Fragments of the Quiet Mind

It wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy. We were just moving out. A change of address. A few boxes. A goodbye email. That’s what the memo said. But the soul doesn’t read memos. The decision came down with the usual cold efficiency — political maneuvering dressed as “strategy.” Someone upstairs, removed the scent of our coffee or the soft glow of kindness at the front desk, decided we were better off elsewhere. More aligned. More brand-consistent. Whatever that means. I packed my things slowly. Not because there were many — a mug, some folders, a forgotten plant — but because everything in that space had stories tangled in it. The smile of the security guard who knew when you were too quiet. The landlord who once fixed the busted ceiling fan on a Sunday. The hallway where I paced during panic attacks and found calm in the hum of old fluorescent lights. How do you walk away from a place that remembers you when you don’t want to remember yourself? People call it “just a space.” T...

 I’ve been thinking about patterns lately. Not the loud ones—the mistakes that crash into your life and demand to be noticed—but the quiet ones. The ones that repeat so subtly they start to feel like personality. Like how I default to gentleness in conflict. How I make excuses for silence. How I anticipate needs I was never told, then overextend to meet them. It doesn’t feel heroic. It feels familiar. Mechanical. Reflexive. I used to call it empathy. I’m not sure that’s the right word anymore. Somewhere along the line, I learned to offer the kind of care I wanted to receive. Not consciously—not as strategy—but as language. As instinct. The kindness wasn’t performative. It was sincere. But it was also laced with a hope I never admitted out loud. That someone might notice. That I might be met there. But the truth is, I gave so much of that kindness in rooms where it went unnoticed. Not unappreciated—just... unreturned. And that does something to a person. Not all at once. Not in...

It started in line at a coffee shop. The guy behind me kept brushing my backpack with his tote bag, not enough to be aggressive, just enough to be noticeable. I turned slightly, made eye contact, gave that tight-lipped smile — the one that says, “We're both human, I forgive you, please stop.” He smiled back. And did it again. So I let him. I didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. I just stood there, rehearsing twenty polite versions of “Could you please back up a little?” in my head — none of which I actually said. When I finally got my drink, I thanked the barista too brightly and left too fast. That’s the thing about politeness. It masquerades as kindness but often performs silence. It applauds itself for not causing conflict — even if that conflict is the only way something real can happen. At some point, we learn that to be "nice" is to be inoffensive, which slowly mutates into being invisible. We trade boundaries for harmony, truth for tone, self-expression for soci...

Today, I learned that … In the company of fools and in trying to make your point be understood by them is as futile as forcing a pig to fly. Never underestimate the ingenuity of fools, or you’ll end up sounding like a total moron. Helping colleagues with their messes will only make your boss call you in her office and give you an hour sermon about responsibility, indifference and how altruism is in fact defined as stupidity. Overthinking is the universe's way of saying “Have a coffee with a friend.” a simple thank you from your colleagues whose asses you just saved despite being scolded by your blood thirsty boss is somewhat soothing. in the silence of the remaining hour at work, uttering a short grateful prayer brings back an equal amount of pain and bliss. a stick on pad with a sunflower and a sun god drawing on it can make a downhearted soul be hopeful. life is full of surprises, the person you don’t expect to be there when you need someone to talk to happens to be the perso...

Its fundamentally an eschatological treatment to one’s miserable year: in other words, regret. People are resentful of their past year, hoping to make the upcoming year better, brighter and lighter by making promises to themselves which most of the time, they really have no intention of keeping. I don’t make resolutions as I know that I am bonded to my promises. I never want to make a promise to myself that I can’t preserve (in as much as I don’t want to make promises to people that I know I can’t keep.) As clichéd as it sounds, we don’t need to wait for a new year to aim for transformation and new life. Change takes place everyday- Mutation (destructive) and Evolution (constructive) takes place every fudgin day. From the setting of the sun to the rising of the moon, we are already at the mercy of change though most of the times, we ignore it. We are a completely different person 1 second ago – and we don’t have to make promises to appease ourselves of the change happening in us. We w...

All I ever wanted was to find a place where happiness wasn’t just some distant idea—where it felt real, close enough to touch. A life where what I dream at night isn’t so far from how I live by day. I wanted to grow stronger, to be better tomorrow than I am today. And maybe that’s what happiness really is—the mirage you keep chasing until you learn how to walk without it. Dreaming keeps me steady. It’s like breathing for my mind. I’ve read all the theories, but theories never capture the weight of what a dream leaves behind. It’s not the images or the story—it’s the feeling that stays. It reaches some part of me that words can’t. Maybe that’s selfish, to live in something that’s not real, but it’s the only way I know how to hold on to what I can’t explain. Sometimes I think dreams don’t lie—they just refuse to explain themselves. But trying to be happy, honestly, sometimes feels pointless. Because if chasing what lights me up ends up hurting the people I care about, then what’s the c...