I was part of a group.

A big one.

And I loved it.

I loved every bit about it.

The laughs that filled my heart with joy. The corner of the SkyBox which we claimed to be ours. The teasing comments and inside jokes. The days when we used to huddle up together with spoons in our hands and share biryani. Even the times we used to giggle and laugh when half the group would run away because a kitten showed up. I miss those videos I get during class on the random things everyone was doing. Those times when we would randomly point at someone and say, “TREAT US!”

I loved it.

God, I absolutely loved it.

And then second year happened. We became seniors. Things changed. our seniors left and I realised that they were the glue that stuck us together. We drifted apart, forming clusters of our own and it felt…weird.

We became competitive. Fights broke out. Animosity grew. And what was once a family turned into the shattered remains of a thousand misunderstandings.

It was around the second half of that year where I became quiet. More reserved. I practically shoved everyone out and cemented my walls into perfection.

I became hesitant to meet the friends I rushed to meet a year ago. I started coming 5 minutes before my class started or some days I’d come right on time.

Why?

I don’t know…I just felt I needed to get away. I felt better when strangers were around. It was weird. But oddly comforting.

I felt my heart tearing up. My peace or friendship. It was an impossible choice. I wanted to stay…but I couldn’t bear the embarrassment of making the same mistake twice. I felt fear rising in my throat drowning me in my thoughts as I wondered: “Should I even be here?” “I’m not like them.” “God, it’s so awkward.”

So I pushed them away. I chose my peace over everything else. The same thing happened in school and I refused to make the same mistake twice.

I ran away like a coward.

I ran away so far that simply saying ‘Hi’ became a question of ‘what if?’

And sometimes I think…maybe I ran away too far that I became unreachable everywhere.

I miss having a group. I miss those daily texts. I miss those birthday calls. Scratch that, even the normal calls where we laughed till two in the morning.

I miss it.

I miss the excitement of scanning my card and immediately calling my friends to ask them where they were. I miss the times where I could finally call a place my second home.

God, I miss it so damn much.

Now, my phone has gone silent. It’s been a couple years since then, and my phone resembles the dead. The only time it buzzes is with a Substack notification. And believe me when I say this, I love that. But part of me craves the connection I had before it all went quiet.

I still don’t know if that was the best decision I could’ve made. I still don’t know if just saying what was on my mind would fix it. I still don’t know what went wrong. And I don’t think I ever will.

Because the bridge has been long burned and only I stand on its ashes staring at what once used to be.

A family.

A home.

A warm mug of your comfort drink that just never grew cold.

It was perfect.

It felt perfect.

But that’s all it was.

Something in the past. Something I will never forget.

I still talk about it on some days. I still smile at the pictures I refuse to let go. And I don’t think that’s going to stop.

I will always pick my college years to be the best time of my life, even though it scarred my heart. A faded one now. But nevertheless, a scar.

And funny enough, it’s a scar I don’t regret having. As I hold it with a heavy heart but with a smile playing on my lips. I close my eyes and pray that every one of them do well in life, reach where they want to and become the best versions of themselves.

There will always be a part of me that will love them. A part that will think about them.

And sometimes I hope that we could’ve had one more day together before everything fell apart.

I can always pretend and act that it’s fine and it’s not that big of a deal but I mean…I know I’m lying on some days.

And it’s funny because some days I don’t miss them at all. Like I geniunely don’t remember them. And then all of a sudden I’ll have this moment where I’m talking and I’ll remember the college days and be like ‘damn…that happened.’

I’ll be honest. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Maybe it did years ago, but now it’s just a memory I smile at.

And that’s…well that’s all there is.

It’s safe to say that I was a below-average student. And that was fine. Because I realised after years of struggling was that the problem didn’t lie within me, the problem mainly existing in studying wrong.

I didn’t know what method actually worked and the system to school ran on wasn’t working. So I did some tests runs of my own. I failed a lot but learned a lot.

And I think I’ve reached a point where I can tell others what works and what doesn’t. But it is important to note that every person is different, so what works for me doesn’t necessarily have to work for you.

So buckle up! This is going to be a ride!

Table of Contents:

1. Types of Learners

2. Note-Taking

3. Apps for Note-Taking

4. Apps for Concentration

5. Apps for Learning

6. Tips and Tricks

Types of Learners

The first thing you need to understand the kind of learner you are. There are 4 main types of learners which I will go through one at time.

1. Visual Learners

   1. People who learn best via diagrams, colour coded notes, pictures, charts etc.

2. Auditory Leaners

   1. People who learn best via listening. They don’t particularly need notes but can easily retain information as they listen along.

3. Reading/Writing Learners

   1. People who thrive with detailed notes. They prefer texts and aren’t the best with anything else. These people also need to make written notes of everything before they actually study.

4. Kinaesthetic Learners

   1. People who learn best through practical application and activities

Once you know what kind of learner you are; note-taking, memorising and understanding your subject becomes so much easier. Now, there are also an additional set of preferences which I would run through briefly as well:

1. Social (interpersonal) Learners

   1. ‘Inter’ meaning interaction (if you use it as a prefix. I mean that’s how I remember the difference between the two terms). People who thrive with group study sessions and can understand and learn the material better with someone by their side.

2. Solidarity (intrapersonal) Learners

   1. ‘Intra’ meaning inside or within. People who prefer self-study and quiet places.

Once you know which one of the additional preferences you fit in, you can tailor your study sessions accordingly.

Personally, I’m a mixture of reading/writing and visual learner. Instructions or just listening to a lecture doesn’t work until and unless the theory somewhat comes into practice. As for reading/writing; the more I read the slides and make my notes, the quicker I remember the material. It’s tedious I won’t lie but the fruit is definitely sweet. Plus, group sessions stress me out becomes sometimes I feel that everyone is speaking a language I don’t know. Solitary sessions work best for me.

Note-Taking

Again, there are many types. So I’m going to run by this too.

Structured Methods

1. Cornell Method

   1. The page is divided into 3. A narrow column on the left for cues and keywords, a large area on the right for all your detailed notes and a block at the bottom for a summary.

      

2. Outline Method

   1. This method is like simplifying everything with bullet points, headings and subheadings.

      

3. Sentence Method

   1. For every content, a simple line, thought or fact is recorded. This makes the material feel less intimidating

      

Visual Methods

1. Mind Mapping

   1. It’s similar to what was done for story writing back in school. A centre point with headings and subheadings branching out. You can have your own key to refer to, different colours and anything else to make it personal.

      

2. Charting Method

   1. This method is what I would use for history or anything related to comparisons. It organises your material in columns.

      

3. Box Method

   1. You box up or in other words clump up related information in one box. It makes the material more digestible since everything related to a certain topic is in a single box.

      

What’s the best method?

None of them.

Hear me out. It’s not a rule that needs to be followed. A single student doesn’t rely on one method. You can, but you don’t have to.

Personally, I relied on the Outline Method while I studied for A Level Psychology. I relied on Mind Mapping for A Level Law. I used the Charting Method multiple times in school mostly in Biology and Chemistry. When I came to university, I used Mind Mapping for majority of my courses because I could fit a whole chapter on a single page. Now, I rely on the Sentence Method the most but do switch it up if I feel the need.

I also tried the Cornell Method. I didn’t like it. Felt like I was wasting the page because the notes I wanted to write didn’t fit. Plus, the summaries felt too much. So, I stopped.

So switch it up. And these aren’t the only methods out there. There are probably dozens more you can search up and test in your own time!

Apps for Note-Taking

There are too many apps to count but I’ll just mention the ones I use or have used at least once in my life. Apps that are easy to navigate.

1. TurboLearn - Requires a subscription but extremely helpful. Makes notes via recorded lectures, provides practice quizzes and flashcards

2. VoiceMemos - A free app for Apple users. You can record your lectures and listen to them later on. Helps make accurate notes and allows you to listen in class rather than make notes.

3. StudyFetch - Similar to TurboLearn

4. ChatGPT - You can provide slides and ask for detailed notes

5. DeepSeek - Similar command to ChatGPT

6. GoodNote/Apple Notes/OneNote - Mainly for people who prefer digitally writing their notes. Not a huge fan of digitally writing my notes but I’ve heard they’re good.

