the practical sessions, I felt that all-too-familiar sensation—wetness between my legs. I paused, instantly knowing what it meant. Thankfully, I had a pad in my bag. I quietly removed my lab coat, asked the ma’am for permission, and went to the washroom. And just like that—periods had arrived, uninvited and inconvenient as always.
The rest of the day went on, but my mind was drifting. After class, I shared everything with Tissue—about the job interview, the offer, and especially about my father’s silence. She smiled, a little sad and a little happy. Honestly, I felt the same.
Back home, I freshened up, ate, and tried to sleep, but rest wouldn’t come. All I could think about was what my father would say. I waited for evening, my chest heavy with a mix of hope and anxiety.
When he finally returned, I tried to bring up the conversation, but he cut me off with, “Let’s have dinner.” I kept quiet. After dinner, I found him watching videos about truck parts—typical. I sat beside him, nervous.
He looked up. “What happened?”
“Papa, what about the job I told you about yesterday?” I asked, gently.
Without missing a beat, he said, “You’re not doing that kind of job,” and looked back at his phone.
I expected it. Still, I tried to explain. “Please let me do this job. I passed the interview. I need it.”
His response stung: “That’s your problem. Who told you to apply? Who told you to go? Who told you to pass?”
I looked down. My heart was racing. My thoughts were spiraling—animation, college, shifting to the village, everything. I didn’t plan what came next, but I knew I had to speak my truth.
I held his hand. He looked at me, confused.
“I don’t want to leave Mumbai, Papa,” I said. “I want to stay here. I have dreams I want to achieve. I’m 19 now. I can live in the hostel the restaurant provides. I’ll work hard, and I’ll take care of myself.”
Tears welled up in my eyes as I added, “You and mummy were talking about divorce… shifting to the village… I got scared. So I decided I have to stand on my own. If you two separate, I’ll still need a life.
That’s why I applied. Please, let me do this job.”
I was bracing for a slap, a shout, or cold silence. Instead, he pulled his hand away, and I thought hope had left the room.
But then… he wiped my tears, cupped my face, and softly said, “Sorry, baccha. Mujhe maaf kar do. Abse aisa kuch nahi kahunga.”
I froze.
He patted my head, adding, “Aapko job karne ki zarurat nahi hai. Aap sirf apni study par dhyan do. Hum kahi nahi jaayenge.”
His eyes held emotions I couldn’t name—regret, sadness, love, guilt, and something like pride. There was no anger.
“You’re just 19. Yah padhne ki umar hai,” he said. “Main hoon na, mere hote aapko hotel mein kaam karne ki zarurat nahi hai. Sorry, baccha.”
I couldn’t believe it. My father—the man known for his pride, his unbending nature—was apologizing.
I hesitated, but then told him the second reason behind wanting that job: I wanted to buy the KDSpy tool. A one-time purchase. He blinked.
“That’s it?” he chuckled. “I’ll buy it for you. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
I smiled, barely able to speak. And then my brother Gaajar jumped in with his usual teasing.
“Tujhe itni jaldi kya hai hostel shift hone ki? Huh? Tujhe waise bhi ek din shaadi karke is ghar se jaana hi hai.”
Papa laughed. I threw a pillow at Gaajar and yelled, “Chup kar! Mujhse pahle teri shaadi hogi!”
For a moment, the air was light again—full of laughter, teasing, warmth. My father hugged me tightly, patting my head, repeating, “Mera bacha, itna tension nahi lete.”
He promised to think more carefully before speaking in anger. He told me again—gently—that I was too young to worry this much, that he would take care of me.
At that moment, I realized something. No matter how many mistakes my parents make, deep down, they do love us.
Now, I don’t need to do that job. And though I’m still not sure what my mother will say, I’ve found some peace tonight.
But more than anything, I hope one day they stop fighting—not just for us, but for themselves.
Takeaway:
Sometimes, all it takes is one honest conversation to turn everything around. But it takes courage to speak up, and patience to wait for the silence to soften. So ask yourself—what truth are you still afraid to say out loud?
24 June 2025 (Tuesday) : A Morning of Messy Buns and Missed Labs
I opened my eyes around 6:15 AM and realized I had overslept. My college starts at 7:45, and I usually leave home by 7. But last night, I could barely sleep. The cramps in my lower abdomen along with pain in my lower back were so painful that I don’t even remember when I fell asleep. I just know the pain tired me out completely.
Now I was late. I bathed in a hurry, wore something comfortable and loose, and tried tying my hair into a bun. It turned out messy, and for a second, I wanted to scream. But there was no time for that. I texted Tissue not to wait for me at the station and ran out the door at 7:17.
As I reached the station, moving fast through the crowd, something caught my eye—a familiar walk. Penguin steps. It had to be her. And yes, it was. It was Tissue. Her walk is so unmistakable, I could spot her even in a sea of people.
I called out her name. She turned, smiled, and said exactly what I was about to say, “You’re also late?” We both laughed and began walking quickly toward college.
