February 2026, Week 1:
The month started on a Sunday… and after a rare week of holidays, I had to mentally prepare myself to step back into the murky waters. You cannot expect to get better by treating your body and mind recklessly for six days and detoxing them for one. Life doesn’t work like that… unfortunately.
In the first week, I had to go to the office for three days. Waking up early, travelling a long distance for work, coming back exhausted, working some more, and then rushing to bed just to repeat the cycle all over again… that’s how the week unfolded.
Work-wise, I began making more strategic plans for myself. Without a technical supervisor, working on a high-stakes project feels far more daunting. There’s no safety net anymore… just me and my decisions. The side project calls were cancelled for the entire week due to some approval process—and honestly, that felt like a blessing in disguise.
As for my study project, things were still unclear. Even though our classes had started in the first week of January, dependencies on several other teams kept us guessing about the next step. It’s exhausting to want progress but be held hostage by uncertainty.
The weekend felt breezy because there were no interviews to conduct. After syncing up with the professor, I also checked in with two of my batchmates. One of them is a senior manager and exceptionally talented. He already has prior knowledge about the solution we’re trying to build… and I couldn’t help but think—I wish I were surrounded by more people like him.
This week, I watched the K-drama My Mister (2018)… and little did I know how deeply it would sit inside my bones.
February 2026, Week 2:
On Sunday, there was a small get-together at my aunt’s place. My parents went; I stayed back, doing my usual. There was a time when I would feel excited to join a feast, to meet family, to laugh over trivial things… but now everything feels meaningless—just another chore to tick off.
This week I had another meltdown, as if I hadn’t had enough already. It made my mum worried sick… and I wasn’t even in a position to make her feel better.
It’s not like a nice meal could cheer me up. Not like an ugly cry could lift the weight off my chest. Not like a heart-to-heart conversation could untangle the stubborn knots of my emotions. I had turned inward in my crisis because people—no matter how pure their intentions are—tend to measure our sorrows on their own scales. They judge what is valid, what is not… whether they’ve had it worse. And although that’s simply human nature, I wasn’t ready to slide my broken mind under their incompatible microscope for ruthless scrutiny.
That said, it didn’t feel good to see my mother worried, wondering what could have possibly gone so wrong in my life. I didn’t have the words to console her. I barely had words for myself.
I showed up to work as usual, chipping away at the big rock of responsibilities. Hard work does not always guarantee a good bonus, a promotion, or even a word of appreciation. So we need to decide for ourselves—how far are we willing to stretch without receiving much in return?
During the weekend, I conducted interviews again. I also had a sync-up with the professor, which gave us a little more clarity for our capstone work. Not a breakthrough… but at least a flicker of direction.
This week, I watched a Korean movie named Parasite (2019), which left me a little unsettled.
February 2026, Week 3:
After a busy Saturday filled with interview calls and syncing up with the professor and batchmates, I can never bring myself to be productive on Sundays. So I picked up another K-drama to watch, “Twenty-Five Twenty-One” (2022). Maybe I needed nostalgia. Maybe I needed borrowed youth.
As the weekdays rolled in, work became intense again—but this time, I planned more strategically to make visible progress. And it worked. I made solid headway on my office project. However, my capstone work lagged behind. Balance continues to be my Achilles’ heel.
This week turned into an emotional roller coaster when I lost my secondary phone. While packing my bag at work, I suddenly realized—I couldn’t see it. The last time I remembered using it was before getting off the shuttle in the morning. My heart sank instantly. After boarding my shuttle home, I called the driver of the morning shuttle and requested him to check thoroughly around my seat. The shuttle had already completed two more rides after I got off… and within a couple of minutes, he called back to confirm that there was nothing there.
I came home distressed beyond words, replaying the last moment I held that phone in my hand. Surprisingly, my family didn’t react much. It was an old phone with limited functionality—useful only to me. But that didn’t lessen my panic.
After a restless night, I enquired at the office reception the next morning… and guess what—they had my phone. The staff asked me a couple of verification questions and handed it back. Relief washed over me so suddenly that I almost felt embarrassed by how deeply I had spiraled over it.
