Weekly diary : Week 2
16 June 2025 (Monday) : A Strange Dream, A Silent Home, and the Start of a New List
Why do dreams sometimes show us what we fear the most, without warning or logic? This morning, I woke up scared.
In my dream, I saw people hurting each other. Fingers being cut, blood everywhere, people screaming in pain. It was so disturbing, that I jolted awake. I sat there in bed for a moment, trying to steady my breath, trying to convince myself it wasn’t real. But that kind of dream leaves behind a heaviness — a discomfort you carry even after brushing your teeth.
I got ready for college, silently passing my parents. They weren’t talking to each other — still. At this point, it’s not even surprising. It’s just… routine. The same kind of routine I felt trapped in at college today: practicals, a short break, then theory lectures. Nothing new. It was like I was there, physically present, but not really in it. Like everyone was moving, but I was stuck.
When I came home in the afternoon, I saw my father wrapped in a blanket. My mother sat beside him, silent as ever. For a second, I thought maybe — just maybe — they were finally talking again. But no. They still hadn’t spoken a word to each other. I wanted to say something — to my father, to my mother— but before I could open my mouth, my sister cut me off by saying that Dad was sick but refused to see a doctor. So I swallowed my words and went to freshen up. I ate, and then I slept.
By evening, my mind felt lighter. I’ve finished reading all the storytelling and novel-writing blogs from the “Tame Your Book” website. That felt like a small win. So I sat down and listed out the books I now need to read — books that will help me to improve my skill as a writer.
Today reminded me that we don’t always have control over our surroundings — not the dreams that haunt us, not the silence between people, not even someone’s refusal to seek help. But we do have control over our response. And sometimes, choosing to keep moving, to keep learning, even in the smallest of ways, is the most powerful thing we can do.
17 June 2025 (Tuesday) : Bunked Lectures and a Familiar Storm at Home
I woke up with zero motivation to attend lectures. Not because I was lazy or careless — but because my mind was tired. The noise at home, the emotional heaviness, the inner restlessness… it all just caught up to me. So I made a quiet choice — I bunked all my lectures and sat in the library instead.
There, in that quiet space, I tried to make something of the time. I worked on shaping a custom writing process — something built from all the storytelling blogs I had read over the past week. It felt productive, but even at the end of it, I had this nagging feeling: Am I really giving my 100%? Maybe not. Something inside still felt stuck.
When I reached home, I learned my father was still resting and hadn’t visited the doctor yet. The fever hadn’t gone down, and he looked too weak to even sit up straight. My sister, brother, and I took turns trying to convince him. But it was like talking to a wall — he ignored every word.
Then my mother stepped in. She tried to reason with him, gently at first. But instead of listening, he burst out, shouting at the top of his voice. And just like that, it all unraveled. The quiet of the day was shattered. The same shouting. The same bad words. The same cycle we all knew too well.
But this time, after all the noise, he agreed. My brother took him to the hospital. It turns out, he had a high fever and severe weakness. He could barely walk.
And all I could think was — how do they still have the strength to fight like that? Even in sickness, even in silence, the arguments find their way. It’s exhausting to witness. And yet, we just carry on.
Today reminded me that avoidance isn’t a solution — not skipping lectures, not walking away from conflict, not staying silent when you want to scream. But at the same time, there’s also a strange strength in just carrying on, even when the storm keeps returning.
Have you ever wondered how much of your energy goes into surviving what you can’t change? And what would happen if you chose, even in a small way, to change your response instead?
18 June 2025 (Wednesday) : If I Want This Dream, I Have to Fight for It Now
What do you do when the ground beneath your feet suddenly starts to shift — and you weren’t prepared for it?
Today started off simple. We had online lectures instead of offline ones, so I stayed in and attended them like usual. Nothing felt out of the ordinary until the afternoon. I was doing my work, casually going through my to-do list, when my father’s phone rang. It was a video call from my grandparents.
They looked cheerful on the screen, but what they said left me stunned. They told my father to return to our village permanently — to leave everything in Mumbai behind. And what shocked me even more was that my father didn’t argue. He nodded. He agreed.
I froze. Did I hear that right? Was this really happening? My mind couldn’t fully process it, but before I could ask anything, my mother entered the room — and then came the storm. She started shouting, saying, “Of course we’ll shift! What’s left here anyway?”
Their voices rose. Then came the usual fight. Divorce threats. Talk about who would live where, who would go with whom. And my grandparents were still on the call, watching all of it.
Meanwhile, I just stood there — silent, shocked, and scared. I didn’t want to move to the village. I didn’t want to leave Mumbai, my college, my dreams. Sure, I hate my degree sometimes, but it’s still part of the path I’m walking. And most of all, what about my dream of becoming an animator?
