February, Week 1
February ’25 arrived with a full plate of responsibilities, and as always, my anxiety spiked at the sheer weight of unfinished tasks. My mind refused to settle, jumping from one thing to another without truly focusing.
The month began on a weekend. I had a project to start for my coursework, but my TA hadn’t responded yet with what project I should start working on. Still, I made the most of that weekend, chipping away at the low-hanging fruits of my backlog. The logic was simple—the fewer pending tasks, the more I could concentrate on the truly important ones.
But that’s where I was wrong.
As the workweek unfolded, I realized those “low-hanging fruits” would never really disappear. There would never be a time when I had only two things on my plate and nothing else. The key wasn’t to clear everything but to manage my time wisely—juggling priorities rather than waiting for the perfect moment of clarity.
By Monday, my TA finally responded. That same day, we celebrated Saraswati Puja (Vasant Panchami). Or at least, others did. I barely had time to think about it. Life has changed so much. As a child, this day was something we eagerly anticipated. A priest would visit our home, performing the puja, and sometimes my cousins would join us. We’d dress in beautiful sarees and go to school, where the excitement wasn’t just about the rituals but about spending time with friends.
Fast forward to 2025—I woke up and dived straight into coursework. A couple of hours later, I switched to my office computer and tackled a list of pending tasks. Somewhere in between, I grabbed quick meals and took short breaks. I scrolled through posts of people celebrating the puja—at home, in temples, with family. Instead of feeling left out, I took refuge in numbness.
The rest of the week was a blur of office work. I went to the office, did nothing but work, and conducted interviews with fresh graduates. Even the sharpest minds seem a little lost in this AI-driven race.
I want to help more people find jobs. For a poor or lower-middle-class family, even a modest job can change everything. A young boy or girl, newly employed, not only earns for their family but also learns, grows, and saves for the future. Unemployment weighs heavily on young minds in ways we often overlook. It’s crucial to hire those with the right attitude and foundational knowledge. But what about those who aren’t job-ready yet? We need to guide them, support them—because sometimes, all it takes is a small push in the right direction to make a world of difference.
February, Week 2
The second week brought its own set of challenges. I coordinated my office commute with a colleague, syncing our schedules as much as possible. Convenience and affordability rarely go hand in hand, and I can’t be grateful enough for this carpool—it’s a small blessing in the middle of chaos.
Work remained both dull and complicated. I was juggling multiple responsibilities—handling office tasks, studying for a written exam at the end of the week, and completing some overdue review work. The pressure kept mounting, and by midweek, I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me.
Physically and mentally, I felt drained. A tightness in my chest made it hard to breathe—anxiety had wrapped itself around me, squeezing out every bit of ease. But this time, it wasn’t just about the exam or my daily work stress. My mind was restless, spiraling between short-term worries and long-term uncertainties. I knew my overthinking wouldn’t change the future, yet it clouded my thoughts, darkening everything in its path.
To make things worse, I kept having recurring dreams about a former classmate from school. We spent a lot of time together back then—at school, in tuition classes—but we were never truly friends. Her occasional taunts and sly remarks still linger in my mind. I was never physically bullied, but I’ve experienced my fair share of microaggressions—both from classmates and their insecure parents. I don’t regret cutting ties, but the dreams reopened old wounds, pulling memories I had long buried back to the surface.
There were moments this week when I felt the desperate need for an emotional release. But confiding in the wrong person can do more harm than good, so I chose to listen instead—nodding, smiling, and letting others do the talking.
Some of my colleagues might already find me odd. I haven’t stepped foot in the book fair, and I’ve barely seen the world outside my little hometown. I wouldn’t call myself a book enthusiast, though I made reading a habit during the pandemic. For many, the book fair is less about books and more about the experience—wandering through the crowd, picking up a few random titles, indulging in street food. I, on the other hand, simply borrow books from my sister’s collection whenever I’m in the mood to read. She’s obsessed with books—fiction, non-fiction, even textbooks. If she had the chance, she’d probably open a library of her own.