7. Google Docs - If you like to type out your notes.

Apps for Concentration

1. Youtube - Different study videos where you can play a make believe game of studying with your favourite celebrity/character. For example; “Studying with Hermoine Granger” or “Studying with BTS”

   

   

2. Focus Timer - A simple pomodoro timer

3. FocusFlight - Something fun which I use the most. It gives you the impression that you are on a flight and you study for the time of the flight

Apps for Learning

1. Claude

2. TurboLearn

3. Alison/Coursera

Tips and Tricks

1. Take a lot of breaks. There’s no point in trying to push through when you’re low on fuel.

2. Make sure you eat proper meals

3. Try to avoid people before an exam. They may ask questions or explanations and the moment a word or term is used and you don’t know what it means, you will go into panic mode

4. Try not to discuss your exam after giving it. If you get to know the stuff you did wrong, it would only make you overthink about something you can’t change

5. Active Recall. It’s going to be your best friend. It’s a method where you try to recall everything you remember without looking at your notes. Helps with long term memory

6. Don’t leave any material for the morning of your exam. Study everything before hand

7. Sleeping properly. Meaning no all nighters because they don’t do anyone any favours

8. Make cue cards. Personally, I don’t make them because they’re time consuming but they do help a lot

9. List down important terms/cases/theories in one place. It will help you remember and revise later on

10. Studying every single day. Practically speaking, it is overwhelming and I still struggle with this but if you do get used to it, the result is apparent

11. Don’t listen to people who say they haven’t studied and/or they’re panicking. In fact try to stay away from them because that’s usually not the case. You’re only going to panic and start worrying which won’t help you in your paper

12. Teach something. Either pick up a white board and teach it to your imaginary friends or walk around and pretend you’r teaching a class. It works wonders because you’re learning and performing active recall

13. During exam season, it’s every man for themselves. You can help out if you want but remember it is not your obligatory to provide/explain the material or the syllabus a day/night before the exam

And That’s A Wrap!

A bit late to the back to school thing but I hope this helps anyone who struggles or absolutely despises studying. I promise, I get it.

I hope all of you have a great school/college year and make tons of memories and accomplish your goals!

I was 8 years old when people tried to push us together to ‘be something.’

I found the idea stupid. Ridiculous, even. I wanted nothing to do with that. Plus, the whole thing felt…weird. And that’s the end of it.

I was 11 years old when someone told me that he ‘liked me.’

Nothing came out of it…only an awkward girl who didn’t have the guts to even look at his face anymore. But some part of me wanted to still talk. We acted like children, passing notes and being…kids?

We never spoke outside of school. Never met or talked in front of anyone. He was cute? I think. Back then that might’ve been the case.

Right now? Not a chance.

It happened so randomly. He told me that he’s ‘breaking up with me’ and that ‘I wasn’t ready.’

Mind you, 11 year old me was still very confused. I just said “okay” and moved on.

And that was the end of it.

I was 12 years old when I started reading Percy Jackson. That world sucked me in, concealing all exits. I was stuck. But not really. I loved being there…but it was lonely. No one liked it the way I did. No one got the obsession. So I remained lonely. But I remained loyal to the series that became a part of me as I grew up.

And that was the end of it.

I was 13 years old when I got Instagram. Sometimes I feel like that might’ve been a mistake. It probably was.

But that was fine.

I learned my lessons the hard way.

I got harassed. Started competing for likes with friends. Letting random people follow me because I wanted to be seen as ONE OF THEM. I would do anything for it.

I made mistakes. Too many to count. I started my Wattpad phase which was followed by Webtoon consuming my life soon after.

Wattpad taught me something. It taught me that I was a storyteller beneath the layers of people pleasing and trying to fit in where I wasn’t wanted. I wrote in secrecy. Didn’t tell a soul. I was too embarrassed. Because a girl who was shunned at the age of 13, who read books and became a total nerd for them, who would be quiet because she believed that nothing she said was worth it, now wrote too?

My ‘image’ would take a catastrophic blow.

And then I got harassed in person…while the people I called friends snickered from behind. I was too scared. I didn’t say a word, not for a while at least. Then the admin found out…and they did nothing. I kept my head down and went on with the rest of the year.

COVID hit and part of me was grateful for not having to go to school. I read comics and books like they were my lifeline. Wrote whatever I came up with, only to realise it was the worst idea I’ve ever had. I scratched almost every idea for the next 6 years, watching as the people I grew up with became confident…prettier…better…while I remained the same.

And that was the end of it.

I was 14 years old when I finally let go of my one-sided crush. I made a fool of myself for 3 years. Begging for attention. Crying for being hurt. Believing that talking to him made my day better. And then one day I stopped…not another message.

I became the happiest I had ever been.

And that was the end of it.

I graduated school with nothing. No friends. No group I could keep in touch with. Just my books to keep me company as I walked through the entrance of a new chapter. I was determined to speak up. I wanted to become a different person. To show that I am not someone who people get to speak bad about and get away with. I wanted to show that I too had come far. And I think that’s when I started using humour for everything.

I met my best friend and she stuck with me through thick and thin. She dealt with my attitude, my stubbornness of everything. She dealt with me causing problems, not being patient and being the angry one. Let’s just say…I wasn’t the easiest person to work with. I was insecure, jealous, and maybe even unsure of a lot of things. I saw people meeting with others they liked, and some part of me broke. I was happy, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t even want the guy.

I just hoped…

I graduated. Went to university at the age of 19, and the whole place was filled with couples.

Okay, I’m exaggerating. It wasn’t that bad. But it was apparent.

The 19 year old me didn’t care. She didn’t care that she didn’t have a guy by her side. She didn’t mind at all. It wasn’t her problem after all. All she did was crack jokes, have a good laugh and walk out. Let people come close, but not too close.

I made the mistake of letting someone close once, only to return to my 13 year old body. I cried like a child who lost their mother in the shopping mall. I wept for being lied to. Sobbed for being used. Wailed for being manipulated. And then got up because I didn’t care.

Or so I thought.

Everyday I saw them, and everyday I put another brick up my wall, making sure that only few had the key to it. I eventually forgave them but never forgot the things that had happened.

I joked around more. Pretending that I just didn’t mind anything and making sure everyone believed that I was someone who had no dreams…no goals…nothing to be serious about, because I could mess around.

Barely anyone saw through the mask.

All it took was one smile, one joke and everything would get brushed aside.

And that was the end of it.

I realised I found comfort in actions and thrillers, whether it be in movies or books. Romance? That became something to change up the pace. I didn’t enjoy it. I found it stupid. The same clichès, the same plot but in different fonts. I watched them for the heck of it. But then I daydreamed like everyone else, squealed at the scenes just like everyone else.

But that was…the end of it.

This whole thing probably felt like it had no reason to be here, but for me it did. It was that in a total of 22 years of living…part of stopped expecting and started taking things as a joke.

“It’s just easier this way,” I repeated.

Throughout my life…I had been the quiet one…the loud one…the stubborn one…the one who always made jokes and lightened the mood…even the one who would be there who would listen and help you.

But I was never the wanted one.

I was never the one who people would choose first. Who people would look at and say “I like her.” I showed different versions of myself but it felt like the problem lied within me.

People had to get to know me to like me…and I can’t tell if that is amazing or absolutely depressing.

I probably don’t hate romances…I may just think that they’re pointless.Because all they did was fill my head with delusions and dreams when I knew reality screamed the opposite. I wanted to be liked…to be loved…to feel chosen.

It’s not that I wanted to be someone’s girlfriend. I never did. But part of me just craved the idea that I was picked in a crowd by someone who looked at me and said: “I like her. I really like her. And I want to tell her.”

And that was the end of it.

I’M BACKKKK

I don’t know where I was going with this…but if you made it this far, I absolutely love you for that.

I haven’t written for Substack in a very long time but I will admit, this was both scary and fun at the same time. I don’t have anything scheduled anymore, so no fixed times or anything.

So…it’s just me and the random posts at random times. Hope you all stick around for it!

“You’re studying Psychology? Can you tell if something is wrong with us?”

I always brushed it off with a nervous laugh, unsure of what to say. How does one respond to that?

Do you lie?

Do you tell the truth?

Or…

Do you come up with a nonexistent ethical violation to escape the situation?

What. Do. You. Do?

During my first semester, my teacher told us that people will ask for advice. They will come to you with all kinds of questions. And what’s important for us to do is ask for money and then say whatever we want.

Naturally, we all laughed.

It was a joke, no?

That soon proved otherwise.

The question came up…and the pattern remained…while I stayed the same.

Nervous. Uncertain.

Normally, it’s meant to be lighthearted. I know it is. My brain knows. My heart knows.

But something in the back of my mind…stutters, stumbles, and then falls.

The smile on my face falters for a split second before coming back up.

Every. Single. Time.

And then I ask myself…what do I say? What should I say?

And it’s funnier because you know the answer.

You know the habits. You know the faults. You know the wrongs and the rights. You know the steps being missed. You know the behavior, and you know what’s coming next.

Maybe not always…but you can make educated guesses.

And that’s the problem…

Sure, Psychology is…woah. You get to study a lot about people, and eventually figure out their ways and tricks.

It is fun. Interesting.

But it strips away a part of you you never consented to.

