Because no one will read this

I want to write for long hours without any distractions. But the birds are chirping, so I close my laptop and look outside. For a change, I hear every little sound outside my balcony - a bike whooshing past, leaves rustling, two women talking indistinctly, the sound of a running hose as someone decides to water their plants in the middle of the day.  

There is no deadline. I just need to write a blog post. And it's my blog, so it can be any topic. But I am stuck. I look at the pictures of the post - navy blue sleeveless shirt and beige shorts with a brown belt. Classic. Italian. Hint of old money. In fact, it could be one of the best quick outfits I have ever put together. 

Do I really need to write another paragraph on the outfit? Who cares? Let me publish this post anyway. Wait, what if someone actually reads this? What if they come to read about fashion and get stuck in the mind of a clueless early millennial who has no idea what she wants to do? I am hungry now. Will write better next month. Bye.

Btw, the birds chirp again.

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Hair is everything

When I first saw Phoebe Waller Bridge's character, Fleabag, saying that "Hair is everything," I didn't think much of it. Only much later did I realise that women around me talked about hair a lot. My cousin, in fact, is obsessed with hair; most of our video calls start with how frustrated she is coz of her hair. I have had colleagues who, during our cab rides to work, shared hair care tips every week. 

Growing up, tiny braids were my thing for the longest time. Even though girls around me were pressurised to grow their hair, I was lucky enough to have the freedom to do whatever I wanted with them. There was one problem, though. Two actually. Firstly, the hairdressers seemed to have sworn off any haircuts that were not layers. Everyone coming out of a hair salon looked the same. When I moved to a bigger city, I tried my best to convince hairdressers to do something different. The process involved many requests, giving examples of how the haircut looks good on certain people, and a verbal oath that I and only I would be responsible for the final outcome. Once I got the haircut, I was excited like a puppy with a new toy. But then people around me looked at me with these sad eyes as if something bad had happened to me. That was the second problem.

I guess most people are pretty uptight when it comes to haircuts. My haircuts were not even radical. But to them, it was. To them it was an inappropriate desire to change, a cry for help even. To me, it was never that serious. I changed my hair every year for one reason alone - because I could. Nothing else.  

The year that was

This year was a mixed bag for me. I went from having a stable routine - morning rush to work, metro, office, back to my place - to an uncertain everything. I stayed at six places in total with no fixed income. My physical health got worse, and my mental health, well, let's not even go there.

But what I truly want to rant about in this blog post is the trips of this year that simply sucked. I was lost when I was in Bir; the place looked uninspiring in June. Dharmshala was even worse - all brown and dry. And then there was Varkala in December - beautiful but so, so hot.

Now that I am done with my first-world cribbing, I am uploading these beautiful pictures from last year's Goa trip with a promise to bring more such pictures next year. 

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New Things

In this blog, I want to share about small, almost dull things. Things that I have discovered only recently, and can't believe why I did not know about them before. Full disclaimer: I get excited about small things. So, here we go.   

I don't know why I never used deodorant roll-ons before. They are compact, have less chemicals (especially if you choose the right brands), and make you feel really good. Also, I frowned and squinted every time I used spray deodorants. I think it was the act of spraying that gave me mild anxiety. And with roll-ons, I am calm. No surprise element. a couple of predictable smears. That's all.

I have rediscovered the purpose of the good old clocks! Like several others of my generation, I am fighting phone addiction. And I realised that every time I wanted to know what time it was, I would pick up the phone. Once I saw the time, I moved on to the other apps and before I realised it, I was doomscrolling. So, clocks give me one less reason to pick up the phone.

For all the clumsy people out there, get some bowls. I got two IKEA bowls, and I am spilling a lot less. And if you judge me for not doing something basic, like buying bowls for the longest, join the party.

I had my first Berliner! Why on earth did I not know about this perfectly (less) sweetened, cream-filled, dusted with sugar dessert before? They are like doughnuts, but better. Much better.

Uploading an image of mine in the end for no reason. Thinking about Berliners. And manifesting a trip to Germany to get my hands on the real deal.

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Not a doughnut

Nine-step skincare regime, am-pm beauty routine, glass skin, blurry skin, edible (wtf!) skin. Trending skin goals and skincare routines to achieve these goals have overwhelmed me for a while now. And I, like several others, have been conditioned to want flawless, radiant skin. A part of me believes that everything will look good on me as long as I have great skin. 

I am well aware that the billion-dollar beauty industry just wants to shove things past my skin barrier and that my skin can only absorb so much. I also know that half of the beauty products that are out there can irritate my skin. And most importantly, I know that it is nothing but patriarchy that wants me to stay busy fighting my acne scars, brightening my under eyes, minimising my pores, tattooing my lips and whatnot. Someone benefits when I am insecure, when I buy bottles, tubes, and sprays of promises. And despite knowing all this, I wake up every day to check if my skin looks okay. It's just a 2-minutes check, but I don't need a reminder to do it. 

While I am not planning to not check my skin tomorrow morning onwards, I do intend not to fall into the trap of buying too much skincare. That is the least I can do. Three products - face wash, sunscreen and a night cream. I draw the line there. And when I apply my night cream tonight, I will try not to look at it like it's some magic potion that will make me look like a doughnut the next morning. I am quite convinced that I am a human and not a dessert.

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It's Always About the Sea

Late realisations are usually painful. This morning, when I woke up from my 5700th dream of the sea, I knew what was missing from life - the crying of seagulls, the sound of waves,  the smell of the ocean. And since I can't go to the beach anytime soon, I decided to use the last lot of images from my trip to heaven and publish a blogpost.

That's all for now. Will try to write a proper blog post next month. Whoever still reads blogs and is going through this one, may you have a great trip to somehere you have always wanted to go. Soon. 

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My Days at Sibang

No matter how hard I try, I don't think I can express what I feel about this café. Café - a place where people sit down to have a cup of coffee, read a book maybe, work remotely, hang out with friends, or go on a date. While I may have done all of the above at Sibang Bakery, for me, the place is far more than the sum of its parts. It was a place I went to just be, I guess. Every Sunday morning. Sometimes Saturday mornings. For nine years.

I may go to hundreds of cafes in the years to come. Not sure if I will  feel this way about about them though. Below are some pictures I am uploading to document my life when I could go there regularly before I decided to choose a more nomadic life. 

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