Nineteen Things I’ve Learnt at Nineteen

A chaotic, tender, overly self-aware love letter to the year that broke me beautifully. Okay, let’s go. There are years that blur like watercolours in the rain—and then there are years, like nineteen, that rewire the way you see yourself entirely.

Nineteen is not for the faint of heart. It’s not sweet sixteen with its scrapbook sparkles, and it’s not twenty with its false promises of having it all figured out. Nineteen is liminal space. The twilight zone. A breath held between “just a kid” and “you should know better by now.” It’s not the beginning, not quite the middle — just a messy, glitter-stained in-between where everything feels like everything.

A missed call? Heartbreak.
A new playlist? Rebirth.
A Monday 9AM class? Existential dread.
And yet, somehow, you survive it. You keep showing up.

SAYING GOODBYE TO NINETEEN SOON…

I’ll be turning 20 in 12 days and God only knows what I’ve seen and expect to see this year. I have a little tradition, a list of lessons learnt, and I add one point every birthday (I started on my 17th). This article is just an expanded version of said list. C’mon, hear me out till the end <3

Nineteen cracked me open and called it growth. It handed me mirrors I didn’t want to look into. It made me grieve versions of myself I never got to be. It reminded me, painfully and patiently, that sometimes becoming the person you’re meant to be means disappointing the people you used to be, or the people who thought they knew you best.

But this isn’t a sad story.

This isn’t a year of breakups and breakdowns and bottomless cups of crying on the bathroom floor (though I had exactly one of those, for the record). This is a story about becoming. Quietly. Unapologetically. Softly but stubbornly.

Some of these lessons were whispered by my dad while we were walking. Some were screamed at me by my own intuition, tired of being ignored. Some came through my sister after getting TIRED to hearing me make the same mistakes again and again. Some came from loved ones who stayed just long enough to say something that would echo forever. Others were downloaded during late-night walks and rainy-day playlists and conversations with myself at 3AM.

And not a single one of them comes from a place of bitterness. These aren’t wounds. These are wildflowers. Little truths that sprouted in the cracks.

Because here’s the real truth: I was never broken. I never needed fixing. Every version of me, loud, awkward, overthinking, over-loving, dramatic, dreamy, deeply delusional, was already enough. Already perfect. Simply because she was.

And I’m done trying to become a more acceptable version of myself just to be easier to love or understand. I’m not chasing someone else’s idea of “better.” I’m learning that I’m already the best at the one thing only I can do, being me.

So here it is. A chaotic list. A soft manifesto. A digital keepsake of the things I now carry with me, etched into the lining of my heart. These are the 19 things I’ve learnt at 19, from the deepest, darkest voids to the sparkliest late-night epiphanies.

Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t.
But if you’re nineteen, or once were, or will be soon: you are not alone.

1. Just say yes and do things for the plot. Spontaneity isn’t a bad thing.

Look, I know we all romanticise the plot, but when it actually shows up in real life? It doesn’t look like the highlight reel on Pinterest. It looks like last-minute plans that make no sense, taking the longer road because the vibe feels right, or saying yes to something so absurd, it makes your Google Calendar cry (if you’re not colour-coding on your Google Calendar… DO IT).

But you know what? The best parts of my nineteenth year are unscheduled.

They aren’t the perfectly planned meetups or the timetabled goals. They are the 11 p.m. walks that turned into therapy sessions (after hearing the guards screaming, of course). The random coffee runs that turned into friendships. The one reckless night that made everything hurt and heal at the same time. Sometimes, the plot twist is the personality development.

Just say yes.
Say yes when your friend says, “Let’s go to Janak at 6 a.m.”
Say yes to the open mic even though you’re shaking.
Say yes to crazy Open Electives, cutting your hair, falling in love with a new version of yourself.

Say yes to the mess.

Because spontaneity? It’s not recklessness in disguise. It’s freedom. It’s you telling the universe: “I’m here. I’m alive. Let’s make this interesting.”
It doesn’t always have to make sense to be worth doing.

I used to be so obsessed with control. With knowing what came next, with being “on track,” with building a perfect version of the future. But guess what? Life doesn’t care about your five-year plan. Life will throw you a plot twist, whether you like it or not. You might as well be the one flipping the pages.

Doing things “for the plot” means giving yourself permission to live, loudly.
Not everything needs to have a purpose beyond the moment. Not everything has to be productive to be valuable. Sometimes, you just need to go to that party, talk to that stranger, take that slightly inconvenient detour—just because it might make a good story later.

And you know what? It usually does.