I quietly walked to the bathroom and broke down. I cried — not because I was weak, but because this was too much. I’ve tried so hard to not let their words affect me, to stay calm, to stay focused. But this? This felt like my future being torn.
I didn’t get anything productive done today. I had planned my tasks the night before. I even rewrote them this morning. But instead of checking them off, I ended up drowning in overthinking and fear.
But something else happened too. Between all that fear, a realization sparked. If my parents are truly planning to leave, to separate— then I can’t just stand still anymore. I need to act. Fast.
Maybe now’s not the right time to perfect my writing process. Maybe I can’t wait until I feel 10/10 ready to freelance. If I had to rate my skill right now, I’d say 4 out of 10 — but 4 is better than 0. Right now, what I need is income.
Whether it’s a part-time job or full-time — I need to find something. I need to earn. For my dream. For my future. For my independence. I may not have all the answers right now, but I know one thing for sure — I won’t give up.
When life shakes your foundation, will you collapse… or build something stronger with what’s left?
19 June 2025 (Thursday) : The Rain Didn’t Stop — And Neither Did I
This morning, while I was getting ready for college, a thought crossed my mind — maybe I’ll just bunk today’s lectures and sit in the library. I wasn’t feeling mentally present enough for back-to-back lectures. But before I could decide for myself, my father told me not to go. I turned to him, confused.
Then, from the kitchen, my mother added that it had been raining heavily since last night and hadn’t stopped. I pulled the curtain aside, and she was right. The roads were soaked, the sky still grey, and the rain showed no signs of slowing down.
My father repeated, “Don’t go.” So, I stayed home.
But staying home didn’t mean wasting the day. I used this unexpected pause to do something important — I created a custom resume and applied for a job as a Kitchen Utility Worker. It’s not glamorous. It’s not what I’ve dreamed of. But right now, I need to earn. I need to do something.
20 June 2025 (Friday) : Bunked Classes, Applied Jobs, and an Unexpected Interview
Today, once again, I chose to skip all my college lectures and quietly settled into the library. But it wasn’t an escape — not this time. I had a purpose. I used that silence to apply for jobs, each with a resume tailored specifically for the role — kitchen helper, part-time teacher, and assistant teacher.
After completing my applications, I issued Gene Biotechnology by S. N. Jogdand from the library. As usual, I went home with Tissue. She attended all the lectures, while I didn’t attend a single one — not even the practicals. Yet, she never made me feel left out.
At home, I followed the same rhythm: freshen up, eat, and sleep for a while. In the evening, things took a turn. I noticed that two of the jobs I applied for — kitchen helper and kitchen utility worker — had already been viewed by the employers. That alone felt like a small win.
After that, I began writing down the syllabus for the Genetic Engineering & Genomics subject and wrote down the relevant modules and page numbers from the book. Our faculty doesn’t provide PPTs or notes, so we have to dig into books and prepare notes from scratch.
Just as I was wrapping up that task, my phone buzzed. A message from one of the part-time teacher jobs I had applied for. They asked where I was located and whether I had completed my graduation. I replied immediately.
And then came another surprise — an interview invitation from the assistant teacher position I had applied to just this morning. They wanted to schedule it for tomorrow at 10 a.m. and asked for confirmation. I said yes without hesitation.
It all happened so fast — from applying in the morning to receiving an interview call by evening. I was both thrilled and nervous.
21 June 2025 (Saturday) : Two Interviews, One Realization, and a Surprise Call
I didn’t go to college today. No lectures, no library. Instead, I stepped into something unfamiliar — my first in-person job interview. The location was far, and I wasn’t confident enough to go alone, so my brother, Gaajar, decided to accompany me. I can’t explain how much that meant to me.
The local train was crowded — even for a Saturday. When I expressed my surprise, Gaajar simply said, “This is nothing. Wait till Monday.” It was a small comment, but it made me realize how much I’ve lived in my own bubble.
We reached the destination right on time — 9:55 a.m. for a 10 a.m. interview. I was nervous, but the interview went well. They were kind, professional, and even offered me the job. But then came the clash. The role was for the morning batch, while I’m only available in the afternoon. They were also concerned about how far I lived. I told them I’d give them my final answer by Monday. Honestly, I already knew I couldn’t manage the distance and timing.
By the time we returned home, it was 3 p.m., and both of us were drained. I hadn’t even taken off my shoes when my phone buzzed — a message from the restaurant where I had applied for a kitchen utility worker job. They wanted to schedule both a telephonic and an in-person interview. I responded professionally.