Since the pandemic, I’ve picked up many hobbies to keep loneliness at bay. Most of them have helped me grow as a person. My choices feel more intentional now—what I eat, what I wear, the kind of people I surround myself with, what I consume online, and how I live my life in general. But with that sense of purpose comes discipline, self-control, and practice. Sometimes I worry how marriage is going to challenge my life style that I so consciously made a choice of.
February, Week 3
The weekend started with my test, and for the rest of it, I was stressfully resting—drained, both physically and mentally, with no energy to start preparing for the next one.
And just like that, I rolled into another workweek. With carpool unavailable, I took the office shuttle instead. The one silver lining? The silence. I cherish it more than any playlist or podcast. There’s already a constant stream of thoughts, melodies, and conversations playing in my head—I don’t need external entertainment.
As the week progressed, coursework took priority again with another test on the horizon. But I still had office deadlines to meet. Ignoring them wasn’t an option; falling behind would only lead to more stress later.
Then came my birthday—one of the most underwhelming ones in recent memory. Unexpectedly, I received wishes from two of my cousins and my manager (courtesy of an automated system notification). That was it. Even now, I secretly wish for a simple midnight text from my closest people, a cake, a small gesture—something that makes the day feel special. Throughout the year, I keep a tight watch on what I eat, cutting down on indulgences—finger foods, chocolates, pastries, brownies. But on my birthday, I allow myself that one little treat.
My parents went all out with a vegetarian menu since I wasn’t in the mood for meat. Mum made veg biryani for the first time, and to my surprise, it was just as good as the one from our favorite takeout place. That should have been enough to brighten my mood, but the day felt empty. None of my friends remembered. Not a single message, not a single call. It’s not like birthdays are hard to remember anymore—you just put them in your calendar, and it reminds you every year. But I guess I was never important enough to make it to someone’s two-minute reminder list.
It wasn’t until I posted about it at night that a few people came forward with belated wishes. But by then, the damage was done. The day had already been ruined.
For the rest of the week, dark clouds of negativity followed me everywhere. I buried myself in work and studies, not out of passion but as a distraction—anything to avoid the sting of isolation and the painful realization of never being important enough in anyone’s life.
February, Week 4
Another weekend, another test. My classes continued as usual, but this time, I decided to treat myself. I ordered a decadent slice of chocolate truffle cake—something I had been craving for days. The birthday cake hadn’t quite satisfied me, so I made up for it in my own way.
I’m slowly beginning to relate to women who buy themselves flowers after a long day of work. There are so many little things I wish for in life, things I may never receive from others. So I have to become that person for myself—the one who works hard and gives me the love and care I deserve.
As February drew to a close, the start of the week was all about work and finances. I rarely think about money too actively—it’s depressing to look at my meager savings. But I’m realizing that I need to make myself uncomfortable. Avoiding the topic won’t change reality. If I want things to improve, my decisions—both conscious and subconscious—must stem from a genuine willingness to build something better.
The month ended with yet another exam on the horizon. I took a few days off to tackle the mountain of preparation, but much of that time was wasted just trying to focus. My body and mind are crying out for a real break. But in the past four years, every so-called “break” I’ve taken has been for sickness, exams, or family emergencies.
A proper getaway—somewhere nice, somewhere far—will have to wait for the right time and money. But at the very least, I should make an effort to step outside more often, to break the monotony of my routine.
Lately, my parents’ health has been weighing on my mind. They’re doing well, but the worries never fully leave me. We spend so much of our lives chasing careers, dreams, and distant places, yet we mustn’t forget the people who raised us. As they grow older, they will need us more than ever—our time, our attention, our care.
Pic #1: This modified bhapa pithe was my idea, the thick jaggery paste with shredded coconuts on top made it better than the traditional one, also these were steamed in idli molds.
Pic #2: After months of persuading mum, she made idli, sambar with red chutney! It was heaven!
Pic #3: That’s my birthday dinner at home.
Pic #4: A lovely rose from the terrace garden.
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