So here’s your sign: let go of the overthinking, stop waiting for the “perfect time,” and just say yes.
Even if it ends in disaster, heartbreak, or an oddly specific allergic reaction—you’ll laugh about it later. Or write about it. Or grow because of it.

Either way?
It’s good for the plot.

2. Never settle for breadcrumbs wanting the full box of cookies. It’s only a recipe for disaster.

Let me say it plain and sweet: if you’re hungry for love, respect, effort, or emotional consistency — don’t you dare pretend that crumbs are a meal.

We all do it. We convince ourselves that bare minimum texts, half-assed apologies, or “situationships with potential”are enough. We romanticise what could be instead of facing what actually is. We see a crumb—a “good morning” text once a week, an ounce of attention on a bad day—and we tell ourselves we’re lucky to have anything at all.

But here’s the thing: You were made for the full box. The whole damn recipe. With extra chocolate chips and a side of soft serve.

Crumbs are for people who’ve forgotten their worth. Crumbs are for moments when we think we’re too much, too needy, too emotional — so we settle for less than we deserve and call it a compromise. But deep down, we know it’s not enough. And it never will be.

I learned this the hard way. I stayed in friendships where I was the only one reaching out. Entertained situationships that left me overthinking in the bathroom mirror at 2AM. I let people almost love me.

And it sucked. Because you know what happens when you eat just crumbs? You stay starving.

Emotionally, mentally, spiritually, you’re in a constant state of almost. And the worst part? It tricks your brain into believing that’s all you’ll ever get.

But the truth is: you are not hard to love. You’re just asking people to meet you where they’ve never dared to go.

Don’t shrink your appetite to match their serving size.

Whether it’s relationships, opportunities, or even the way you treat yourself, if it doesn’t fill you, feed you, nourish your soul like a warm cookie on a rainy day, it’s not enough. And that’s okay to admit because settling doesn’t make you strong. Walking away does.

So here’s your reminder that wanting the whole box isn’t greedy. It’s grounded.
It’s you saying:
“I know what I bring to the table, and I won’t sit at one that only offers scraps.”

Hold out for people who match your energy, who make you feel safe and seen, who bring the milk and the cookies, and then some. Because anything less? That’s not dessert. That’s disappointment.

3. Stop and smell the roses. And also? Take a picture. But don’t forget to actually look.

I hate to sound like a Pinterest quote with too many fonts, but wow, life is beautiful.

Not in the loud, neon-sign kind of way. But in the quiet, blink-and-you-miss-it kind of way. It’s the sun slipping through your curtains just right. The way your best friend laughs when she’s tired. The dusty pink sky after a long day. The scent of someone’s perfume that makes you pause mid-step.

And in a world that moves fast, scrolls faster, and forgets even faster than that, pausing to actually feel something?
That’s revolutionary.

“Stop and smell the roses” sounds like one of those cliché things adults say when they’re trying to guilt-trip you for being chronically online. But honestly? They weren’t wrong. Because life, when you actually slow down enough to notice it, is achingly lovely.

And yet, I’m also a sucker for a good camera roll. I’m not anti-phone. If anything, I’m the girl who makes everyone freeze mid-bite because “the lighting is perfect right now.” I love documenting the mundane. I love having 77 photos of the same sunset, slightly different angles, same amount of magic.

Because memory is slippery. Because time is a thief.

But here’s what I’ve learned: You can’t just collect the moment. You have to live it, too. Take the picture. Take three. But then, put your phone down. Breathe. Burn the image into your heart. Soak in the laughter, the smell of the air, the background noise. Be there. Not just on your story, in your soul.

I’ve had moments this year where I was so desperate to preserve the magic, I forgot to actually feel it. Like I was watching my life through glass — close, but not quite touching it.

And let me tell you:
No matter how good the photo is, it will never replace the memory of how something felt.

So this is your dual reminder:
Yes, life is worth capturing. But it’s even more worth experiencing.
Romanticise your life. Take videos of your friends eating ice cream. Screenshot your 3 a.m. playlists. Film the wind blowing through your hair. But don’t get so busy keeping the moment that you forget to keep it with you.

This year, I got so engrossed in taking coverage, anchoring, executing, basically anything for the events I was helping with that I HAD TO MAKE IT A POINT TO REMIND MYSELF.

Roses don’t bloom forever.
Smell them. Then click. Then close your eyes, and remember.

4. don’t be a people pleaser. i know you like to make everybody happy but the thing is when you try to people please, people who take advantage of you, you’re not pleasing yourself. you’re putting others needs before your own mental health.