Our practical faculty is strict—unforgiving when it comes to punctuality. If the lab starts at 7:45, she’ll wait till 7:50 at best. After that, the doors closed, no excuses accepted.
We reached the gate at 7:55. Too late.
Still, we tried. We put on our lab coats and slippers, tied our hair properly into a bun, and entered the lab. But ma’am didn’t allow us in. Rules are rules.
So, we ended up sitting in the classroom with a bunch of other latecomers. It felt a little less embarrassing to see we weren’t the only ones.
Back home, I kept thinking about the job offer I had received. They were ready to hire me. They trusted me. But now, after my father’s decision, I won’t be joining them. And the worst part? I haven’t even replied to them.
I don’t know what to say. I want to apologize—because it’s my mistake. But the words aren’t coming. Maybe I just need a little time to figure out how to reply to them.
25 June 2025 (Wednesday) : When Pain Opens the Door to Deeper Questions
Today’s lectures were online, and thankfully, there were no practicals. I felt oddly relieved. It’s the third day of my period, which usually means heavy flow.
I didn’t really pay attention to the lectures, but I still tried to be responsible. I kept taking screenshots of important slides whenever ma’am said, “This is important for exams.” It was the least I could do. Once everything was over, I didn’t hesitate to crawl into bed. On days like these, resting, eating, and sleeping are the only things that bring a little peace to my body.
But the peace didn’t last long.
At night, I found myself wide awake—not because of the cramps or because I had napped in the afternoon. It was something else. My mind had gone back to those old memories again—my parents fighting, shouting, throwing cruel words, hurting each other, moments of blood and fear, and my helpless childhood self.
And then came the questions. Are these kinds of fights normal in a relationship? Is this what love looks like after years? Do all couples stop communicating and start fighting?
What if I ever enter into a relationship? Would he hit me too? Would he shout at me? Would he hurt me? Would he slap me? Would he also choose silence or abusive words or screaming over understanding?
These thoughts wouldn’t stop.
And then, a scarier thought crept in—why would anyone even want to be with someone like me?
I’m not beautiful. People say I walk like a boy. I’ve never had a confession from anyone. I’m not charming, I’m not confident, I’m not good at socializing. I’ve had glasses since 4th grade, and I’ve been mocked for how I look or act, the way I walk.
Why would any guy ever choose me? Wouldn’t it be a shame for him to say I’m his girlfriend?
But if I could dream about the kind of person I want in my life, I don’t have a long list.
I just don’t want him to hit me.
I don’t want him to shout at me.
I don’t want him to use abusive words.
I don’t want him to scare me.
I want us to talk when things go wrong, not fight.
Maybe it’s the hormones. Or maybe it’s just the silence of the night giving me the space to ask what I never dared to.
Where do I see myself when I’m 30 or 40?
I want peace.
A balanced life.
Health, wealth, and relationships—without losing myself in any of it.
I want time. Time to do the things on my bucket list.
A healthy lifestyle. Nutritious food. Peaceful sleep. A mind that isn’t overthinking.
Make my parents proud.
A small friend circle.
Take care of my in-laws like my own parents.
A healthy relationship with my partner. A home where I hug him at the end of a long day.
Children I raise with love.
Stories I create.
Animations I bring to life.
Yes… I want a life like that.
26 June 2026 (Thursday) : The Day I Got Caught and the Test That Never Happened
This morning started like most others. I was heading toward the rickshaw stand, and as always, my brother Gaajar was walking beside me. He has this unspoken habit of dropping me off every single day, no matter what. Even if we don’t talk much during the walk, his silent presence makes me feel seen—like someone’s watching out for me.
But today, he caught me off guard.
Just as we neared the stand, he asked casually, “Are you going to bunk all your lectures again and sit in the library today?”
I froze. For a second, I genuinely panicked—how did he know? I gave him an awkward smile, trying to hide my guilt, but he didn’t react at all. No scolding. No teasing. Just that calm older-brother look. I stared at the ground, unsure of what to say.
And then, I gave in.
“I’ll attend all the lectures today,” I blurted. “Just don’t tell mummy and papa.”
He nodded, and I felt a little relief.
“But wait,” I asked, “how did you even know I was bunking lectures?”
He didn’t even pause. “Whenever you take your laptop in the morning, I know you’re not planning to attend classes.”
I was stunned. “Okay… but how did you know I sit in the library?”
He simply smiled and said, “I’m your big brother. I know you. You have zero guy friends, zero male interactions, and you don’t go anywhere else this early in the morning. Even if you hate your college textbooks, you’re still a nerd.”
I couldn’t argue. He was right.
Before he could continue, I laughed and admitted, “Fine. I’m bunking again. Just keep it between us.”
He nodded again. And just like that, our little unspoken agreement was sealed.
At college, I did exactly what he predicted—I sat in the library. I hadn’t written last week’s Weekly Diary blog yet, and with everything that had happened—emotional breakdowns, job interviews, family arguments—I just hadn’t found the time. So I decided to finish and publish it before the week completely slipped away.
