The worst thing about being an adult is not the bills that you pay on your own.
It's not the messes which you left behind to clean on your own.
Nor is it the dishes that you left in the sink you come back and clean on your own.
What hurts the most about being an adult is-
You are solely responsible for your situations,
For your problems,
And for all the mistakes you make.
You cannot shift the accountability no matter how hard you try.
It's like a direct tax.
It's like the burden cannot be shifted to others.

I once heard someone saying
anything that comes down from the sky is pretty.
I remember being so fascinated by it,
but now, when I find myself half-wet
in the rain at a bus stop waiting for a bus,
I find it ridiculous—
how insane it is that we love things
when we are not affected by them,
but the moment they interfere with our life,
our opinion changes.

Isn't all parts of nature like that though?
Be it snow, hail, storm—
everything looks pretty
when you see it from the window of your house,
but the moment we are forced to open the door
and brave the weather,
we find ourselves disliking it.

The same is true for all humans:
when we see them from mere windows
and are not affected by their presence in life,
we like them,
but that opinion mostly changes
once they become part of our life,
once we let them in
by opening the door of our life.

Likes and opinions can therefore
be prone to change in life,
depending on the situation we find ourselves in.

I, as a curious human being,
love to question choices—
whether they are mine or others’.
But I like questioning the latter,
as I used to feel they are not related to me.

But alas, how wrong I was,
’cause the choices I thought didn’t affect me
were affected by me.

I always have questioned the choices of my mother:
why is she so determined about things?
Why is she so stubborn,
never minding her business?

But who would tell the  foolish me—
it takes two hands to clap,
and with one, it’s a slap.

The foolish and immature behavior of mine
were the reasons, I thought,
behind her choice of life.

But then I learned
it was because she made a choice
to be my mother.

So before questioning choices of others,
question yours.
You will find they are your choices,
but are made due to others around you as well.

And hence, follow the same principle
while questioning others
about their choices.

And the lesson I learnt:
never question someone else’s choices—
for what you end up finding
might only add to your burden.

Hatred is a word I am used to use very often,
but is it really hatred that I have?
Is a question,
the answer to which I got sooner than I thought.
Hatred is a double-edged sword,
harms both parties involved,
and is burden to who carries it.
I have one such person
who is supposed to mean the whole world to me,
but I hate him—
or so I thought,
until I realised it's not him who I hate,
but the qualities in him
which are a reflection of mine that I hate.
The qualities that are banished
in some corner of my heart,
’cause I never want to possess them—
but still do.
They are like rotten wood
which cannot be cut
unless they are uprooted.
Point is: when we say we hate,
it's not opposite of love,
’cause you see,
the opposite of love is ignorance.
Hatred is born
when the qualities you hate in yourself
are seen in others.
Either you already possess them
or are afraid of possessing them,
and that's why you hate—
or else you would ignore,
’cause our mind can store limited data.
So don’t try to untangle
all those banished thoughts at once.
Find the opening
and slowly untie.
Then you will see
all that is left
is indifference towards the hated one,
and less burden on heart.
Loving is hard,
indifference is harder,
and hating is hardest—
’cause we carry
the burden of hatred

You are too good for me
Maybe I should leave me,
But
how…
how can I
When I see how you love me,
How you care for me?

Maybe it's my selfishness
To hold you,
And maybe my helplessness too.

But all I can do
Is try
To be best of myself
For you.

When someone stops you
from doing things
that are better for them
but worse for you,

’Cause once the guilt
for doing certain things
never vanishes,
it evaporates,
condensing into a cloud,

and when it rains
it drowns you.

And to deter it,
the one who loves you
will stop you.

That—
there is true love.

Kindness is hard to find, they say.
I say it is rather hard to recognise—

Like finding a
DIAMOND
But thinking it a
ROCK,
Going by strength instead of value.

‘Cause good deeds done
Wearing an invisibility cloak
Is what makes it kindness—

The foundation of hope for humans
For centuries, past and yet to come.

Something everyone expects,
But few truly do.

When they are actually dead—
The body no longer in control of soul,
Under the ground, mixing with the life there.

