Growing Up

What’s a moment when you realized you were officially an adult?

For much of my childhood, I lived in a cocoon of protection. My parents spared no effort in shielding me from hardship, and my sister, too, placed my needs above her own. It was a world where happiness seemed permanent, where every want was met before I even knew to ask. I thought that was life — simple, safe, and endlessly cared for.

The illusion shattered the day I was handed medical proxy papers when my mother was admitted to the hospital. I was not yet eighteen, still technically a child, but in that moment the world demanded something more of me. Though I ultimately needed a relative to sign, the weight of responsibility pressed down on me. I felt inadequate, unprepared, and suddenly aware that the real world was far harsher than the one I had been living in. That was the day I realized I had to grow up.

From then on, every step became part of that growth. I finished school, pursued my undergraduate studies, and eventually secured a job. Each milestone carried with it the quiet determination to shift roles — from being the one cared for to becoming the one who could care. I wanted to give back to the family that had given me everything, to stand as their support just as they had always stood for me.

Growth, I have learned, is not a single event but a continuous unfolding. It began in that hospital corridor, with trembling hands holding papers I could not yet sign, and it continues each day as I navigate adulthood. I am still growing, still learning, still striving to balance the weight of responsibility with the gratitude I feel for the love that raised me.

Adulthood is not about perfection. It is about stepping forward even when you feel inadequate, about carrying the lessons of protection into the practice of care. My journey is ongoing, but I know now that growth is not something to fear — it is the path that allows me to honor the family who gave me everything, by becoming someone who can give back in return.

Food, My Ancient Enemy

Which is the best restaurant in your city?

Lately, I’ve noticed so many writing prompts about food. They make me think harder than usual, and sometimes I feel a little clueless about what to say. But food, I realize, isn’t just about taste. It’s about the places we go, the people we sit with, and the memories we carry home.

For me, the best restaurant isn’t only about how crazy good the food tastes — though that matters. It’s also about wanting to go back again and again. Still, I’ve learned that atmosphere counts too. I don’t want a place that’s too crowded. I want to hear and talk to the person I’m with. I want to spend time with my family, because those moments give me strength. In the past few years, I’ve yearned for them more than ever — the kind of moments that keep me steady when life feels overwhelming.

From my childhood, one restaurant stands out is Hatam Al Ta’ai, an Iranian restaurant in Dubai. It’s not really suitable for vegetarians because it is a meat heavy place, but for me it was unforgettable.

They served the most delicious slow-cooked kebabs and lamb chops, with fresh salad, fries, and hummus on the side. It was the only place where I would eat salad without complaint — that’s how good it was. The flavors were rich, comforting, and memorable.

If you ever travel to Dubai, I would wholeheartedly recommend Hatam Al Ta’ai. For me, it wasn’t just about the food, but about the joy of being there, the family moments, and the comfort it gave me.

One more message to the past

If you had a time machine and could send just one message to your past self, what would it say?

What my past self needs to hear from the me of today.

Since I have already answered a similar question motivationally, I am choosing to answer this one a little bit practical. No supportive statement this time, this time it’s a slap in the face do or die statement.

There are moments in life when we convince ourselves that pain is deserved. That imperfection means we must accept whatever treatment comes our way. I once believed that. I stayed in a toxic relationship, telling myself that suffocating was the price of belonging. I gave up pieces of myself to fit into someone else’s mold, and for that, I lost years I’ll never get back.

But here’s the truth I wish I had carved into my mind – You don’t deserve pain just because you’re not perfect. You walk alone happy rather than stay with someone who will break you. Be different. Be controversial. Refuse to bend into society’s expectations. At the end of the day, you still have yourself — and that is enough.

Be alone rather than lonely. Be alone rather than broken.

This is not comfort. This is survival. It’s the reminder I carry now, the lesson I would have shouted into my past self’s ears. And it’s the truth I want anyone reading this to hold close: your wholeness is worth more than any relationship that demands you shatter to fit inside it.

Magic that Distance brings

Which author would you love to have dinner with?

While I love books and the worlds authors create for me with their words, I have never wished to meet any of them in person. My love is for the words themselves — words that open doors to thrillers, mysteries, and fantasy realms where the impossible suddenly feels possible. These stories are dreams I carry with me, and I would not intentionally break that magic.

The mystery of the human mind fascinates me. Two people can grow up in the same circumstances, yet the worlds they imagine will never be the same. That divergence is what makes storytelling so extraordinary. Each reader builds their own version of the author’s world, and that uniqueness is what I treasure most.

Meeting an author, however, feels like it would collapse the boundary between dream and reality. To see the person behind the words might fracture the spell those books have cast over me. I prefer to keep the curtain closed, to let the illusion remain untouched.

There is also a practical side to this choice. Being an introvert, I know I would struggle to hold a conversation with an author. Relating to another reader is easy — we share the experience of being transported. But relating to the author’s mindframe, the place where those worlds were born, feels like a gulf too wide to cross.

So I choose to keep my dream world separate from reality. I admire the craft, I cherish the words, but I do not seek the person behind them. Meeting an author is not on my bucket list. For me, the truest way to honor their work is to let their words live freely in my imagination, untouched by the weight of reality.

Hope rather than Faith

What’s a moment when a stranger completely restored your faith in people?

I have never believed that a single act by a stranger could “completely” restore my faith in humanity. To me, that feels naive. Humanity is not a monolith of goodness or evil—it is a mosaic of choices, each person navigating their own sense of what is right. Some choices wound, others heal. And in between, there are the small, fleeting gestures that remind us the world is not entirely indifferent.

