Weekly diary : Week 8
28 July 2025 (Monday) : The Day I Forgot… Except for That One Hilarious Moment
You know those days where your memory just decides to pack its bags and leave? Yeah, this was one of those.
I sat down today (31 July 2025), determined to write something about July 28th. But the page stared back at me blankly—probably judging me. I couldn’t remember a single thing I did. Nothing. Not even what I ate. And honestly, it hit me how much I rely on my daily entries and to-do lists. This time, I skipped both…
No plan. No idea what I was focusing on that day—or if I even focused at all. Honestly, my memory can be so dramatic sometimes. Like, one minute I’m fine, the next I can’t even remember if I drank water or not.
But wait—there’s one thing I do remember. And trust me, it’s unforgettable.
Tissue—my friend, not an actual tissue—slipped on the stairs and fell. And I? Well… I laughed. Hard. Like, wheezing, tears-in-my-eyes kind of laughing.
Was it mature? Absolutely not.
Was it funny? Oh, so much.
Was I a terrible friend? Maybe just for that moment.
The way she slipped was so cartoonish, like her legs just decided to give up halfway down. Thankfully, there was no one else around, so the embarrassment was minimal. Even she cracked a smile while lying there, and that made it okay—at least I hope so. I tried to hold in my laugh, I really did. But the image keeps replaying in my head even now, and I’m still chuckling while writing this.
I guess that’s all I truly remember from that day. One loud laugh in a sea of forgotten moments.
Lesson learned?
If you don’t write it down, you might as well have not lived it.
And maybe, just maybe, try to help your friends up before laughing like a hyena.
But really—what kind of friend am I?
29 July 2025 (Tuesday) : Started Strong… Then My Brain Went for a Nap
Ever had one of those rare days where you randomly decide to study without any dramatic buildup or life crisis pushing you? Yeah… me neither. But surprisingly, today came close.
I don’t know what came over me, but I suddenly decided—Let’s study for CA-1. Just like that. No pressure. No threats. No emotional breakdown. It was weird. Suspicious, even.
And guess what? I actually got a few topics done. I was on a roll—flipping pages, underlining like I knew what I was doing, even making sense of things and hope will make sense later.
But then… reality hit. My energy dipped, motivation walked out the door, and laziness pulled up a chair like an old friend. Suddenly, the book started looking more like a pillow than a source of knowledge.
It’s funny how fast the “study mode” vanishes. One second I’m determined, the next I’m staring at the wall like it owes me answers.
Honestly, I could sit here and beat myself up for not doing more—but I won’t. Because the truth is, I started. And for someone like me? That’s already a win.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll study a little more. Or maybe I’ll write another entry like this. Who knows?
30 July 2025 (Wednesday) : The Day I Finally Chose a Side
Have you ever felt like you were being torn between two worlds—one where you chase your dreams with laser focus, and another where you’re just a human, trying to belong?
Today started like any ordinary Wednesday. Online lectures, a to-do list, some quiet time. The day moved on like any other. But by evening, something shifted. Something happened that I don’t even want to write about—because to relive it would be to reopen a wound I’m not ready to face again.
I always thought I was used to this kind of stuff. I thought domestic fights—physical, mental, emotional—couldn’t touch me anymore. But today proved how foolish I was. It hit deeper than I expected. And maybe that’s why I’m writing this now—not to document the event, but to put into words the storm it stirred inside me.
There’s always been this contradiction within me. Should I dedicate myself completely to my goals, build discipline? Or should I live a little too—make memories, laugh more, spend time with friends, with family…?
I convinced myself I could balance both. But the truth? I failed.
When I pour all of myself into goals, productivity, discipline—it feels right for a moment. The to-do list gets done. There’s a sense of control. But something’s always missing. A quiet, empty ache that I couldn’t name. Feeling of incompleteness.
On the other hand, when I let go a little and give time to people—to memories, to moments that seem small but are supposed to mean everything—I do feel happy. But soon enough, guilt comes crashing in. A sinking feeling that I’m falling behind, not doing enough, losing momentum.
I hate this loop. I hate how I never seem to get it right.
I remember days when I ignored my friends in the name of ‘focus.’ When I replied coldly, I acted rude. Some even called me arrogant and cold. But I wasn’t trying to be rude—I was just…
And when I didn’t meet my own expectations, when the work didn’t get done—I felt ashamed. Like I was betraying myself. Simply because I couldn’t manage both sides of me.
But today’s incident—it broke something. Or maybe it fixed something. It jolted me into clarity.
