Writing this feels different and difficult. I haven’t written a word for myself in the past 6 months or more. It may seem that writing for oneself must be easy, with no “points to be included”, no “CTA”, no tip-toeing around “this sounds like an ad” and no pressure of meeting requirements. It's the opposite. I don’t want your money so I don't have a Twitter thread telling me how not to make money with writing. It’s hard to know what you want to achieve when you write for yourself.

All I know is I want to write. It keeps me sane and I need me sane. While I was away from this sanity, I was also away from home, trying to make another set of walls my home. When you grow up thinking independence is all your juvenile heart desires: moving out, living the ‘it’ girl life sounds cool and everything you’d wanna do. I moved out and tried the adulting thing. My feelings after are bittersweet and I have learnt that the people you do with it constitute about 60% of how your experience goes. Of course, it feels great to have lived separately and manage food, career, bills, college, social life and whatnot but there is a part of you that you lose on the way. It happens because you learn (maybe) some truths of life that you hadn’t encountered yet.

As someone who digs the ‘a writer on the internet’ persona, I want to collect the small, miserable, good, and fulfilling instances of my life. I want to help myself and maybe another person with my writing. Just as I live vicariously through others, someone might just do that through mine.

Not having written and shared those instances from the past months, my brain was constantly brimmed with topics and like many other people, I didn’t note them (not surprised). So from whatever dent these experiences have made on my way, hopefully, I can recollect the stories and tell them.