It starts off small, and soon enough, you see it.

A kaleidoscope of behaviors. Fascinating at first…but then predictable.

See, when you study Psychology, you’re taught to be observant, critical, and most importantly…unbiased.

Which opens up another problem.

You get roped into issues and situations that never concerned you.

Why?

Because you can listen.

Psychology becomes the very tool that skins your innocence away, leaving you bare for the rest of the world. It pulls away the right you had to look away and pretend you don’t see it.

Pretend that you’re untainted.

Pretend that you’re dumb.

And…look away.

Sure, it can be argued that exposure does the same thing. Being slapped by life does the same thing…

Yes, but when you study Psychology…you lose the right to hide it.

You may be tired, bored, angry, or sad…but none of it is a good enough reason for your brain to stop assembling the puzzle. You zone out not because you want to, but because your mind refuses to rest. Thoughts swarm, patterns stretch, and everything starts to look like a never-ending highway…always branching, always growing.

You want to stop noticing things.

But you can’t.

And the reason I have started to hate it is because sometimes I read posts, messages, or even listen to conversations, and my mind unconsciously starts clicking words, phrases, anything it can find into place.

Almost as if it’s trying to find a pattern that doesn’t exist, to force a narrative into being.

It happens quickly, before I even realize what I’m doing.

Sometimes I figure it out. Sometimes I stop myself in time.

The times I stop are the times I’m grateful. And for the times I’m too late? I feel guilty, because it feels like I invaded something I wasn’t supposed to.

I realize things before people are ready to say them out loud. My mind connects the dots on its own, and I end up resenting it. When they finally do come forward, the comfort I offer feels rehearsed, almost dishonest—as if I arrived at the right place too early and waited there.

I hate it.

I may not say it or even show it.

But I notice…even when I wish I didn’t.

And sometimes I don’t know how to explain it without sounding dramatic or crazy.

So…I keep it to myself. It’s a bit lonely, but necessary. Because I know most people won’t understand…and I’ve stopped expecting them to.

Oooff…going a bit deep since the semester ended…

Please bare with me 🙏

ALSO! Trigger warning to anyone who may need it because I do talk about unhealthy eating habits

Growing up I was always the chubby kid. Always the ‘not so pretty one,’ always the one who remained quiet. Always the one who would be looked over.

But eh, part of me didn’t mind it. I had my friends with me, and that’s all that mattered.

It started when I was in school. I don’t remember the year, or how old I was; all I remember was that I was young.

My weight wouldn’t go down and the continuous munching wasn’t helping at all. One night, my dad came to me, and said ‘let’s go work out.’

Now mind you, I was never a workout girl. I still hate it to be honest. But I went. I don’t remember much about it. All I remember was feeling the need to cry because everything felt too hard.

When we came back, everyone was having dinner and my family asked me to join. I shook my head, refusing to even look at food because it just made me feel sick to the stomach.

How could something so delicious be an absolute nightmare to get rid of?

I remember that night I had grilled chicken and some sautéed vegetables. I remember crying because I felt hungry. I remember crying even more when my mother fed me some chapati.

I cried knowing that all of this was my fault.

I went downstairs and worked out the second day.

Same routine. I hated it.

My dad recommended this app called ‘Noom.’ He said it can help me track how much I’m eating so that I don’t go back into the binge snacking mode. It was safe. Nothing too crazy. It was a normal app that everyone used when they were trying to lose weight and actually understand how calories worked.

I was grateful. I was happy.

But then I got obsessed.

I stopped working out. Ran away from it because of how hard it was. But the calories? I got horribly obsessed.

What I understood was that the lesser calories you have, the better.

And I just stuck by that theory.

Day after day, I tracked my calories and saw the way I shed the weight. I loved it in the worst possible way.

I remember I was deliberately have little because anything close to a 1000 calories (which were wayyy less than a day’s worth of calories) used to make me panic. And since my body wasn’t used to any of it, all it could do was oblige and keep shedding fat.

I lost a total of 10 kgs in that time, and boy how I LOVED it.

I got compliments left, right and centre. People told me I looked good. I got told, I look better. I smiled a lot more. Clothes fit me and I felt UNSTOPPABLE.

I remember checking the weighing scale multiple times a day. I used to check it before food, after food, whenever I passed by, whenever I felt like it. I remember I used to be sitting calmly and all of a sudden I’d get up and check my weight.

It was weird. And not healthy by any means.

I don’t remember the exact time frame but I do remember that all this happened in around a year (maybe a bit more than that).

But I do remember not having a lot of food, staying away from anything that looked bad. And mind you, my diet wasn’t amazing either because my goal was to eat less. So, I’m pretty sure my carbs dominated everything while my protein was practically nonexistent.

It wasn’t the best.

Then came the infamous road trip that ‘ruined’ everything for me.

I was sitting and around my feet were bags. A bunch of bags…filled with chocolate, chips, biscuits, cookies. Technically every single thing I had been avoiding.

And I ate it.

To be fair, I was on vacation, and that gave me the sense of freedom to do it.

And. I. Did.

Oh God, I ate so much. I binged every second. I wasn’t hungry during any time of the day, I just ate because I could.

I came from the month long vacation after gaining 5kgs.

I panicked and instantly slipped back into the not eating habit I previously developed. But my body wasn’t stupid. It knew exactly the kind of nonsense I was doing.

So, it stopped listening. And what was once a bullet proof plan was just some shield I made out of paper.

It didn’t work.

Once my body didn’t listen, everything went downhill..fast. Workout was out of the question and the binging refused to stop.

I ended up gaining a total of 15kgs back then.

It was never the same.

I still try to lose weight. Although it’s an on and off thing because I’m still learning on doing it the right way without damaging my body. I started liking chia seeds, started slowly eating a bit more protein, understanding how carbs, fats, protein and sugar works.

All the works.

It’s tough.

Some days it works while other days I feel like skipping meals because it’s not working (and these days I hate to say it but it’s been happening a lot).

I definitely have a much better relationship with food, but that was a time I will never forget. I don’t hate myself for it and neither do I blame anyone for it. Honestly? I’m grateful that someone believed in me that I could even do it back then and I don’t know…that felt good in its own way.

Nevertheless, it was my fault for the way things happened and it’s something that I will remember. I would never understand how I managed to eat 700-800 calories in total for the whole day, but whatever I did worked back then.

Now? I don’t want to do that. I want to do it in a healthy, sustainable way that would make me feel a lot better than starving myself.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA that was unnecessarily deep but anywayssss!! Did you notice the lovely popcorn photo i put up right before things went downhill? Quite diabolical if you ask me.

Also not me spamming food pics on a post like this (lol)

But yea…this happened years ago and to this day I still struggle. Sure, sometimes I absolutely love my body and other times I hate looking in the mirror but it is what it is.

You live and you learn people!

Only thing I would say to people in a similar situation…do it your way but also not the unhealthy way. Do it in a way that would make you happy long term because what I did only lasted short term and my body is recovering since (random hairfall, struggle with figuring out which foods I can eat stuff like that, fatigue, random urges to binge, feeling the need to skip meals).

Stuff happens, it’s fine, like I said: You live and you learn.

I never liked it when the joy was sucked out of it with the excuse, “you’re a grown-up.”

I never liked it when the things you’re supposed to fall in love with become the things you run away from.

I never liked the guilt in my heart every time I didn’t want to do the things that benefitted me.

I never liked any of it.

I never liked when things were forced.

I never liked it when a mistake was treated harshly.

I never liked when nothing you did seemed enough.

I never liked the double standards.

I never liked the contradictions.

I never liked the use of religion ONLY when it felt necessary.

I never liked when people blindly followed.

I never liked when people didn’t question.

I never liked it when people unconsciously made you absolutely afraid of what you’re supposed to love.

I never liked…any of it.

Growing up, I hated being a girl. I despised it purely because I could do nothing. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

I hated knowing that my life would be meaningless and that I’d slowly end up consumed by the patriarchy, living a life just like everyone else.

I didn’t want it, but I knew nothing would change because that is what was written. I never understood the reason why women had to work nonstop. I didn’t understand why all these rules were imposed on one gender and not the other. I didn’t understand the discrimination, the double standards, the contradictions… and no one would give me a proper answer.

I never liked listening about Islam—or frankly anything related to it—because it all felt like a lecture. Almost as if disobeying, or even making a mistake, would result in horrible punishment. And then every time, the guilt would follow, along with the thought, “how dare you.”

I hated wearing a scarf around my neck because why do I even have to in the first place? I never liked following the things we were taught because sometimes it didn’t make sense at all. And when asked, the response usually used to be, “Because Allah commanded it” or “Because that’s how it is.”