I realize now that I was naïve. Memories, relationships, emotions—they aren’t soft things. They’re messy, unpredictable, and painful. People misunderstand, hurt, manipulate—even the ones who seem kind. The more you care, the more it breaks you.
Maybe it’s better to stop trying. Maybe it’s okay to not belong anywhere.
From today onwards, I’ve made a choice. No more balancing. No more pretending I can be both the dream-chaser and the memory-maker. I’ll mind my own business.
Thank you, Rabba, for today. It hurt—but it showed me the truth I kept avoiding.
Some lessons don’t come wrapped in peace—they come wrapped in pain. And today, I finally learned mine.
I mentioned at the start that this blog would be a space to document my to-do lists, the habits I’m trying to build, and my personal growth—not a place to talk about friends, college drama, or family moments. But despite that, I ended up sharing—those college memories, the conversations with friends, the emotional highs and lows with family.
I thought I was being honest. But today I realized… I was a fool.
A fool to believe that memories matter.
A fool to believe in people.
A fool to think about emotions.
A fool who thought belonging to people would make me whole.
Now I’m sitting here, thinking: what should I do with all those previous blogs?
Should I delete them like I once did—wipe it all away, like it never happened?
No. I shouldn’t.
I’ll let them stay. Because they are reminders—not of weakness, but of the journey. They may hold traces of mistakes, of misplaced trust, of naive hope…
So I won’t delete them. I’ll just move forward—with a stronger boundary.
This space is mine.
Today, I finally learned my lesson –
I should mind my own business.
I should be disciplined instead of being an emotional person.
Because emotions? They mess things up. They blur the line between what’s reality and what’s just noise.
I kept chasing connection, warmth, and belonging… but now I see—discipline never betrays you, but people often do.
It’s better to build a routine than memories that break you later.
It’s better to stay focused, and mind my own business—than to keep getting burned by expectations.
That’s my lesson. And I don’t want to forget it again.
31 July 2025 (Thursday) : What’s so difficult about being quiet?
Today college hours were from 8:45 to 12. I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t want to stay at home either. So I left—not for the lectures, just for some space.
With my laptop in my bag and zero intention to attend a single class, I walked straight into the library. My usual quiet corner, my escape. But not today. It was packed.
Of course it was. Exams start tomorrow. Suddenly everyone discovers the library. Desperate whispers, nervous laughter, pages flipping like they’re in a race, murmuring and gossiping.
It was irritating. No—annoying.
Can’t people just shut up and work? Why is it so hard to keep quiet when you’re supposed to?
But I didn’t say a word. I never do.
I just sat down. I managed to complete a few things from my to-do list. That was enough for today. No excitement. No regrets.
Our CA-1 exams begin tomorrow. I’m not ready. Not even close. But I’ll show up anyway. I’ll study just enough to pass. That’s all I need. Nothing more.
01 August 2025 (Friday) : A House Too Quiet, A Heart Too Tired
Have you ever walked into a room and felt something was wrong—without anyone saying a word?
That’s what happened today. The silence was too loud. The kind that makes you uncomfortable without knowing why. I returned home after the exam—Medical Microbiology. First paper. Others were busy flipping notes like their lives depended on it. I stood still, blank, because how do you revise something you never really studied?
But let’s be honest, passing is the only goal now. Not learning. Not excelling. Just passing.
When I entered the house, something immediately felt off. Not the usual tired kind of quiet. This one had tension. The kind you can smell in the air. I didn’t need to ask. I already knew.
Then Gaajar told me they fought again. My parents. Same old script. Same raised voices. Same broken pauses. He tried to say more, maybe explain what happened this time—but I shut him off. “I don’t want to know.” And I meant it.
It doesn’t shock me anymore. I’ve stopped reacting. At some point, domestic fights become your background noise. You grow up inside it. It’s no longer dramatic—it’s routine.
I just changed, freshened up, ate what was cooked, and slept. Not because I was tired, but because it was easier than feeling anything.
The evening dragged itself in. I picked up my books—not to study, but just to flip through and convince myself I’m trying. Enough to pass. That’s all.
I don’t feel angry. Or sad. Or scared. Not anymore.
02 August 2025 (Saturday) : Some Battles Are Not Mine to Fight
The exam today was Genetic Engineering and Genomics. I gave it, came home, and didn’t look back. There was no point in replaying what I wrote or what I forgot. It was done.
As soon as I stepped inside, I noticed it again—that silence. Not the peaceful kind. This one carried tension like dust in sunlight—visible only when you pause to really see it. But I didn’t pause. I had other things to do.
