Scribble Scape 🌻

  There comes a phase in life when it feels like the universe is hosting an open mic night and the only act on stage is… you, while everyone else is the audience, booing and throwing tomatoes. Every word you hear is criticism. Every move you make feels like it comes with a “could’ve done better.” And suddenly, you’re convinced that even if you found the cure for Monday blues, someone would still say, “Hmm, but why not Friday blues too?” I found myself in exactly that season  where nobody seemed to have a kind word, where I was never anyone’s first choice, and where the loneliness was loud enough to drown out Spotify. I was trying  really trying  but somehow “trying” felt invisible. And the worst part? That whisper in my head that said, “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s me.” It’s a strange emotional cocktail: one sip of self-blame, one shot of exhaustion, topped with a fizzy splash of “why me?” Served on the rocks, naturally. But here’s the twist: even in this me...

  A few nights ago, I was sitting with a friend, the kind of friend who’s been walking a path eerily similar to mine. We were talking—half-laughing, half-serious—the way people do when they’re trying to untangle the mess inside their own heads. And then it slipped out. “Why can’t we cry?” The room went quiet. Not the heavy kind of silence, more like the kind where two people realize they’ve been holding the same unspoken thought. We both knew the pain was there, lingering like a dull ache. But the tears? The breakdowns? The dramatic “letting it all out”? They never showed up. For a second, we wondered if something was wrong with us. Healing, at least in every movie ever made, looks like sobbing into tissues, collapsing into someone’s arms, or staring at the ceiling with swollen eyes. Crying is supposed to be the proof that you’re processing it all. So if we weren’t crying… were we even healing? But the longer we talked, the clearer it became: maybe the absence of tears was...

You know that one girl who seems to have it all figured out? The one always smiling, always posting aesthetic sunset pics with latte art or grocery-store flowers, talking about mental health like she’s sponsored by a podcast? Yeah. Hi. It’s me. I’m the girl. And guess what? I get FOMO. Let’s rewind. I’m currently in this phase of my life where—on paper—it looks like I’m thriving. I’m traveling, learning, interning, meeting new people, exploring new cities, and somehow managing to have decent hair on most days (not all, I’m not superhuman). I do gratitude journaling. I meditate. I even remember to drink water sometimes. And yet, every once in a while, while living this Technicolor dream, I’ll scroll through Instagram and get hit with the “everyone’s life looks so…together” syndrome. There’s a brunch I wasn’t invited to. A group trip I didn’t know about. A party back home where my name was probably never even brought up. It’s weird because I know I’m not missing out. I’m doin...

You know how phones have that little “low battery” warning? Adults have that too. Except ours looks like: Eating cereal at 2AM standing by the sink, Crying over a text that wasn’t even that mean, Or full-on spiraling over whether we’ve peaked in life at 23. Welcome to adulthood. We don’t cope, we spiral — briefly, dramatically, and efficiently. Then we go back to our Teams meetings like nothing happened. It’s not a breakdown, it’s a scheduled maintenance. 💫 The 10-Minute Spiral Protocol Step 1: Have one minor inconvenience. Like… missing a bus. Or your fav cafe running out of oat milk. Or someone texting “k.” That’s enough. Step 2: Go full chaos mode. Cue the “What am I doing with my life?” inner monologue. Spiral about your career, relationships, that embarrassing thing you said in 2015, and the existential dread of time passing. Bonus points if it’s all done in the shower. Step 3: Reboot. Wash your face. Drink water. Put on a cute outfit or throw on a hoodie and preten...