Now think about it, a child being told that? It’s not going to work. Children need a reason. They’re kids. They’re supposed to not listen to you until you give a reason that is good for them.

I hated knowing that some choices could never be mine, and the concept of arranged marriage scared the crap out of me, but the idea of love marriages was taboo.

I hated the realisation that dawned upon me: I would have to give myself up in the name of sabr (patience).

I hated the feeling of hiding a mistake from everybody, knowing full well that it could potentially blow up in my face.

I hated the feeling I soon grew accustomed to as a child—a feeling reminding me that mistakes weren’t allowed in religion because it is not a game.

I didn’t get it. Not a single bit.

But what could I do? That’s just how things were.

Time went by, things rarely changed, and then I learned. I learned what Islam truly was.

And I fell in love with it.

I learned that a woman was a Queen in Islam. Someone who had rights beyond belief. I learned that she was never required to clean, cook, or serve. She was never supposed to stay at home with the excuse of “protection.”

A woman could work, earn, live a life just like everyone else.

It’s almost comical really. Hazrat Khadija (R.A.) was one of the most successful businesswomen of her time, and somehow I forgot that. I forgot that Allah never forbade women to work or do practically anything. And somehow I also forgot that Hazrat Khadija (R.A.)—who was older AND a woman—sent a proposal to Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W.) because she admired his honesty.

I forgot the extent to which Allah is Merciful. I forgot it, Astaghfirullah.

I was afraid of making a mistake or even accidentally missing Fajr because I knew I might get scolded for not waking up on time. But then I remembered… Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W.) missed a Fajr too. What did he do? He woke up, instructed everyone to make wudu (ablution), and prayed immediately.

And that was the end of it.

I forgot that making mistakes is allowed. I forgot that Allah knew we would make mistakes and gave us ways to correct them.

I forgot that Allah was the one I cried to when I desperately needed to get the thoughts out of my head. I remember crying my eyes out because I couldn’t tell anyone else my problems, my fears, my desires, my dreams.

I forgot that Allah was there when I made those silent duas, believing He was listening.

I forgot the moment I wore the Hijab 4 years ago. From the girl who would just quickly wrap her head and call it a day, to the girl who would make sure the clothed crown looked the way it should. Beautiful.

I forgot the times I lay awake wondering… just wondering.

I forgot the stories I had heard as a child about how Angel Jibreel kicked mud in Fir’aun’s (Pharaoh’s) mouth in fear of Allah’s mercy.

Allahu Akbar.

I forgot the first time I saw reels of scholars on Instagram and just listening to them warmed my heart. I forgot the reels I encountered of Mufti Menk and Omar Suleiman. Just the way they spoke of Islam made me laugh, smile, and know that it was okay. It made me realize that Islamic talks don’t have to be preachy or feel like I’m sitting at school.

I forgot the beauty behind the Seerat (way of life) of the Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W.) and the parts about his marriage with his wives. I forgot about the stories about the marriage of Hazrat Fatima (R.A.) and Hazrat Ali (R.A.). I forgot the times I cried listening to them, praying that something like that finds me too.

I forgot so many things. Many I haven’t even mentioned.

And from my haphazard 2 AM thoughts, I’d like to send a message to my Muslim brothers and sisters:

Allah is merciful, way more than we can imagine. It is okay to make a mistake. It is okay to slip. It is okay to lose track. As long as you bounce back, come back to Allah, all is well.

Those of us born as Muslims… we too need to find it in ourselves to know our religion beyond what is told. We too need to learn and fall in love with the religion we were born into. Because it truly is not exactly as we are told.

To my sisters: have hope. Have tons of it, because Allah will never leave your side.

To my brothers: be true to yourself and follow what you believe is right, and InshaAllah Allah will guide you (and us sisters) in the right direction. Ameen.

Take a moment to yourself and just remember: Allah is closer to us than our jugular vein, and He will run to us the moment we decide to walk to Him.

It took me a while… but when I realized I didn’t hate the religion, but the culture which forcefully embedded itself in it, things became better.

Asking Allah for things became better. Talking with Him became easier because once you realize that the things we’re taught aren’t all from Allah and are merely what people thought was necessary, things change.

To all the Muslims out there: keep going. Chances are that the things you are suffering from, or hurting because of, aren’t asked by Allah.

I’ll end this with something Mufti Menk said today in the podcast I was listening to. He stated that you should never feel that you have gone beyond the limit. Never feel that you cannot be repaired, Never feel that there is no room for you to turn to Allah.

Yes I cried while writing this because it really is something that just hits home…it’s a topic that always makes me cry because I know I can’t really do much about it except pray.

Sometimes things are tough and by no means I’m saying that I am a model Muslim. I am not. I am nowhere near it. But we can do the little things and believe that they will count.

Anyways, that’s enough for today. InshaAllah, I will be starting my journey with an abaya for the first time. I don’t know if I’ll like it (I hope I do) but as I’m writing this, it is currently 2:43am on Monday morning, so today will be the day I wear it!

And to wrap this up, Ramadan Mubarak everyone! Don’t forget to do Zikr, and let’s make the most out of this Ramadan, InshaAllah!

Love each and every one of you and thank you for reading!!

Zikr:

100 x Allahu Akbar

100 x SubhanAllah

100 x Alhumdullilah

100 x La ilaha ilalah

100 x Astaghfirullah

The size of your dreams must always exceed you current capacity. If your dreams do not scare you. Then they are not big enough.

The first time I heard this quote, I didn’t get it. I knew what it meant, but I didn’t understand the part about dreams being scary.

Because shouldn’t it be the other way around?

Aren’t dreams supposed to get you excited when you think about them? Isn’t it supposed to make you feel giddy every time someone brings it up?

That was what I felt with my first dream. And I didn’t know why. Maybe I knew somewhere at the back of my mind that I would make it. A mixture of confidence and delusion overshadowed every other feeling I had.

It felt…liberating. Like I was on top of the world and no one could tell me otherwise.

Then I had another dream.

A more recent one.

A dream that got me way over my head. A dream I knew I just couldn’t ‘make it.’

And then I felt it.

That bubbling uneasiness in my chest, the fear in my heart, doubts in my mind. I felt every emotion. I was still confident…I knew I’d make it, somehow. But this time, delusions didn’t overshadow anything.

I remember crying, thinking I wouldn’t make it. That all the hard work would go to waste. I felt I started too late and didn’t have a chance anymore.

Scratch being scared *scoffs* I was petrified.

I found myself awake in the dead of night, searching for ways to make it work. Googling, finding alternatives, asking for advice. It was probably the first time I went to a teacher and spat out everything in my head; from the smallest worry to the biggest fear. I wanted someone to tell me it was going to be okay, but I also wanted the unfiltered truth.

And what truth was I looking for?

That I wasn’t good enough.

That I still had a long way to go, and maybe I’d never make it.

Almost like two halves of my brain were fighting to dominate, and neither was actually winning.

I remember the crankiness, the unpredictable mood swings, the burnout…the person I became two months into having the dream.

I turned obsessive. Every step revolved around getting better. Add university assignments, quizzes, studies, and mid-terms, and the result wasn’t pretty. There were moments I had to drag myself through the day because nothing felt worth it. The ‘dream’ felt like a waste of time.

And it all brought me down to the same question…why the change?

They were both dreams. Both I hadn’t achieved. Both I didn’t have the necessary requirements either. So why?

The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. I didn’t know the full answer, but I did know one thing: it all came down to trust.

I trusted myself with one…and not the other.

I believed I could make it with the first dream. For the second? Confidence was shaky…I just refused to see it. It was less fear of failing than fear of reality; the slap that would wake me up, the scream telling me I wasn’t enough.

Because the second dream required more than I was capable of. It required a new identity. An identity I didn’t see in myself, not now and maybe not ever. No amount of Instagram reels or motivational posts could transform me into the version that could take it on. And I didn’t know if I could.

I didn’t know if I could fix my diet, sleep schedule, or routine. I didn’t know if I could evolve the things I loved so deeply into something meaningful. And that too weighed on me.

Then it got me thinking…

Did the first dream not matter? Was it really so insignificant that the second one scared me?

And if it didn’t…then that would upset me.

I mean…a dream is still a dream, right? Whether it’s big or small, achievable or impossible, a dream is always a dream.

Now, I haven’t mentioned what the dream is. And I probably never will.

Because once a dream is told, it becomes performative. It’s not yours anymore.

And I don’t want that.

A part of me will always be scared. That part may sob at night or hold back tears during the tough times to appear stronger. She will continue keeping secrets and trying to make things work alone, hoping for the best.

But then there’s the other half.

The part that won’t back down. She wants to make it more than anyone else. She’ll go crazy trying to solve buried problems, even creating solutions to ones that might not exist. That part will inevitably wipe her tears and get back up. Again. And again.