I opened my laptop and got to work. My to-do list was waiting. I like ticking things off—clean, simple, controlled. It’s the only part of my day that doesn’t change based on other people’s moods.
Still, the silence around me whispered. Mom and Dad weren’t talking. Again.
I could’ve asked why. I could’ve listened. But what difference would it make? Their fights aren’t new. They aren’t shocking anymore. I’ve stopped expecting normal. And more importantly, I’ve stopped trying to fix anything.
I’m not the glue that holds this house together. I never signed up to be. I don’t hate them. But I refuse to get dragged into a war that was never mine.
So, I stayed quiet. I worked. Ate. Slept. That’s all.
I never mentioned the reason behind their fights in any of my blogs, and I don’t want to. Some things are better left unsaid—especially when they no longer feel like mine to explain. Some stories aren’t mine to tell—especially when the telling doesn’t change a thing.
But if there’s one thing I’ve understood from watching it all, it’s this:
Mutual understanding. Clear communication. Healthy boundaries. These aren’t just words. They sound pretty on paper. But in real life, they rot fast when people forget to nurture them.
Without them, even love starts to feel like a burden. And yes, the typical still matter—loyalty, commitment, and trust.
But love can’t survive where egos speak louder than feelings. You can’t water a relationship with silence and expect it to bloom.
03 August 2025 (Sunday) : Moonless Sky and Sleepless Night
Today was a normal Sunday, or at least it started like one.
I woke up late—like every Sunday—but had to drag myself to the kitchen. Mummy was furious. Angry enough to not cook a single thing. Papa? He didn’t say a word. His silence always weighs heavier than noise.
So, I ended up doing what needed to be done—breakfast, lunch, a few household chores.
Not because I wanted to… but because no one else would.
Once the chores were done, I opened my to-do list. I had a plan—work on my story, study for my last exam tomorrow, and post my weekly blog before bed.
But most of my day was spent in story crafting. Studying took a backseat. I thought I’d publish my blog after dinner.
But life doesn’t ask for permission before flipping the page.
After dinner and washing dishes, I sat with Gaajar. We started talking about the SSC exam chaos, students’ struggles, and the news spreading like wildfire. We were so deep into the conversation that we didn’t see it coming. And then—it started.
Suddenly—A loud shout. Then a slap. Not one. Many. One after another. Our eyes met, frozen in that one terrifying moment. Then we both ran.
We froze. We didn’t need to ask—we knew. We rushed in. There it was. Again.
My parents.
Hair being pulled. Collars grabbed. Anger exploding like a bomb. The same old scene, replayed again.
We stepped in. We pulled them apart. We got hurt in the middle of it—but we managed. Temporarily. Because words are louder than slaps. And they don’t stop. They echo. It was 10:45 PM when the noise finally faded.
I returned to my room, but not to rest. Sleep had left me. My body was tired. My mind? Too loud.
I tried to breathe normally. I rubbed my chest. Patted my own head. Curled up and hugged myself. I told myself—”You’ve seen this before. You’re used to it. It doesn’t affect you anymore.”
But who am I lying to?
Every time it happens, I get scared. Of the screams. Of the violence. Of the slaps. Of the blood. Of the chaos. No matter how often it plays out, it never stops shaking me.
I try to act unaffected. I convince myself I’m strong. That I’ve built walls. That nothing can break through anymore.
But when it’s quiet—really quiet—I know those walls are just glass. They crack in silence.
I just kept staring at the dim moonlight falling into my room. I looked outside. Only moonlight.
I wanted to see the moon.
I whispered, “Chanda Mama, where are you?”
But there was no moon.
Just light.
And emptiness.
It was already 1:30 AM. I forced myself to close my eyes because I had an exam in a few hours. But sleep doesn’t come when your chest is heavy.
So I laid there, telling myself again and again—I need to be strong. I need to stay cold. I should not cry. I should not complain.
If I want peace, I’ll have to build it myself. Earn it. Deserve it. If I want something from life,
I must become worthy of it. And for that—I cannot afford to be weak.
Because I’ve learned—no one’s coming to save me from this noise. And maybe the only way to survive is to become quieter.
This week I didn’t feel much. I stayed quiet—not because I had nothing to say, but because I knew no one would really listen. I watched things break, people fight, routines fall apart. Emotions don’t fix anything. I’ve learned that the more you feel, the more it hurts.
Today—Sunday—I also cleaned and organized my desk and book area.
