A Reminder

So I’ve been a below avg. looking guy my entire school and college life. Got a decent job offer (8LPA) during my campus placements. This was the story till January 2023. Now It’s been around 1.5 Years. I’ve been working out 6 days a week (rarely skips), eat super clean food (monthly 1 cheat meal), started a skincare routine and tried to learning new technologies in search of a better job. This is the routine I followed for the entire 1.5 years. Right now, I’ve a high paying job and a great physique. (Went from 68Kgs to 81Kgs) A few women have approached me in last 3-4 months. In the gym, people come and talk to me regarding my diet and workout. A lot of people are sending me linkedin connections requests, asking for referral and guidance. But now I don’t wanna talk to anyone because no one wanted to talk that ugly, lean and broke me. Wish someone would’ve came to that old version of me and said “You are enough”.

A tiny seed dreamed of reaching the sun. It pushed through the rock, splitting its shell. It stretched towards the light, reaching higher and higher. Finally, it broke through the surface, basking in the sun's warm glow. But instead of a vast world, it found itself in a pot, surrounded by other plants. The seed realized its dream of reaching the sun wasn't about how high it grew, but where it grew. Moral: Happiness isn't always about achieving something grand, but finding joy in where you are.

In the silence of the morning, a whisper cuts the air, A message cold and distant, a news too hard to bear. Dreams built on dedication, now teetering on the brink, A heart beats heavy, wondering what to think. Hands that once were busy, now tremble in the void, A future once so certain, now painfully destroyed. Colleagues turned to family, faces etched with strife, Together we once thrived, now fragments of a life. Hope flickers dim, yet stubborn in the dark, A search for new beginnings, a flame ignites a spark. For even in this sorrow, strength will find its way, In the wake of endings, dawns a brighter day.

The obsession I regret the most in my life is the all or nothing behavior. Where, - I'll apply for a job only after knowing everything there is to know for a role. This is why I used to see people with half my knowledge applying and getting jobs and moving ahead in life. I used think it's so unfair that they achieve in all aspects of their life and I in none... - I'll date someone only when I know I am the perfect version that I envision for myself - I'll only take photos when I am in my perfect shape. If I don't have 8 abs, I don't deserve photos! - I'll stop questioning whether I am good enough only when I achieve everything else I am a loser I just was very cruel to myself for my own imperfections! This instilled a fear in me that shattered my spirit, self confidence and self worth. I ended up being afraid to pick anything up. If I couldn't stay course in something and for some reason I wasn't able to do something for a day or 2, my perfectionism mindset said, that's it, I am a failure and I thought, nothing can be done now and gave up This resulted in I procrastinating in things. Why to work hard, I am never gonna make it... I have 100 things to do in life else I am failure but I don't have time to do all that in this lifetime. Perfectionism results in not doing anything! After meeting people, self introspection and podcasts from people, I realised its okay to mess up, its okay to fall down. I should dust myself off and continue! It is so hard now to change yourself after years of disappointment. You need so much positivity and letting go of perfectionism. You need self love and kindness... TLDR - Don't be like an OCD person obsessing over things to go exactly the way they want! Don't reject yourself due to failures/setbacks. Dust yourself off and move ahead! It's okay to be imperfect as long as you promise to be consistent!

*The more you share, the more you learn.* Life is undoubtedly a journey filled with unique struggles for everyone. As a child, I wasn't aware of life's luxuries—I believed I had everything I needed. Looking back, I realize that having modest expectations truly made life richer. My education was sponsored by an NGO (whose name I still don’t know), and this experience shaped my vision: to give back to the community that supported me. I was fortunate to have food on the table, a roof over my head, decent clothes, and a good school to attend. But to me, life isn't about what you own; it's about what you can give, whether it’s in your name or someone else’s. Life is the greatest teacher, and its lessons are the most profound. I've encountered many people who constantly compare their lives to others: *"He scored more than me."* *"She got something better."* *"I only have this much."* But I grew up with the bare minimum—hand-me-down clothes from elder cousins, a pizza perhaps once a year, and even a simple chocobar was a luxury. These experiences taught me that life's true value lies not in material possessions but in the richness of our hearts and the generosity of our spirit.

To the Sky's of Blue To the Depths of Oceans To the Heights of Eye Everything Revolves For You The Path lies ahead The journey awaits Heart it every day