I think of the stranger who stood behind me, shielding me from the unwanted closeness of someone pressing in too far. Or the child who paused their play to hold out a hand to a pregnant neighbor, helping her step over a puddle. These moments are not grand or heroic, yet they carry a quiet weight. They whisper that kindness still exists, that even in a world heavy with selfishness and cruelty, there are sparks of care that refuse to be extinguished.

Such acts do not erase the darker truths of human behavior. They do not transform humanity into something it is not. But they ignite hope—hope that life can still surprise us with grace, hope that the burden of hardship can be lightened by compassion. And it is this hope that gives strength. It is what steadies us when exhaustion tempts us to give up, what reminds us that perseverance is not futile.

Faith in humanity, then, is not about sweeping redemption. It is about noticing the lanterns in the dark, however small their glow. It is about carrying those lights within us, so that when the path feels unbearable, we remember: the world is not all bad. And that memory alone can be enough to keep us moving forward.

The Perfect Image

What’s something you used to worry about but don’t anymore?

I have never been a very confident person, largely because I never fit the appearance that society calls “beautiful.” As I grew older, the world seemed to grow meaner. As a child, I did not fully understand the taunts hidden behind sweet smiles and caring words. But with time, I began to hear the malice between the lines. Eventually, the mockery was no longer disguised, and the words broke me. At eleven or twelve, I did not have the emotional strength to look beyond the bad days. I withdrew from everything — from family, from the things I loved, from my dreams and hopes.

Yet growing older brought a realization: I could be perfect in every way, and people would still judge, still comment, still find something to tear down. Many speak without understanding the impact their words can have. Others live with the sole intention of hurting. You can never truly know another person’s motives, but you can choose not to acknowledge them. It is easier said than done, but if you begin today, over time it becomes a habit. Slowly, peace replaces the noise.

Society’s expectations are ever-changing. Just when you think you have done everything right, something shifts, and suddenly you are wrong again. For years, I kept adapting myself, trying to meet those expectations. But the moment I stopped caring about what others thought, I found happiness.

Now I do what I want. If people think I am silly or foolish, I no longer mind. Their judgment is fleeting, but my joy in those moments is lasting. A silly memory can bring back a smile long after the moment has passed. And in this world, happiness is the most precious thing one can have. So I choose to cherish my silliness, to hold onto my happiness, and to live beyond the weight of other people’s opinions.

Day 5: Feeling Bored

It’s just been the fifth day of me, trying to maintain a consistent habit of writing a blog. I am already feeling like just giving up.

More than writing a blog consistently, I wanted to keep this blog as a way to keep myself accountable to the changes that I want to make in my life. I keep stalling on things such as waking up early and trying to exercise or even meditate for that matter.

The worst part of it all is that I still have not started reading my bible every day. I really want to be closer to God before I close my eyes not for the fear of hell or death. I just feel guilty that He was the one person that showed me consistent love, and I haven’t even begun to start loving him back.

Starting tomorrow I am going to make that conscious effort to read the bible and prayer before I start my day. Hopefully one day it becomes a necessity rather than a forced habit.

The items that broke my bank

I am a calculated impulsive buyer. I do not know if that makes sense.

Name the most expensive personal item you’ve ever purchased (not your home or car).

It’s just that when I really want to buy something especially if the item in question is on the higher end of my usual spending bracket I take my time.

The “take my time” statement does not make sense when I call my self impulsive. Self Contradictory. To put things into perspective, the desire to buy is impulsive. As soon as I see something I like I want to buy it! The only thing that restricts me is my need for financial stability.

I end up saving for the item first. I take my time and restrict my expenses to the come up with the money to buy it. Sometimes by the time I save the money the item is out of the market and I loose the chance to buy it. However, on the other hand there are few items that I did end up buying.

My largest spends till date are: my Samsung Flip phone, my iPad and my Sony Camera. These may not be “pricey” according to some peoples standards but with my education expenses buying even these were a challenge.

Totally worth the wait and worth the cost! I think the wait to buy it made the actual purchase even more special!

Music beyond Genre

What is your favorite genre of music?

I have never had a proper understanding of the different genres of music. In fact for a long time, I did not even know that there were different genres.

My mom and sister love listening to music so I never was a stranger to it. Add to that the fact that I was 5 when I first joined the junior choir, it was a natural progression that I would develop an interest in music of my own.

My music interest started with gospel music. Closer to my teens I developed my interest in music separate from my family. Though I was not aware of it at that time I believe that I automatically divert towards “Pop” music.

Though pop music has always been my top choice that spans across languages. I have ventured into other genres like R&B, Blues, Hip-hop, rock etc..

I love exploring new music and listening to artists from different regions. Music is my daily requirement now. I listen to music when I work, when I study, when I cook even at times when I sleep. Genres have never restricted my choice or interest in music and I hope that I continue to love music in its many forms.

I Choose You!

Daily writing prompt
What was the last live performance you saw?

I think the first and only time we went for a live performance was when I was 8 or 9 years old.

The memory I quite vague but it was a live performance of Pokémon. I don’t remember much of the actual performance but I have blurry memories of the characters. I remember seeing Ash and Pikachu, and oddly, I remember Team Rocket in the “sky”.

I remember sitting in the park, which had an amphitheater area, I remember buying popcorn, and a ring that had flashing lights. But the most distinct memory I have is of the Pikachu balloon that my mom bought for me. It was those helium inflated Pikachu shaped ones, and I was thoroughly fascinated by it. I carried it around the home with me for the rest of the week. Wherever I went, my Pikachu came with me.

But, watching another live performance once in my life is on my bucket list of things to do before I die. Hopefully, sooner than later!