Why?

Because for a dream like that…anyone would willingly go insane. Anyone would want to be better. All just to be someone in a world where you can be lost in the blink of an eye.

The first dream I had?

It’s still there. Just not the final goal anymore. It’s part of something bigger and scarier. Something impossible.

But that’s the point, isn’t it?

According to the quote at least *laughs* I’m supposed to be scared.

What I do with that…comes later, no?.

Another day, another deep personal post for the win hahaha

I hadn’t heard this quote in so long and then recently an instagram post came up where I heard it again and something just shifted. Because what I once thought didn’t make sense, suddenly become extremely relatable.

Anyways!! I hope you enjoyed it!!

Her:

I’m just not feeling that good.

Me: 

Wanna call?

Her: 

Not now…maybe later?

me checking the time. It’s 8:47pm.

Me:

Call me when you’re free.

Call comes in at 10:42pm.

I could’ve said no. I could’ve said that I need to go to sleep. I could’ve told her that I need to fix my sleep schedule and that we can talk later.

I could’ve.

But I didn’t.

And I don’t see anything wrong.

I’ve heard so much about maintaining discipline. Being disciplined and consistent and not letting anything hinder your progress.

But I don’t completely agree.

I believe exceptions need to be made.

Exceptions that respect boundaries but still keep you connected.

Balance. In other words.

I believe that the idea of needing to be flexible is so important because what is the point of working so hard, being disciplined and achieving every single thing you want…but having no one to celebrate it with?

Even the greatest achievement will start to feel pointless after a while.

Focusing on yourself isn’t bad. In fact, I feel it is the best gift you could give to yourself. But life doesn’t work like that.

You’re not the only one living in this world.

There are other people. Some closer to you than others.

And whether we like it or not, sometimes being present is more important than being disciplined.

Be flexible.

But not too flexible.

Don’t be the only one who compromises all the time. Don’t forget your boundary, your rules and your values. Because they count just as much as being there for those you care about.

I’m not saying you start compromising for everyone out there. But do it for the handful that matter. The handful that you know will stay. The ones who will cheer you on and help you up on your feet when things go wrong.

Do it for them.

When my best friend texted me. I could’ve said no. I could’ve put discipline on top of connection. I could’ve left her waiting.

But I didn’t.

Not because I HAD to call her. But because I wanted to.

Not because discipline and order didn’t matter to me. But because connection, understanding and the individual itself mattered more.

Priorities.

That’s what I mean.

Know your priorities.

Don’t be fooled by those Instagram reels which romanticise disappearing and re-emerging as someone unrecognisable. That’s not real life.

You can’t do that.

People care about you. And if you go off the radar for a bit, they will reach out. Vanishing isn’t an option.

But knowing your priorities and becoming a better version of yourself around them is the most important.

Because that’s a skill that counts.

So go be a better version. Become unstoppable. But don’t do it alone.

Where’s the fun in that?

But stacked unspoken words, wishes, complaints, questions…ended it all.

I let her go.

It hurt for months.

I reminded myself that it was okay.

That I did the right thing.

But the mind never forgets…

Her memories haunted me in the nightly threads.

I had a best friend with a name so unique.

No one else could ever compete.

2 years later…

My phone lit up.

Her name.

Her call.

I didn’t pick up.

My body wouldn’t move.

But I felt my heart jumping out of my chest that very afternoon.

I stayed, stared, waiting for the buzzing to stop.

While my stomach continued to drop.

I had a best friend…and I let her call go…

I was going to ignore it.

Act cold and pretend.

Pretend that the call didn’t affect me.

Pretend it never happened then.

It was protection, I told myself.

Protection from the harm.

Protection for my heart when I left it unarmed…

But who was I kidding?

Protection from what?

The one who made me laugh till I held up my hand to make it stop.

The one who listen and stayed when I felt everything was going to drop.

Or maybe the one who didn’t budge when I got angry or scared.

She stayed even when my words didn’t leave her unspared.

But I did miss her.

My brain knew it too.

I almost did ignore her…

But then the messages came in.

One and after another.

Straightforward, not even a spin.

I paused.

Stared.

Read.

And finally…responded in the end.

A Butterfly Effect.

That’s what it was.

One call that shouldn’t be significant.

The call I could’ve ignored.

But it ended with a reward.

A reward in the form of a friend I once had.

And…that made me glad.

But then I think…

What could’ve happened if I had let pride win.

If I hadn’t responded.

Because while those unspoken words cost us 2 years.

My pride could’ve cost us more.

It became clear then; while communication was the key to every locked door, miscommunication was throwing away that key and trying to force open the door.

I almost didn’t use the key.

I almost let it rest.

I almost let that call become a regret.

I almost didn’t respond…

But I did…which let us go far beyond.

Whether it be your own personal space or a long overdue hangout with friends.

A journey within a book or solo vacation across the world.

It’s a home specifically for you, alone.

No one is supposed to understand it.

Because it’s meant for you.

A home away from home doesn’t mean that your actual home isn’t good. It means that you were fortunate enough to find something of similar value and comfort. It can be practically anything that brings you the same kind of feeling and warmth that you would normally feel at home.

I learned a new word recently: Sonder.

It means that every single individual is the main character of their life. They may come to your life, in passing but they too are the main characters of their own story.

When I think about it, I realise that everyone has their own little bubble, their own private place that makes them feel home.

Me?

My little bubble would be enjoying the company of myself.

Don’t get me wrong. I like hanging out with people, but I’d rather sit alone and maybe scroll on my phone, watch something, read or maybe even write. Anything that doesn’t require interaction.

Pretty boring, I know.

Us introverts love it.

There’s another thing I firmly believe; and that is to never negatively comment or make fun of something that is important to another. This doesn’t just include their routines or lifestyle etc. But it also includes this very bubble, a home away from home.

Something that just puts a smile on their face after a tiring day.

If something makes them feel warm, it’s precious. Never make them feel small for it.

Since we’re on the topic, why not I list out a couple things I enjoy?

• I love superheroes. My favourites are probably Spiderman, Iron Man, Flash, Batman and maybe even Nightwing and Jason.

• I enjoy watching F1 (yes, I’m a Ferrari fan. And no, my favourite isn’t Charles Leclerc, it’s Max Verstappen). Although, I haven’t watched a single race properly this season.

• I love reading. I don’t have a particular favourite genre, but I do love the books that just give you a good time and give you those feels. Also for me, books are good but sometimes comics just hit different.

• I like sketching. Though, these days it’s not very good.

• I enjoy writing (obviously).

• I also like zoning out and daydreaming (don’t look at me like that, how else do you think I come up with ideas?). I just enjoy being alone for a bit.

• And most importantly, I enjoy having fun.

Some of you guys may have something similar. Others may have a different list.

And that’s okay.

Because that bubble has your name engraved in it.

Psychology calls this Proxemics - a space meant for comfort and considered to be for an individual’s comfort and well-being. If invaded, the brain’s amygdala activates, triggering a fear or stress response. For some, such as those with anxiety and autism, may have a different or sensitive bubble

In short, watch what you say.

Because what may be minute to you, may be the world to someone else.

So protect your bubble. Protect others’ too. Because sometimes ‘a home away from home’ isn’t just for comfort. It’s for survival.

This whole thing turns out to be a lot different than I expected.

Well then…hope you liked it!

Nope.

I absolutely despised it.

You can imagine the pain of studying Literature in school.

I remember the time when a friend of mine pushed me to read this book called Percy Jackson.

That book flipped something in me.

It was back when I was 11 years old. My mother bought me my first book. I opened it and the first line was: “Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood. If you’re reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now.”

I closed the book.

Not because I thought I was a half-blood.

But because the book was the thickest I had ever read and somewhere at the back of my mind, I believed I wouldn’t like it or I wouldn’t even finish it.

Oh, how wrong I was.

I finished that book.

And then I bought the next…and then the next…and the next.

Next thing I knew, I was pulled into this unknown void where all kinds of worlds were all around me.

Was I intimidated? Sort of.

But I was excited to read everything.

Like every teenager out there, I too had my Wattpad phase. I lived on that on that app for years and I loved it.

Then came another thought: why not write something of my own.

Did I know how to do it?

Nope.

Did I know what I was going to write?

Also, no.

But I said: screw it, why not?

I took a leap of faith and wrote my first.

It was a nuclear-size disaster.

I scrapped it and started again.

Somehow that was even worse.

14 year old me quite literally had no idea what she was doing.

Only later I realised: that’s the point. It’s not supposed to work out.

I was supposed to be extremely bad at something to be extremely good later.

I didn’t know what drafts were. I had no idea how to build a world. Heck, I didn’t even know what my writing voice was. I just tried to be like others and fit in.