Hours passed. No reply. I thought maybe it wasn’t going to happen today. So, I sat with my little sister, scrolling through memes and laughing like nothing else mattered. But just when I had let my guard down, an unknown number flashed on my screen. Without overthinking, I picked it up — and the next thing I knew, I was on my telephonic interview.
The man’s voice on the other side was formal and polite. It took me a moment to process that it was real — that I was mid-interview, that this was actually happening. After the call, they texted me the location for the in-person interview. It’s scheduled for tomorrow at noon. The place is far, but once again, Gaajar will come with me. He immediately checked the location and figured out our travel time.
22 June 2025 (Sunday) : The Interview, the Temple, and the Silence That Spoke Louder Than Words
This morning, I woke up early. It wasn’t just another Sunday. It was the day of my second job interview. I had already faced one yesterday, and this one felt equally important, maybe more. My brother Gaajar was with me again. He has no idea how much his presence gives me courage.
We waited at the bus stop, and for a moment, panic crept in. The bus wasn’t arriving. I started to get nervous. But then, Gaajar placed a hand on my head and calmly said, “If I’m with you, you’ll reach on time. It’s my responsibility.” And just like that, my fear shrank. That small gesture meant everything.
After about 25 minutes, the bus came. We hopped on and eventually reached our destination. But there was still a 15-minute walk to the restaurant where the interview was scheduled. We arrived around 11:15 a.m.—way too early. I called the HR, but he didn’t pick up. So, while we waited, my brother suggested we visit a nearby temple.
It was peaceful—almost surreal. A Shiv temple, with a serene pond right in front. We took off our shoes, silenced our phones, and stepped in. The moment we entered, something in me softened. The chanting, the faint smell of incense, the calmness—it felt like a pause from everything I was carrying inside.
As I sat beside my brother during the pooja, my mind drifted. I didn’t want to, but I began thinking of my parents—their fights, their silence, their harsh words. The emotional weight I try so hard to ignore came flooding back. I looked down at my phone screen and saw the photo I’d set as my lock screen—my parents, smiling. That contrast hurt.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when HR finally called. I rushed outside. My brother waited in the temple while I made my way to the restaurant. Along with HR, there was the owner too. They both seemed nice, professional, and straightforward. The interview went well, and to my surprise, they offered me the job.
But there was a catch.
They asked me to confirm with my parents and my teachers before accepting it. The owner said something that stuck with me:
“You’re a Biotechnology student. Missing your practicals and lectures means missing the foundation of what you’re supposed to learn. And once you fall behind in science, it’s hard to catch up.”
I didn’t argue. I just nodded. Because I knew he was right.
I walked out of that interview with a job offer in hand but uncertainty in my heart. Would my parents agree? Would my teachers allow it? Deep down, I already knew the answer. Still, I said I’d confirm by Monday.
We reached home by afternoon, exhausted from the travel. But I couldn’t rest. My mind was stuck on one thing—how do I ask my father? My mother would probably say yes, but Papa… I wasn’t sure. I waited and waited. It was 10:30 p.m. when he finally rang the doorbell. I opened the door, and my sleepiness disappeared.
After dinner, I told him everything. Every step—from applying to getting selected. He listened quietly. Not a word, just a stare. Then, he looked at Gaajar. My brother nodded in support.
And still… silence.
I stood there, waiting. I wanted a yes, a no, even a scolding—just something. But instead, in a calm yet stern voice, he said, “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Go to sleep now.”
I felt something tighten inside me. His silence didn’t give me peace—it made me anxious. Why couldn’t he just say what he really felt? His voice was serious. Not loud, not angry, but firm enough to make me feel like I shouldn’t ask again.
So, I quietly walked to my room and shut the door. I didn’t cry. I didn’t argue. But I was scared—not of him, but of his anger. There’s something about a father’s disapproval that cuts deeper than any scolding.
Tonight, I don’t know what scares me more: his answer tomorrow, or the possibility that I may never be allowed to choose my own path.
Takeaway:
Sometimes, silence is not peace—it’s pressure wrapped in calmness.
This entire week felt like a storm I didn’t see coming—a series of unexpected events, sudden decisions, and moments I never planned for. One minute I was writing resumes, the next I was attending interviews, juggling college, watching my parents fight, and questioning my own future. It was overwhelming.
Life really doesn’t follow a script. There’s no perfect plan, no guarantee. I’ve realized that no matter how much I try to prepare, uncertainty will always be there. And that’s okay.
As I sit with everything I’ve felt this week—fear, pressure, disappointment, courage, and small wins—I’m reminded of few lines of one prayer that brings me a strange kind of peace:
” God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference. “