In 2018, I was doing my BBA from Delhi University, when the cultural fest of our college invited ‘The Local Train’ band for a live show. Of course, they performed Choo lo, Aoge Tum Kabhi, Dil Mere, Bandey, which had all my heart (in 2018 and today). But I chose not to attend the fest. As a 20-yr old, I never reflected why I would have done that...But as a 26-yr-old, I did it today. For a long time, Aalas ka pedh had remained my favorite archive of emotions, feelings of coming of age & loneliness when I had not yet stepped out of the borders of my ‘home’, semblance of how a breakup feels like when I didn’t know what a relationship stands for (let alone being in one), longing for love when I couldn't distinguish it from the romantic movies of SRK. And yet, I chose not to attend the fest. It was a conscious choice. It didn't bother me. “I was not into live music or experiences”. Why? I was not sure about my reasoning then, but now I think it was because I didn't value the very feelings I got from listening to those songs - emotions, coming of age, loneliness, breakup, relationship or love, all of the feelings I got from listening to those songs. My mind was flooded with the thoughts of achieving “objective” metrics - marks, ranks, admission in xyz college, because they were right there, easy to understand and calculate; the input was the attention and hours I put and output were grades. To my mind, that seemed “easier to achieve” than going through the process of defining and valuing those emotions. 4 years after this event, I would have just started my 2nd job, when I heard that the Local Train had unofficially disbanded when the lead singer, Raman Negi, left the band for a solo career. I didn’t feel it that much - because the “objective” bug hadn’t left me, and the value I placed to those emotions - coming of age, loneliness, breakup, relationship or love - still couldn’t be “calculated”. 2 years later, today, I realized 2 things. 1. I will never be able to hear The Local Train “live”. I lost the multiple chances I had. It hits me every time I hear the album again. To “objectify” it, I exhausted my attempts (like in UPSC) and clearly failed. 2. In the past, I have mis-forced “trade-offs”. The decision to not attend had no positive implication on my “success”, but negative implication on who I am today. Those moments and experiences are the attempts to make memories that will form a major part of the brain, when you grow old, shape who you are. While you are doing trade-offs, you value the non-objective things by the number of attempts you have to make. It isn’t that difficult to count the attempts, just uncomfortable. If I had that effort of valuing those experiences and emotions “objectively” better and not forced the trade-offs, I could have been a different person today. 1. Attended those live concerts with my friends 2. Got the chance of dating my crush in MBA 3. Worked with a co-founder closely who I looked up to as a operator 4. Would have watched one of my favorite stand-up comics perform live 5. Many more… Hence, my request to young folks in their 20s to incorporate this method of valuing non-objective things and avoiding forced trade-offs.

"Beta, your room is always waiting for you." Mom's words echoed in my head as I lugged my suitcases up the familiar stairs of my childhood home. At 29, with a master's degree and five years of corporate experience under my belt, I never thought I'd be back here. Not like this, anyway. The decision to move back wasn't easy. My startup had failed spectacularly, taking my savings and self-esteem with it. Mumbai's sky-high rents suddenly seemed impossible. When Dad suggested I come home "just until you figure things out," it felt like both a lifeline and a step backwards. The first week was a strange mix of comfort and chaos. Mom's cooking was a welcome change from my diet of Swiggy/Zomato. But the luxury of home-cooked meals came with a side of "Why aren't you eating?", "You've become so thin!", and unsolicited advice on everything from my career to my love life. My old room, now Dad's "home office," was a time capsule of my teenage years. Faded cricket posters shared wall space with his collection of business books. At night, lying in my childhood bed, I'd stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and wonder where I'd gone wrong. The hardest part was the loss of independence. Suddenly, I had to inform my parents if I was going out late. Dad would casually inquire about my job search over breakfast. Mom would remind me to make my bed, as if I hadn't been doing it myself for years. But amid the frustration, there were moments of unexpected joy. Like when Dad and I stayed up late discussing startup ideas, his eyes lighting up with an enthusiasm I'd forgotten he possessed. Or the afternoon I spent teaching Mom how to use Instagram, both of us laughing at the filters. Slowly, I started to see my parents not just as "Mom and Dad," but as individuals with their own dreams and quirks. I noticed the silver in Dad's hair, the new lines around Mom's eyes. When had they gotten older? Had I been too busy "adulting" to notice? There were adjustments on both sides. I learned to bite my tongue when Mom rearranged my carefully organized closet. They learned to knock before entering my room. We all learned the delicate dance of sharing space as adults. The turning point came three months in. I landed a new job, and my first instinct was to start apartment hunting. But as I sat at the dining table, sharing the news over Mom's special biryani, I realized something had shifted. This house, with all its quirks and challenges, had become home again. Not in the same way it was when I was a kid, but in a new, complex, adult way. I ended up staying for eight more months. In that time, I not only rebuilt my career but also rediscovered my relationship with my parents. We argued, we laughed, we shared silences. I learned that Dad makes a mean omelet at 2 AM, and that Mom's got a wicked sense of humor I'd somehow missed growing up. When I finally moved out, it wasn't with the desperate rush I'd initially imagined. It was a practical decision - I'd saved enough, found a place I liked, and felt ready. The send-off was a simple family dinner, where we laughed about some of the awkward moments from the past year. As I settled into my new apartment, I realized those months at home had taught me a lot. Sure, there were tough times - privacy issues, disagreements over household rules, the occasional feeling of regression. But there were also valuable lessons: 1. My parents are people too, with their own lives and challenges. 2. Independence is more about mindset than living situation. 3. Family relationships can actually improve with some close quarters and open communication. 4. I'm more resilient than I thought, capable of adapting to unexpected life turns. Would I do it again? Maybe, if circumstances required it. It wasn't always easy, but it was far from the disaster I'd feared. If anything, those months gave me a new appreciation for my family and a better understanding of myself. So if you find yourself packing up to head back to your childhood bedroom, don't panic. It's not a step backward - it's just a different kind of move forward.