7 years.

That’s how long it took me to figure things out.

7 Years of scrapped projects, embarrassing drafts and nothing to show for it. But I still showed up. Because unknowingly, I was improving.

It’s a lot of time. And multiple scrapped projects later, I finally said it again:

Screw it, why not.

I gave it another shot.

I was scared. I didn’t know if this time would be different. But the idea of sitting with regret pushed me forward.

I stuck with my Work In Progress (WIP), I learned through my mistakes. I blocked out anything that screamed that I couldn’t do it.

And did it.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

Now, I’m halfway through my first official WIP. I’ve written, judged, edited, won so much more.

Am I happy?

Yeah, you could say that.

Because I did end up finding the one thing that brings me joy.

So yes, maybe Percy Jackson was the little flick that caused a domino effect.

But the moment I said:

Screw it, why not?

Was the moment, I knew something could come out of it.

So stop being stuck. Stop overthinking, not because it’s not smart. But because the more you think, the less you’ll do.

You will never be ready for the right moment. So listen to Peter Parker’s advice and take that leap of faith anyway.

If you’re afraid or glued to that “what if it doesn’t work” mindset, just know it’s not supposed to. It’s supposed to fail because that’s how you’ll end up soaring.

That’s just how it is.

So, screw it, why not?

Can you tell I like Spiderman?

These are merely my observations.

To reduce bias, I even discussed this idea with several of my teachers, most of whom have backgrounds in psychology. Their perspectives are blended within the post.

Please note, when I bring up terms like anxiety, depression, or ADHD, I am not referring to those who are clinically diagnosed. My reflections are more about how these terms are sometimes used casually online.

That said, the topics explored here may feel sensitive to some. Please read with care, and if you need a break, don’t hesitate to step away.

I’ll be presenting this as more of a debate. So, I hope you’ll read it with an open mind. :)

If you haven’t read the previous parts, make sure to check those out too!

Previously:

I brought up the role of the algorithm along with how people connect. Along with this, I mentioned how terms are being overused mixed with the my perception of people’s take on mental illnesses.

Now, that you’re all caught up, let’s wrap this up!

Just when I thought things started making sense, a new point was brought up; the glorification of trauma has been happening from the time of the painters.

And even today, many use such themes in order for their work to do well, a common example being authors such as Franz Kafka and Haruki Murakami. Their work is mainly surrounded by those themes.

And to top it all off, your memory can also manipulate you. There is a term called vicarious trauma which ultimately means second hand trauma - the particular incident doesn’t necessarily have to happen to you but because of what you saw or heard, you get traumatised to the point that your brain thinks it happened to you. A false memory, if you may.

Just the way trauma shapes you, your experience, hobbies, preferences have a hand in it too. The more our society evolves, we will inevitably evolve with it.

Humans are complex and the more you try to explain and understand it, the more confused you get. And everything comes down to asking the right questions, understanding personas and the masks we put up along with knowing that sometimes you have to take a step back and look at the bigger picture.

Trust me when I say this, I spent way too long trying to understand this and part of me is still confused.

I am no life coach. I can’t tell you what’s right and wrong. I am just a psychology student who recently started her junior year. And sometimes I have the tendency to question things which don’t make much sense.

In the end, all I can say is that there is a thin line between right and wrong, and it’s all a matter of perspective. But then again, that is truly what life really is…simply grey.

AND THAT’S A WRAP!

If you came this far, thank you so much for staying with me and my crazy spiral of ideas!

Once again, I would absolutely LOVE to know your view on this, especially now that the whole thing is complete.

It’s crazy that even when you think, things make sense, Psychology along with people’s point of view comes and gives you a reality check.

If you haven’t read the previous parts:

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

These are merely my observations.

To reduce bias, I even discussed this idea with several of my teachers, most of whom have backgrounds in psychology. Their perspectives are blended within the post.

Please note, when I bring up terms like anxiety, depression, or ADHD, I am not referring to those who are clinically diagnosed. My reflections are more about how these terms are sometimes used casually online.

That said, the topics explored here may feel sensitive to some. Please read with care, and if you need a break, don’t hesitate to step away.

I’ll be presenting this as more of a debate. So, I hope you’ll read it with an open mind. :)

If you haven’t read the previous parts, make sure to check those out too!

Previously:

I touched upon the idea that medical terms are being misused, to the point many don’t understand the implications of such terms (including myself). I also had a question regarding the openness of such issues with a response which was later shared.

Now, that you’re all caught up, let’s continue!

When it comes to viewing more emotional content on the internet, the algorithm comes into play.

The more you participate in particular issues, the more your feed gets modified, even sometimes incorporating lighter posts on the same issue because that’s what you’ve been engaging with. This is largely visible on sites like Facebook and Instagram.

But then you have the question of why you’d find emotional content on sites like Substack?

And maybe it’s because these sites were built to create a sense of connection of any kind, not just aimless scrolling.

On the surface, discussing feelings in public can look like neediness. But the reality is, individuals are being asked to discuss their emotions for a purpose which facilitates empathy, assistance, and bonding

But then…we have to understand that there is a thin line between encouragement and overuse and sometimes I feel that it has been long blurred.

Which brings me to another question: what if in the process of encouragement people have started to overuse the community?

The direct definition of overuse is; to use something too much and too often, to the point it can become harmful, ineffective or cause damage.

Which allows me to connect to the point I made in my previous regarding the terms being misused. It is done to the point, the seriousness of such things have been unintentionally reduced.

The once safe space is being overused along with the terminologies that come with it.

Many people online label themselves as life coaches and give advice, when in fact these kinds of things need a proper licensed therapist or psychologist, hence, becoming misleading.

These days, information is now over available to people to the point that many think that by looking up on Google or Instagram, you can diagnose yourself. If that was the case, what would be the point for all the therapists?

This kind of thing raises another question; what if people think that having mental illnesses is cool?

Let’s take cigarettes as an example. Cigarettes have no benefit to you and all they do is harm to your body. And now, there are vapes, which are even worse. But despite everything, society has managed to make them look “cool.” That’s what I mean when I say that mental illnesses have been portrayed in a similar way; maybe not “cool” but maybe an aesthetic or a label being romanticised.

It’s the same with mental illnesses. The idea of having something wrong with you which also has a fancy looking label, does tend to make you look cool.

Think about it?

You read someone’s bio or get to know that they have something, like;

Hi! My name is Aymen and I have ADHD.

It does somewhat give off a different feeling, than;

Hi! My name is Aymen and I like the colour blue.

That was the point my teacher brought up on Thursday after class. She mentioned how many are after personas rather than understanding the effects a particular action may have. She further pointed out that yes, you can get privileges in some aspects but then again it all depends on how you see it.

Third part!

Be sure to mark your calendars because the FINAL part will be out next week!

I had such interesting discussions with my teachers and I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on this.

If you haven’t read the previous parts:

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 4:

These are merely my observations.

To reduce bias, I even discussed this idea with several of my teachers, most of whom have backgrounds in psychology. Their perspectives are blended within the post.

Please note, when I bring up terms like anxiety, depression, or ADHD, I am not referring to those who are clinically diagnosed. My reflections are more about how these terms are sometimes used casually online.

That said, the topics explored here may feel sensitive to some. Please read with care, and if you need a break, don’t hesitate to step away.

I’ll be presenting this as more of a debate. So, I hope you’ll read it with an open mind. :)

If you haven’t read the previous parts, make sure to check those out too!

Previously:

I touched up on the idea that what if people want to be “broken” but in an accepting way rather than a self-sabotaging one. I brought up trauma bonding being the new norm and our how society revolves around acceptance and validation, which brought me to share my own experience along with a ritual practiced by the Yakuza.

Now, that you’re caught up, let’s continue!

There was another idea that these days, medical terms are misused. As someone who’s studying psychology, mental issues such as anxiety, depression, OCD and even ADHD are something I struggle to properly define. Not because I don’t know, but because everything is in a spectrum that it’s hard to limit it to a single thing.

These days, the terms are casually thrown around almost everywhere and in every other situation. So much so that it makes me wonder if the person is exaggerating or telling the truth?

I hate to say it, but it’s true.

I believe that it’s sometimes less about the accuracy of something, and more about giving the feeling a name. The idea of naming it to tame it - when you name certain things in order for them to become less intimidating.

And I do acknowledge that there are people who truly struggle with these kinds of issues and I pray that they get the help that they need. Another point was raised that those individuals who are struggling often describe what they’re going through rather than just saying, “I’m struggling with depression” or “I have anxiety.”

Sure, labels can be given but lived experiences will always sound different.

But when I hear these terms casually being used, almost as if they are stripped off of their true nature and presented as a throwaway description…it just feels off. And sometimes the words tend to lose their meaning, eventually overshadowing those who are actually going through it.

