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Guilty for cancelling plans?

I used to be that person who never cancelled plans. Once I said yes, it was locked in. Even if I was tired. Even if I didn’t feel like it. Even if it meant dragging myself across the city for something I wasn’t emotionally present for, I’d go. Because somewhere deep down, I believed cancelling meant I was being a bad friend. That if I didn’t show up, I’d disappoint people. I’d be unreliable. Or worse, I’d be forgotten. So when I cancelled plans that evening, it took everything in me. It was just a dinner. Nothing fancy, a casual catch-up with two close friends. I had agreed a week ago, and at the time, I was genuinely excited. But that day, everything felt off. College had been draining, my head was spinning from back-to-back work from my internship which I was doing, and my social battery was fried. I knew if I went, I’d just sit there nodding, faking smiles, hoping the evening would end early. So, I picked up my phone, typed out the dreaded message and stared at it for ten minutes be...
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The time when I tried to fix a friend instead of just LISTENING.

There’s a version of me that comes alive when someone says, “Can I rant for a second?” Suddenly, I’m in solution mode. I start connecting dots. I analyse. I suggest. I explain things in bullet points. And I’m not trying to show off, I genuinely want to help. I want people to feel better, to get clarity. It's like emotional first aid or so I thought. One day, a close friend called me. She sounded tired. Her voice was small. She started talking about how overwhelmed she was with work, with home, with just... life. I did what I always do: I started offering advice. “Maybe you should take a break.” “Why don’t you talk to your manager about flexible hours?” “Have you tried journaling or meditation?” I must’ve rattled off five solutions before I even realised she’d gone quiet. When she finally spoke again, her tone had changed. “I just… needed to let it out. I’m not asking you to fix it.” That sentence hit me harder than I expected. I felt embarrassed. I apologised, of course. I tried to...
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Maintaining post-college friendships that felt one-sided.

After college ended, I told myself I wouldn’t let go of the friendships I’d built. I was determined to keep in touch, to be the kind of friend who remembers, who stays in people’s lives even when life starts moving fast in different directions. So, I kept reaching out. A random meme to make them smile. A voice note after spotting something that reminded me of a college memory. A “let’s catch up soon?” message every couple of weeks. It wasn’t just habit, I genuinely wanted to stay connected. But slowly, I started to notice a pattern. I was always the one texting first. Always the one nudging, checking in, making plans. It didn’t hit me all at once but one day, while scrolling through our chat history, I realised that every single conversation began with me. So, I decided to do a small experiment: I’d stop texting first. Not in a petty way, not to test anyone just to see what happened if I paused. If I didn’t put in the effort for once, would anyone else? The first couple of days felt we...
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When I tried to be the 'Put-together friend' for a week (I actually became her)

We all have that one friend who always seems to have it together, their outfits are coordinated, their files are colour-coded, they show up five minutes early and actually reply to texts. One day, I woke up and decided: I want to be that friend. It wasn’t out of jealousy. It was more like curiosity. I wanted to know what it felt like to walk into a room without frantically untangling earphones or pretending I didn’t forget my water bottle. What would it be like to arrive prepared, to be the friend people call for help, not the one they’re constantly reminding? So I made a decision: for the next seven days, I’d be organised, emotionally available, mentally prepared, and aesthetically present. I would be the dependable one. The “Wow, she’s glowing” one. Day one was promising. I actually packed my bag the night before. I wore clean clothes (yes, the ironed kind), left home on time, and carried an extra pen which my friend immediately borrowed and called me an “angel”. I was smug for the n...
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The time I decided to plan my entire career in one night.

(Because one TED Talk made me feel unstoppable for about eight hours.) It started with a motivational video. Just one. You know the kind, soft piano music, a well-spoken voice saying things like “Your dream life is waiting for you” and “It all begins with a single decision.” I clicked on it while eating dinner, thinking it would be background noise. But something in it clicked. By the end of that 12-minute video, I sat straight up like someone had hit ‘refresh’ on my brain. I opened my laptop, pulled out my notebook, and started typing furiously. What am I doing with my life? Where do I want to be in five years? Who do I want to become? What began as casual overthinking quickly became a full-blown vision board of my future. I wrote down job titles I wanted, places I’d like to work in, side hustles I could start, skills I needed to learn. I even Googled courses and opened tabs I never returned to. I drafted a ‘Plan A’, a ‘Plan B’, and for some reason, a ‘Plan G’. I gave each year of my ...
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My love for stationery can fix me for a good 72 hours.

I've always had a soft spot for stationery. There’s something deeply satisfying about the click of a new pen, the crispness of untouched pages in a planner, or the subtle rainbow of pastel sticky notes lined up neatly in a drawer. It’s not just about aesthetics, it’s about potential. Every time I buy a notebook, it feels like I’m buying a fresh start. That week, college had been chaotic. Assignments were piling up, my bag was a black hole of crumpled papers, and my phone’s Notes app had 43 unfinished reminders. So naturally, I did what I would do if I feel like I can finish all my work but I don't have the resources (stationery = motivation), so I took a trip to the stationery store. I didn’t even plan on going, to be honest. I was passing by, saw a “New Arrivals” sign in glittery letters, and the next thing I knew, I was inside, surrounded by rows of journals, pens, washi tapes, and highlighters calling my name. I told myself I’d just “browse”. Lies. I walked out with a new pl...
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Made a to-do list just to ignore it.

There’s something magical about making a to-do list. That moment when you write down all your tasks, colour-coded, categorised, maybe even highlighted, you genuinely feel like you’ve got your life sorted. For a brief window of time, you believe that future-you is going to be the most productive, well-balanced, unstoppable version of yourself. That’s exactly what I thought on a Sunday evening. I sat down with my journal, grabbed my favourite pen (yes, the one that makes my handwriting look like my actual handwriting), and wrote down everything I had to get done that week. Return the books i borrowed from a friend. Submit the French assignment. Organise my notes for the upcoming exam. Clean my wardrobe. Get my Aadhaar card photocopied. Mail something for my grandfather. Oh, and finally call the plumber about that weird dripping sound. A perfect mix of student chaos and adulting nightmares. I even added cute checkboxes next to each task. And at the top, I wrote in bold: “This Week is Mine...
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