Look, I get it. You like when people are happy. You like when no one’s mad at you. You like keeping the peace, the vibe, the group chat, the energy… immaculate. You want to be liked, loved, invited, included. And honestly? That’s human. We’re wired for connection. But people pleasing? That’s not connection. That’s performance.

And spoiler alert: You’re not a circus act, babe.

People pleasing is just self-abandonment in a sparkly costume. And sure, it might come with applause at first, but it never lasts. Because when your yes is always louder than your no, when your smile is fake but your anxiety is real, when you bend over backwards just to keep everyone else comfortable—you end up losing the one person you’re actually supposed to take care of: you.

Let me say it plain, and maybe a little silly:
You are not a croissant. You don’t need to flake for people to like you.
You don’t need to say yes when your gut is screaming no.
You don’t need to show up for people who wouldn’t even RSVP for you.

Here’s what people don’t tell you about chronic people pleasing: it doesn’t actually please anyone. It just attracts people who benefit from your silence. People who like you better watered down. People who think boundaries are optional, and your time is a buffet.

But the truth? You are not for public consumption.

You are a whole damn galaxy of thoughts, needs, emotions, and limits.
And anyone who gets uncomfortable when you express them? Probably isn’t meant to orbit around you.

I know, setting boundaries can feel like a crime. The guilt? Crippling. The urge to write a 3-paragraph explanation for saying “Sorry, I can’t come”? Unmatched. But protecting your peace isn’t mean. Saying no isn’t rude. Choosing yourself isn’t selfish.

In fact, get ready for this plot twist, it’s self-respect.

You don’t need to be liked by everyone. You need to be loved deeply by the right ones. And those people? The real ones? They won’t flinch when you’re honest. They won’t leave when you have needs. They won’t punish you for prioritising your mental health. They’ll say, “Yeah, I get it,” and mean it.

So here’s your reminder, soft but firm:
You are allowed to disappoint people. You are allowed to be too much for the wrong crowd. You are allowed to be your full self, even when it’s messy, even when it’s loud, even when it doesn’t fit their version of who you should be.

You weren’t put on this Earth to be liked. You were made to be whole. And if that makes someone uncomfortable? Hand them a pillow.

5. be prepared, when you recover from the people pleasing disease, that you will lose “friends”. your circle will miraculously get smaller because you have started to have boundaries. but just remember, the people that have a problem pushing your boundaries are not. your. friends

Congratulations! You’ve uninstalled the “I’m available 24/7 to everyone but myself” software. You’ve stopped bending, breaking, and buffering for people who only downloaded the best parts of you for convenience. You’re finally out here saying no without a paragraph of over-explaining, resting without guilt, and treating your energy like it’s limited-edition gold (because it is).

But here’s the catch:
Not everyone claps when you stop performing.

The second you start saying “this makes me uncomfortable,” or “I can’t do this anymore,” or—brace yourself—“I need space”… a few people are gonna vanish faster than your will to socialise after a group project.

And at first? That hurts.
You’ll wonder if you’re the problem.
You’ll spiral, thinking maybe your boundaries are “too much.”
You’ll start missing people who were only ever there when you were easy to control.

But don’t panic: this is just the detox.

See, when you start healing your people-pleasing tendencies, your social circle goes through its own lil purification process. Some folks leave. Others get weirdly quiet. And a few? They start guilt-tripping you like they’re collecting emotional frequent flyer miles.

But the truth is brutal and freeing all at once:
The people who have a problem with your boundaries were never your friends.

They were fans of your availability.
They liked the version of you who didn’t ask for much.
They were comfortable when you were uncomfortable.

And now that you’re saying “I matter, too”? Whew. Crickets.

But let me remind you:
A smaller circle filled with safe people is better than a crowd full of landmines.
People who respect your boundaries won’t question them. They won’t punish you for growing. They won’t disappear the moment you stop overextending yourself. In fact, the real ones? They’ll cheer. They’ll say, “I’m proud of you for choosing you.”

So yes, it’s gonna feel a little lonely.
But no, you are not alone.

You’re just in the quiet part of the transformation—the part where your energy recalibrates, your standards rise, and your nervous system finally exhales. And on the other side of that? Are friendships that don’t feel like emotional tightropes. Are people who love you in full; boundaries, honesty, and all.

So don’t mourn the loss of performative connections. Celebrate the gain of your self-respect.

Because if your peace scares them off?
Let them run.
You were never meant to stay small just to fit inside someone else’s comfort zone.

6. people come and go. moments come and go. living life on autopilot isn’t as bad as you may think it is. it’s just important to get the control back when needed, otherwise, go with the flow.