I’ve often wondered why people felt the need to share certain struggles instead of keeping them private. Is it because expressing them brings support, understanding, or a sense of relief?

Later, I understood the idea more clearly. Even 10–15 years ago, a community like today’s likely wouldn’t have existed. Nowadays, people are encouraged to express their struggles and emotions instead of bottling them up. Interestingly, many find it easier to share these feelings with strangers rather than with people they know, which is part of why therapy is so effective.

So maybe, showing vulnerability is some sort of strength and courage.

Additionally, it is also the feeling of belonging somewhere. And when you do, you just feel more comfortable.

You could also say that this also depends on how heard an individual feels at home. If they are heard and understood by their family, the chances of them being vulnerable with strangers decreases.

That’s the second part!

Be sure to mark your calendars because the third part will be out next week!

I had such interesting discussions with my teachers and I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on this.

If you haven’t read the previous part:

Part 1:

Part 3:

Part 4:

These are merely my observations.

To reduce bias, I even discussed this idea with several of my teachers, most of whom have backgrounds in psychology. Their perspectives are blended within the post.

Please note, when I bring up terms like anxiety, depression, or ADHD, I am not referring to those who are clinically diagnosed. My reflections are more about how these terms are sometimes used casually online.

That said, the topics explored here may feel sensitive to some. Please read with care, and if you need a break, don’t hesitate to step away.

I’ll be presenting this as more of a debate. So, I hope you’ll read it with an open mind. :)

I joined Substack nearly 2 months ago and during that time I have seen a lot of things. I’ve noticed encouragement (tons of it), I’ve seen unlimited talent, unshakeable bonds being formed. I’ve glimpsed journeys and seen how community matters a lot.

And then I’ve seen instances, posts and notes almost every other day regarding anything deep, emotional, vulnerable. Words when formed create this idea that life isn’t worth it or that things are getting worse.

But here’s the twist.

It’s not just Substack. It’s almost everywhere. The only other social media I use is Instagram and I see the same pattern there.

Which brings me to a thought that what if…people are drawn to the idea of being “broken” - not because they’re weak, but because it feels like the norm?

And not in a destructive, self-sabotaging way, but more of an accepting one.

It’s the idea that upon meeting, sharing traumas, struggles and issues as a form of connection has become the norm. Trauma bonding, in short. You get to know everything but their hobbies, their likes and dislikes.

And it’s not just that either. Sometimes it feels that everyone is unconsciously trying to compete and see whose struggle is worse.

I presented the idea to one of my teachers. He stated that our society is drawn to the idea of acceptance and validation. And that many lack self-esteem and have a poor self-image which is why they try to find it somewhere else.

I thought about it and realised he wasn’t wrong.

How many of us have had our moods fluctuating because of a single person or an audience?

I know I have, at some point in life at least.

He continued by giving me an example of the Yakuza, and stated that in order to be accepted in the organisation, you need to cut off a finger. The ritual is known as Yubitsume. The point was that people would do anything to be accepted.

Which brings me to another thought, what if people felt the need to reshape a situation in order to be accepted?

The Yakuza is on the extreme end, so here’s another example.

Last week during one of my classes, I was having a conversation with 3 more people regarding sexual assault. They asked if I had ever had an experience. To which I responded, no.

What happened after?

Nothing. I just couldn’t relate to any situation being talked about because I hadn’t felt it. I could understand but not relate.

Now, here’s the thing. What if I said yes? Of course, I’d never lie about something like this, but it makes me wonder…what if there was some sort of unconscious pressure to exaggerate in order to belong?

No, I’m not accusing people of lying about this. But I am saying that people may feel the need to label something incorrectly. For example, someone may just be kind to you but you find it suspicious and weird rather than a simple act of kindness.

That’s the first part!

Be sure to mark your calendars because the second part will be out next week!

I had such interesting discussions with my teachers and I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on this.

Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

In the name of Allah, the Most Beneficent, the Most Merciful.

Everything changed during the winter of 2022.

It was supposed to be like every other trip. The only thing special was the fact that it was my second time going for Umrah. It was supposed to be spiritual and peaceful, nothing more.

It was everything but.

Madinah was peaceful as always. The cold winter breeze, jogging us awake. It was calm.

Then we went to Makkah.

That’s when things took a turn.

The day after we completed our Umrah, it rained heavily. I had never seen so much rain, or any rain before in the city of the House of Allah. It was both mesmerising and terrifying.

I remember I felt cold and the next thing I knew I came down with a fever no one had expected. Nothing worked. No medicine, no prayers, absolutely nothing.

I remember there were times I tried to pray in the hotel prayer room. But every time, I returned shivering.

I felt horrible.

Staying in Makkah and I couldn’t even find the strength to get up and pray in the mosque.

I was sick for four days. And I came to pray for the first time on a Friday. It felt good, like I actually did something worthwhile in Makkah. On our final day, I remember completing my last rounds around the Ka’aba (House of Allah). And I remember just thinking to myself: I want to touch the Ka’aba.

Almost within seconds a family member pulled me towards the House of Allah, close enough that I could touch it. But I did more than that, I stayed there, prayed, and when I was ready, I calmly walked away.

I didn’t think much of it then. I don’t know why. It was only after a couple months that I realised what I had encountered.

It was an instagram post which stated that women get more rewards when praying at home as compared to praying in the mosque and that included Masjid Al-Haram (The mosque where the Ka’aba is).

And it took me a while to realise: what if I needed it?

What if I needed those extra rewards, and Allah handed them to me in the form of a fever. In Islam you’re taught that your sins are washed away when you’re hurt or in pain, even if it’s as small as a paper cut.

Before I could completely process it, I realised another thing. When I touched the Ka’aba, I stood there for a couple seconds which is hard to do in Masjid Al-Haram due to the sheer number of people. And during those handful of seconds, not a single person touched me, pushed me or was even close to me.

For others, this may not be an important thing. But for me? It was everything.

I hated crowded places, it always made me want to run away, hide, and just wait it out. Too many people in a single place always made me panic.

But during those seconds, I realised that He was there, He heard me, and knew exactly what I wanted even if I didn’t say it out loud.

Allah was always with me.

By no means will I ever say that I am a good Muslim, but it is times like these that get engraved in my head surrounded by this surreal feeling that never dies down.

Religion is all about Faith. And Faith is a game of belief.

I believe Allah heard me, and He did it because I wanted it.

That alone is enough.

The signs are never loud, and they will never be loud. They will be quiet, barely visible like when you play Where’s Waldo, and for the life of you, you can’t find him. Until you do. And you realise he had been right in front of you all along.

Ever since then, I try not to panic in situations I can’t do much about. Though sometimes it doesn’t go as planned, and that’s okay. As long as I know that everything will be fine eventually, that’s enough.

Because when Allah is looked after you, what makes you think you’re in trouble?

So, do yourself a favour, take everything as a sign. Because you don’t know what might end up being the best thing of your life.

This is not only a reminder to myself, but for you too: You’re going to be okay.

Remember the times when PE used to get cancelled? The half an hour you’ve been excitingly waiting for, just vanishes because something came up. It feels unfair. Because it wasn’t just “play” or a time to have fun. It was a distraction, a reset — the breather we all needed. Adults need that too. But unlike children, we’re more inclined to think of it as pointless.

Dopamine, the brain’s reward chemical, influences pleasure, motivation and satisfaction; affecting mood, learning, sleep and much more. Let’s take learning as an example. Research indicates that through the brain’s regions, dopamine can strengthen memory. Its role also extends to retention and recollection. The small bursts of dopamine in the form of joy, polishes your mind, making it more than just a “feel good” chemical.

We all know this quote and ironically it’s from a fictional movie:

Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. But today is a gift. That’s why it is called a present – Master Oogway, Kung Fu Panda

Give yourself that honour of enjoying that gift. A movie, comic or a laugh with a friend can be the very distraction your brain needs to reset and tackle problems better. Because distraction isn’t something you earn, but something you take on purpose. A constant reminder that you did something worthwhile.

Fun isn’t about “playing around.” It’s about recognising that joy and rest are necessary, not something with a price.

Now, I do agree that fiction doesn’t teach you anything practical. But it teaches you emotions that non-fiction can never capture. It teaches you empathy, communication, and even life from a different lens. Not the practical one but the one where dreams are made and imagination is all around. You learn to step in the shoes of others, which is why we all got upset when Tadashi from Big Hero 6 died or cried when Baymax said his goodbye. And the void that grew in our hearts after seeing the bittersweet end of Toy Story 3. And the chills when Miguel sang “Remember Me” to Mama Coco.

Being practical is good. But just because something doesn’t give you any benefit, doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it.