Another odd incident happened this week. One afternoon at lunch, I was unable to open my lunch box. Usually, my food is packed when it’s still piping hot, and as it cools down, it creates a strong suction—making the lid almost impossible to twist open. I spent nearly ten minutes wrestling with it. There was one more person sitting next to me, quietly enjoying his lunch in solitude.
Instead of asking a random stranger for help, I went down to the cafeteria and bought lunch. It was the first time at my workplace that I had store-bought food. And while eating it, I felt this deep appreciation for my parents who pack me a hearty meal every single day.
This week, I realized something crucial about my mental health—I have become increasingly susceptible to negative emotions, anxiety, and stress. And simultaneously, I have grown numb to happiness, hope, and excitement. It’s a strange imbalance… like my emotional scale has forgotten how to tilt both ways.
February 2026, Week 4:
After several mental breakdowns in the previous weeks, talking to our guruji helped. It wasn’t a miraculous recovery. There was no instant upliftment of mood or morale. But the dark clouds cleared—at least to some extent. And sometimes, that is enough to keep going.
This week, I worked mostly remotely. Compared to last week’s strategic breakthroughs, this one felt slower. Not unproductive… just slower. And maybe that’s okay.
For the capstone project, I managed to do a little more than the previous week—although the overall picture still feels vague and unfinished in my mind.
Family life was harmonious. We shared many meals together. Thankfully, everyone remained in good health—at least physically. And sometimes, that itself feels like a quiet blessing.
This week, I watched a movie called “Even If This Love Ends Tonight” (2025)… and as February slowly folded into itself, I realized something—
Even when everything feels heavy and blurred, life continues to move. Work progresses. Projects inch forward. Phones get lost and found. Lunchboxes refuse to open. Mothers worry. Dark clouds thin out… a little.
And somehow, we survive another month.
Other Highlights:
1. My Birthday… I also had my birthday this month… and as usual, my mental state couldn’t have been worse on that day. For the first time in my life, I skipped the whole “midnight cake-cutting” ritual and went to bed by 10:30 PM. No countdown. No candles. Just silence.
Apart from my family—my parents and my sister—I was wished by two more people, both my undergrad batchmates. And strangely, I was too depressed even to cry about who didn’t wish me this year. That in itself felt new… and heavy.
My family got me a nice-looking ice-cream cake. It looked prettier than it tasted—but the effort mattered more than the flavor. I had planned to bake something myself for the occasion… but that plan quietly went down the drain along with my mental health.
Birthdays used to feel like milestones. This one felt like survival.
2. Winter & Pithe Season. A heartfelt shout-out to my parents for making pati-sapta (the delicate roll/crepe-like ones) and puli pithe :(the shell-shaped ones)… traditional Bengali sweets that taste best in winter.
There is something deeply comforting about seasonal food. The smell of jaggery and coconut filling the house… the warmth of the kitchen… It feels like culture wrapping you in a soft shawl.
3. Beetroot Red Pasta. My mom made red pasta one evening—and the gorgeous color came entirely from beetroot. No artificial sauces, just simple ingredients and a little creativity. It was humble, vibrant, and unexpectedly tasty… proof that comfort food doesn’t have to be complicated.
4. Ice-Cream Experiments. We tried a new ice-cream brand and a new flavor this month. Everyone liked it… which is rare because pleasing all of us at once is almost a statistical anomaly.
Although, a part of me still wishes I could make my family taste cookie-dough ice cream from Ben & Jerry’s. There’s something about that chaotic mix of vanilla and raw cookie dough chunks that feels like happiness in a tub… and it’s unfortunately not available here.
5. A Beautiful Flower I Came Across. I recently came across this beautiful flower: Kalachoe. So unapologetically bright… almost dramatic in its color.
Maybe February wasn’t meant to be grand or transformative.
Maybe it was meant to test how gently I could hold myself while everything felt sharp.
The meltdowns still came. The uncertainty still lingered. The numbness still wrapped itself around ordinary days.
But there were warm meals. There were familiar hands packing my lunch. There was a found phone. There was a flower refusing to dim its color.
Perhaps healing isn’t a sudden sunrise.
Perhaps it’s just choosing to stay… even on the days when leaving feels easier.
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