Scribble Scape 🌻

You ever have one of those days where you’re just done? Like, “please, nobody ask me for anything unless it’s chocolate or silence” level of done? Emotional drainage is real, folks. Not the cute kind like "aww I’m tired because I cared too much"—no. The “I feel like my soul just filed for resignation” kind. Now, here’s the plot twist: you’re expected to show up. Always. Show up, smile, nod, listen, support, carry the emotional weight of the nation, and when you—just ONCE—dare to say, “Hey, I’m not okay,” what do you get? “Oh, so now you’re making it about you?” Excuse me, what? Since when did me talking about my feelings become an act of rebellion? The Emotional ATM Syndrome Let’s talk about Emotional ATM Syndrome. You’re the Emotional ATM—people come, swipe their card of crisis, withdraw empathy, and leave. But the moment your machine needs maintenance, oh boy. Alarms go off. “I didn’t expect this from you.” “You’re not the same anymore.” “You’ve changed.” Well, yes. I’ve ch...

There I was—sitting alone at Cup and Kitaab, on what I proudly call a solo coffee date. Just me, my period mood swings, a half-drunk cappuccino, and a quesadilla I clearly overestimated my appetite for. Living the dream, honestly. Now don’t get me wrong, I love these little coffee outings. But this one hit a little differently. Somewhere between the first sip of coffee and the second bite of my quesadilla (which, by the way, is just a fancy way of saying cheesy regret in a triangle), I had a full-blown realization: I’m officially at that age where I can’t just call any random person uncle or aunty without judgment. Heartbreaking. Tragic. A rite of passage no one prepares you for. The carefree days of blindly assigning honorary uncle-aunty status to every slightly older person? Gone. Now, I have to actually assess—Do they look old enough? Will I offend them? Should I just avoid the risk and awkwardly nod instead? The struggle is real. Also, can we talk about how I used to demolish an en...

You know that feeling when you walk into a situation with nothing but good intentions, only to find yourself somehow branded as the villain? Like, excuse me, I just showed up with my metaphorical toolbox of help, and now I’m the one who broke everything? Fascinating. It all started when I decided to be helpful—a decision I now question with every fiber of my being. Things didn’t go as planned (life, am I right?), and before I knew it, the whispers started. Not the good kind, like "Wow, they’re so amazing," but the other kind. The "Did you hear? It’s all their fault" kind. Ah, classic. The best part? The person in question is all sunshine and politeness when we cross paths, like we’re co-stars in some wholesome sitcom. But off-screen? Let’s just say, if words were daggers, I’d be in a medieval battle scene. It’s almost impressive how people can be all smiles and good vibes while simultaneously crafting the perfect villain arc for you. Now, the real dilemma—do I confr...