Having fun will never be childish…but losing it might be.

Someone did tell me that a couple times and I mean…I brushed it off but it just nagging at me this whole time you know. So…hope you enjoyed it and I hope people can just see it you know…having fun and reading fictional books isn’t a complete waste of time.

I used to think that Pride was the worst of the seven Deadly Sins from the Western concept. Then I met its quieter cousin…Sloth.

Suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle just started falling into place.

Gluttony. Greed. Pride. Envy. Wrath. Lust. Sloth.

Each making you a victim of its slow poison.

• Gluttony — The drowning in overconsumption.

• Greed — The savage itch of wanting more.

• Pride —  The unwavering crown on your head.

• Envy — The acid that fills your heart when others rise.

• Wrath — The destruction left behind.

• Lust — The innocent spark turned vile.

• Sloth —  The silent murderer, masked as rest.

They ruin you from within and by the time they reveal themselves it’s already too late.

But here’s the thing.

Out of all of them, why is Sloth the worst?

It’s because if you think about it, you gain something from every one of them except Sloth.

How?

Everything always starts with something small. Lust. Towards a person? It’s attraction. With attraction you may gain a companion. Towards an object? It’s obsession. And everybody knows that no matter what you do, obsession will always beat talent.

Once the obsession starts, and when you get a taste of what you can do, you experience Gluttony and Greed. You want more and having excess doesn’t seem like the worst thing out there. Overconsumption doesn’t always mean food, it can be of land, fame, money and even power. In each case, you gain something.

As for Greed, the desire of wanting more doesn’t die down. You want to be better. And soon enough, you have a guilty pleasure on your hands.

All of this is backed by Pride, your ego. I believe your ego, first and foremost, is your friend. Because when your motivation runs dry, it’s your ego that refuses to settle. It’s the voice repeating: Not yet.

Envy. Seeing others and wanting what they have which inevitably makes you drive forward.

And Wrath?

I believe we all know the anger we experience at ourselves and the situation which we caused. The anger of being hurt. The anger behind wanting to do better but not being able to. The pent up frustration finally being let out. For some, anger might be the best source of motivation. The idea of craving change.

But Sloth?

All it does, is make you lose.

You lose the ability to care. You rely on talent alone thinking it’s enough. You’re okay without a crown on your head. You lose everything, and gain a singular thing: Time.

Too much time.

Which ends up filling your head with the delusion that you can do anything because unlike everyone else, you’ve got it under control.

In reality, you’re stuck in a trap like a fly glued to a spider’s web.

Sloth may be the worst, but it is nothing like burnout or depression. All three of these are different but can be mistaken as each other.

Depression is a mental disease. It’s a battle fought from within where an individual is physically, emotionally and mentally losing and doesn’t know how to get out of it.

Burnout is when an individual has given his all and now the body has collapsed. It needs rest. It needs to recharge and regain its strength before going back out there. During burnout, even though your body temporarily needs a break, your brain still functions, noting down tasks that need to be done.

Sloth is lost potential.

You have the resources, you have the ability, you have the time; but you do nothing about it.

The mindset of knowing you can do it without doing anything about it… is Sloth. The illusion that everything is fine. It kills dreams, quietly. Because in your head, you’re just taking a break not giving up.

I’m not saying that the other six sins are good. They’re called Deadly Sins for a reason.

What I’m saying is, they give you something in return. Think about it, if they get you where you want to be, would you be mad about it? But then again…just because something gives you short-term gain, doesn’t mean it’s worth it.

But if they’re not kept in check, each one of those sins won’t hesitate to turn against you. They’ll ruin you and simply watch as everything they helped you build comes tumbling down.

In fact, they might get to you way before Sloth does. Because unlike Sloth, the rest of them don’t wait. Everything they do is instant.

Pride left unchecked? It can become your worst enemy.

Lust? Attraction turns into stalking where morality becomes blurred and nothing feels wrong anymore. Obsession becomes deadly because you end up trampling everybody else to get what you want.

Wrath can cause you to lose people, leaving you alone till the end of time.

Envy? You learn to stop feeling happy for others and the feeling of joy becomes foreign.

Gluttony and Greed will always leave you unsatisfied for the rest of your life.

I once asked an interviewer: What is the most important thing in life?

He said: Balance.

And I couldn’t agree more.

Let’s backtrack a bit.

I wasn’t a smart student, at least not in school. It was quite the opposite. Quiet, reserved, blended in the background, didn’t have many friends and by the end of it, I was the biggest loner out there; moving from group to group trying to find my place. I used to come home, watch YouTube, waste time and repeat. I didn’t like anything except sports and after a couple years, I felt that slipping away too. I had nothing left.

But I did, and I didn’t realise until it was too late.

See, my mother asked me to take all sciences when I was deciding my subjects and I hated it (not really). Chemistry became my sworn enemy and Biology ended up being the toxic friend I never asked for. Physics? I was actually good at that one. Which was surprising since I was the worst at maths (you can’t blame me, I used to make the dumbest mistakes).

Everything was going smoothly. Things made sense. I felt smart and was excited to see my grade on the report card. It was small, barely visible, but it was there. A flicker of hope. A brief spark. And I thought; maybe I’ll actually make it somewhere.

That was before COVID-19 hit.

And just like that, the flicker got wiped out and I went back to my old ways. What was once familiar turned into a speck of dust that I brushed away without a second thought.

Time went on and I continued doing absolutely nothing.

I was seventeen when I entered high-school, finally fighting for something I wanted: recognition. I gave it my all, fought through the burnout, ignored when I was tired, was frustrated, but somehow made it past those two years with people by my side.

I felt wanted. It felt good.

It ended there. That was the extent of my hard work.

I felt like I had given it all.

In reality… I did nothing.

And even as I write this, there hasn’t been a point in life where I haven’t wasted time.

All I’ve been doing is wasting time.

I keep saying ‘wasting time,’ but I haven’t touched upon what it is.

It’s not doom scrolling or sleeping in all the time or not doing anything productive. It’s when you’re doing nothing with the delusion that you are. It’s like opening a tab and calling it work, reread a paragraph and calling it progress. It’s running in the same place and wondering why you haven’t reached the end.

I should know, I’ve been doing it my whole life. You’d think I’m an expert at it.

Naively, I never thought that the decision I so confidently made when I was sixteen would come and haunt me five years later. Because the single “what if…” still rings in my ears. And it wasn’t like I was ever going to pursue anything in Physics. It’s the thought that I didn’t even bother trying drove me crazy.

I wasted precious time, not just by watching YouTube, playing games on my phone or pretending I knew a lot when I didn’t. But it was by not showing up for class, not submitting the assignments, texting rather than studying and silently announcing that “I did not care.”

Looking back at it? It was the worst thing I did.

Now here’s the flip side to it.

It only clicked recently.

Nearly at the age of twenty, I realised how far behind I truly was. And how I wanted so many things for myself which at my current stage, only delusions could provide.

I hustled.

Fast.

Did everything I could, but breaking out of a decade of old habits is hard. So here I am, at the age of twenty-one, exhausting my way through everything. Not just because I wanted to catch up, but because I wanted to prove to myself and everyone else that the once dull kid could actually do something with her life.

Now here’s the annoying bit.

Life doesn’t work like that. And neither does your brain.

From a young age, it was grilled in our heads that we should have eight hours of sleep. There was a reason behind it. That statement wasn’t just for show.

But teenage me didn’t know that. And even if she did, she didn’t care. Because that version was proud to have slept 2–3 hours and be able to function the next day. Or even worse, not sleep at all during the night and the following day.

Now?

The thought itself sounds absurd.

I damaged my body and my mind long enough. And I realised too late that you can’t force your body to do what you want, sometimes you have to take the reins from your brain and hand the control system to the body. Because I learned that you shouldn’t always listen to your brain because while your brain can lie to you, your body is incapable of it.

As a psychology student, you learn various aspects to the human mind and their behaviours, and you see how burnout plays a huge part in turning an individual into someone they’re not. People might lash out, get angry, frustrated, break bonds, make rash decisions and then deal with the inevitable consequences.

It ruins not just the person, but those around them too.

Burnout doesn’t get you anywhere. All it does is make you go crazy and only look at the worst in yourself.

And I know that it’s frustrating to struggle. But then again it’s the only path we have.

It’s funny, honestly. I say all of this knowing full well I put myself on a brutal standard, only because I myself can’t seem to accept anything less anymore. And it’s probably unfair to preach something I can’t fully practice. So, maybe this isn’t just for everyone else… maybe for me too. A confession. And a gentle reminder.

The “what if…” I experienced after watching The Flash definitely won’t be the last whiplash I face. But the least I can do is sit with the sting.

I owe myself that much.

Ever had a “what if…“ that just stuck?