Or when the soul is no longer in control of body?
Like a dictionary with no meaning to be found in it.

For me, I think the latter is what’s worse:
When I can no longer feel anything, just like the unliving,
And just live for the sake of living,
Like drinking water without thirst.
No longer caring about anything—
Be it myself or others.
A journey with no destination.

When I see the clock
But don’t feel the urgency of time passing,
Yet feel good that another day has passed—
That’s worse.

Breathing just for living,
And not to be alive, is worse.

But the worst of them all
Is watching people around me play their characters,
And feeling out of character
In my own book.

One day when I wake up, the world won’t be the same.
The people will be different.
They will treat me differently,
their reasons for doing so will be different.
But I will be the same person,
who will see them as different
but treat them the same.

At times, every breath I take
Seems to leave me breathless.

Every step forward
Leads to backward.

Running towards the light,
But still not reaching it,
Leaves me despaired.

I feel like losing control of my body,
Like being a puppet
With no strings attached.

At such moments,
I see my hopes,
The responsibility,
The love I carry —
That light to my never-ending darkness.

And then my breaths
Don’t leave me breathless,
And I go on.

There are many times
I disapprove of other's actions
Not that I dislike it,
But sometimes
Because I cannot afford to be like them

Every day
I am faced with the question
of my existence.

And the answer
is always found
when I see myself
in my loved ones’ eyes,
and in the smiles
they wear
when they see me
being a part of their world

In the morning, I saw the sun shining brightly, as if cheering for me.
I thought today would be the day to make a difference.
I would do all the things I wanted to do.
I would be a new version of myself—the one I always wanted to be.

While thinking about all of it, I noticed the sun was gone,
and there was the moon, consoling me for my loss, lulling me to sleep.
So I slept.

And again, the next morning became my next today,
with the sun coming up again

I am not a saint
When I see others happy
And the pool of sadness swirling in my heart
I feel what people call envy

I cannot be happy in other's happiness
I may be sad when you are sad
But expecting me to find happiness in yours
Happiness is like asking a beggar
To be happy seeing the king's riches

And that is what makes me a human

Bullying is of two types—
Physical and mental,
And sometimes both.

And there is a third type,
Unknown to people,
Because we all have somehow participated in it:
The ignorance.

Ignoring the victims,
Because they are not us,
Because the victim is not our loved ones.
So what if they are humans?
So what if they get hurt like us?

The ignorance is because it is not us,
It’s them.
The third type is the most famous,
And the most widely done bullying.
Because, as they say—
The silence of bystanders is encouragement to the bullies,
And discouragement to the victims.

But things can be changed.
Bullies enjoy the fear of their victims,
The isolation they cause makes them feel superior.
Yet just by taking the side of the victims,
Standing by them,
Is enough for the superiority to disappear.

The victims are in the minority,
That is why they can be crushed.
But what if the bystanders,
Even in silence,
Move to the victims’ side?
Then they will be the majority—
And majority wins.

Sometimes the victims are not those
Who lack courage to fight,
But those who lack the power to do so.

So it is a humble request
To all the bystanders:
Open the blindfold you think you are wearing.
You are not fooling the world,
You are only fooling your own conscience.

Stand by the victims.
So that when your loved ones are in trouble,
Someone among the bystanders will choose
To stand with them and protect.

And this will be the vaccine
To the never-ending cycle,
The disease of bullying.

Getting angry, lashing out,
The fight is without
Any doubt.

About to see
My love throughout.

After all is done,
You come back with a pout,
Telling me to drop out.

But I figured out —
It’s never me;
It’s your own faults
Handed out.

The feeling I feel that I cannot express,
It is what you see in my eyes
When they reflect you,
The whirlpool of emotions I feel.

The feeling to let everything by your feet
Is what I call love.
The madness to be with you,
Even though it may not be the best choice for me,
But trying to make it the best one for you—
That is what I call love.

When did I start taking things for granted?
When did just barely doing anything
become like perfectionism to me?

When did I start taking people for granted?
When did hardly putting any efforts
become all the efforts that would define me?

It all started
when I started living in the world
my mind made for me,
rather than the real world
I should live in.