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...

 You ever notice how we, as humans, are basically programmed to never give up—no matter how many times life drop-kicks us? It’s like the universe is throwing obvious hints that "Hey, maybe quit while you're ahead?" but our hearts just go, "Nope. One more try." This isn’t optimism. This is stubborn hope syndrome—a condition where, despite overwhelming evidence that something is a lost cause, we still believe, "Maybe this time, it’ll be different." And the worst part? We don’t even panic. Nope. We just sit there, sipping chai, watching the chaos unfold, whispering, "It’s fine. Everything will work out." Let’s dive into some classic cases, shall we? Exhibit A: The ‘He Will Change’ Fairytale The, the age-old belief that love can turn a toxic, emotionally unavailable person into a devoted saint. The red flags are so red, they’re practically sirens. Yet, there you are, saying things like: "He just needs time." "He’s different when it...

Have you ever woken up one fine day, stretched your arms, and thought, Ah, what a beautiful day to be misunderstood? No? Just me? Cool. Lately, I’ve been feeling like I unknowingly walked onto the set of a movie where everyone decided I’m the villain. And not even the cool, well-dressed, sarcastic kind. Nope. More like the misunderstood character who gets roasted for crimes they didn’t commit. It’s funny how you can be nothing but genuine, yet somehow, the script flips, and suddenly you’re labeled as rude, arrogant, or worse—"changed." Oh yes, the classic "You’ve changed!" accusation. (Well, of course, I have, Shalini, it’s called growth. Maybe try it sometime?) The worst part? You start questioning yourself. Am I actually rude? Did I say something wrong? Should I start sending voice notes instead of texts so people can hear I’m not plotting their downfall? But then you realize—no matter how hard you try to be nice, there will always be someone who paints you as the...

You know that feeling when a video gets stuck buffering at 99%? It’s almost playing, but not quite. That’s exactly how my brain feels right now. Not panicked, not calm—just stuck in this weird in-between where everything feels off, but I have no idea why. I woke up today, and my mind just went, Nah, we’re not functioning properly. No big triggers, no life-altering events—just a subtle, lingering sense of unease, like my brain opened too many tabs and now refuses to process any of them. When Your Brain Is Stuck in ‘Loading’ Mode Anxiety is usually loud. Racing thoughts, heart pounding, full-blown panic. But what about this? This quiet, lingering, something’s wrong but I don’t know what kind of feeling? It’s like my brain is buffering, but there’s no actual internet issue—just pure, unexplainable chaos. It’s the emotional equivalent of: Waiting for a page to load, but it just keeps spinning. Clicking “refresh” on your thoughts, but the same weird feeling stays. That moment of suspense wh...

 You know that feeling when your laptop starts overheating, the fan sounds like a jet engine, and suddenly, everything freezes? Yeah, that’s me—except instead of a laptop, it’s my brain, and instead of overheating, it’s pure, unfiltered anxiety. Some days, I wake up feeling like a responsible adult (a rare phenomenon, but it happens). Other days, I’m one minor inconvenience away from dramatically lying on the floor and questioning my existence. Lately, the latter has been winning. The Art of Almost Losing It The signs are clear: Your to-do list has become a cryptic prophecy of doom. You enter a room, forget why you’re there, and just stand like an NPC waiting for instructions. Your playlist is either deep, soul-healing instrumentals or aggressively loud music that makes you feel like the main character of a tragic indie film. No in-between. And the worst part? You don’t even know what exactly went wrong. It’s just a culmination of tiny, microscopic frustrations stacking up like a v...