Later, just as the last lecture ended, I got a message from Tissue saying she was waiting for me outside the library. Even though I hadn’t attended a single class, she still waited for me. That’s something I love about our friendship. No judgment. No questioning. Just understanding.
As I walked out, I saw her laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
She tried to hold back her laughter and said, “The Medical Microbiology test got cancelled. Ma’am will take it next Thursday now.”
Seriously? Really? I sighed.
I had bunked all my lectures today just to avoid a test… and it turns out, there was no test at all.
27 June 2025 (Friday) : The Ride That Shook Me
My day started like any other. Wake up. Get ready for college. Attend lectures. Finish practicals. The usual rhythm of a normal student life. But something happened on my way back home that shook me—not just physically, but emotionally too.
I had taken a shared auto from college, like I always do. There was a man sitting beside me who looked like a regular guy. The moment the auto started, I felt his hand brush against my side. At first, I thought it was by mistake. Accidents happen in crowded autos, right?
But then he did it again.
And again.
Slow, intentional movements—his thigh brushing mine, his arm leaning too close, despite the clear space beside him. He knew what he was doing. And I knew it too.
I felt frozen.
I clutched my bag tightly to my chest, not to protect my belongings, but to shield myself and to cover my chest area. I tried to inch away, tried to ignore, and tell myself it would be over soon. But inside, I was angry. And scared. Mostly angry. But not at him—at me.
Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I shout or slap him or stop the auto? Why did I freeze?
When I reached home, I didn’t speak to anyone. I didn’t cry. I just… carried it inside. I washed my face, had food, and went to bed, thinking rest would help me feel better.
It didn’t.
Also, today was the last day of my periods, which means I’m done with it for this month. And honestly, I feel so light and happy right now. The first day of periods always feels like hell—but the last day? It’s like heaven. Such relief. Now, I’ll meet them again next month, but for now, I’m grateful for this little moment of comfort.
28 June 2025 (Saturday) : Repeat Day
Some days feel like a loop on repeat. Today was one of them.
I woke up, got ready, attended my lectures and practicals, came back home, freshened up, had food, and then fell asleep. Everything followed the same old rhythm without any excitement or shift. There was nothing new, nothing challenging, nothing particularly productive. Just the same pattern playing itself out.
29 June 2025 (Sunday) : When Words Cut Deeper
The spotlight of today wasn’t some big event or achievement—it was my mother’s scolding. And to be honest, I’ve grown used to these kinds of outbursts, especially when they revolve around skincare or hair fall. It’s not new.
She stood in front of me, listing everything—my dull skin, the dark circles around my eyes, the acne starting to appear, and the hair that no longer shines like before. I tried to ignore it, but the way she said it—sharp and loud—felt like she wasn’t just commenting on my appearance, but releasing frustration that didn’t even belong to me. I could feel it wasn’t really about me. She was carrying anger—probably left over from an argument with my father—and I happened to be the nearest target.
Still, I listened. I didn’t say much, just sat there covering my ears lightly, hoping her words would soften. But they didn’t. What she said next hit a nerve.
“You’re just like a boy,” she said. “You wear your brother’s clothes, you walk like him. Sometimes I forget you’re my daughter. Who would want to marry someone like this?”
That was the moment I lost control. I shouted back, “What are you even saying, Mummy?” But she didn’t stop. “Just look at yourself in the mirror,” she said, as if the reflection would explain everything wrong with me.
I stormed off to my room, but her words followed me like an echo. But even after shutting the door, I couldn’t shut out her voice. It echoed in my mind—not because I disagreed, but because part of it was true.
She wasn’t entirely wrong. I’ve not taken care of myself. My dull skin, the dark circles around my eyes, the acne starting to appear, and the hair that no longer shines like before. Late nights, poor eating habits, constant pressure… it’s all showing up on my face now. I’ve neglected myself.
But what she didn’t see is that my mind has been so occupied—uncertainties, fears. And yes, for now, skincare and haircare can wait. I know self-care matters. I know my body deserves better. But at this phase of my life, I’ve chosen to delay it—at least for the next two years, until I finish graduation.
I hate this version of me.
The one who knows what needs to be done but still finds a hundred ways to avoid doing it. I hate how I let laziness win. How I sink into comfort like it’s a safe place—when in reality, it’s just a trap that keeps me from everything I dream about.
I know I’m capable of more. I know I have it in me to give 100%, yet I don’t. And that truth eats me up. It’s not the world holding me back—it’s me. My habits. My excuses. My fear.
If I continue like this, stuck in this loop of half-hearted efforts and regret, how will I ever achieve the life I want? The goals I’ve written down, the dreams I carry—they won’t come true with this version of me.
No one is coming to save me. No magic moment will arrive where everything just falls into place.
I have to move. I have to push. I have to change.
Because if I don’t, I’ll lose myself. And that’s a defeat I’m not willing to accept.