Here’s the truth: not every chapter of your life will be loud. Not every scene will be cinematic. You won’t always be glowing with main-character energy, walking in slow motion under golden-hour skies with a synth-pop soundtrack behind you. Some days? You’re just there. Half-awake. Phone in one hand, a half-eaten granola bar in the other, brain buffering like you’ve got 7 tabs open and Wi-Fi from iBUS MUJ.

But let’s clear something up:
Living on autopilot doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It means you’re surviving.

It’s your mind saying, “I’m doing what I can with what I’ve got.”
And honestly? That’s brave in its own quiet way.

Sometimes you’re not supposed to be sprinting toward your dream life. Sometimes you’re just brushing your hair, replying to two out of five texts, and choosing peace over productivity. And that’s still living. That’s still you, showing up. That’s still life happening, whether you’re actively steering or not.

People will come and go. That’s just a law of nature. Some will leave quietly, others will slam the door on their way out. Some you’ll outgrow. Some will blindside you with how quickly they forgot you. But don’t take their exits as a reflection of your worth; it’s just the universe doing its seasonal clean-up. And the same goes for moments. One second, you’re laughing until your ribs ache, and the next it’s a memory tucked into a TikTok draft or a blurry photo in your camera roll. You’ll try to hold on, and it’ll still slip through your fingers.

But impermanence isn’t the villain.
It’s the proof that you lived at all.

And yes, the “go with the flow” thing? Kinda cheesy. Kinda vague. But also… weirdly true. Life isn’t always asking you to hustle, chase, strive. Sometimes it just wants you to float. And floating isn’t giving up, it’s trusting that you’ll find the shore when you’re ready.

Still, the key?
Knowing when to take the wheel back.

Because if you drift for too long, you can lose sight of the horizon. You forget what joy felt like. What presence tasted like. So when the light shifts, when the wind changes, don’t be afraid to say, “Okay. Time to wake up again.”

Tune in. Breathe deeper. Look up from your phone. Let a moment actually reach you. Even if it’s just the way your mug warms your hands or the way your friend mispronounces a word and makes you laugh-snort.

You’re allowed to ebb.
You’re allowed to flow.
But never forget that you still get to choose.

So if you’re in your autopilot era right now, I see you. And I promise: you’re not failing. You’re just human. You’re doing your best. And maybe your best today is just brushing your teeth, putting on fresh socks, and remembering that you’re still here. That’s enough.

Let the current carry you when it needs to.
But don’t forget: you’ve got a compass in your chest.
And it will always point you back home.

7. if you have a steadfast self-image and opinion of yourself, others’ hardly matters. that being said, remember that when you have so much love to give to everyone in the world, you deserve most of it for yourself too. don’t get lost loving someone else. don’t forget that you come first before sharing that priority with someone else.

Let’s talk about you for a second.
The way your heart holds space for people.
The way you show up, cheer on, love out loud.
It’s gorgeous. It’s powerful. It’s rare.

But here’s the catch: when you’re built to love like that, you have to be built to protect yourself, too.

There is an unshakable kind of power that comes from knowing yourself. Like really knowing yourself. The kind of knowing that makes you walk through the world with quiet confidence—not because you think you’re better than anyone, but because you finally understand that you don’t have to convince anyone, either.

Because when your self-image is built like bedrock—when it’s rooted in your own truth and not the shifting sands of public opinion—you stop crumbling every time someone doesn’t clap for you.

And I know… I know you want to be liked. You want to be understood. You want to be chosen—in friendships, in love, in group chats where everyone gets the inside jokes.
But please, don’t ever let someone else’s approval be the currency you use to buy your self-worth.
That’s a debt trap. That’s emotional capitalism. That’s “forever chasing and never arriving.”

And worst of all? It drains you of the very thing you were trying to share—your love.

Because here’s the kicker: when your heart is as soft and generous and sunlit as yours, it’s so easy to give, give, give. It feels natural. It feels right. You want to make people feel special. You want to be their safe space. You want to help them carry their weight and write them long messages and remember their coffee order.
And that’s beautiful. Never lose that.

But—you cannot forget yourself in the process.

You cannot pour yourself dry for people who only show up with empty cups and open hands. You cannot keep giving your best to people who only show up when it’s convenient. You cannot set yourself on fire just to keep someone else warm—especially if they wouldn’t so much as spark a match for you.

Let me say it louder for your inner people-pleaser still trying to shrink herself down into likability:
You come first.
You come first.
YOU. COME. FIRST.

And the moment you start living like that? Some people will fall away.
People who benefited from your lack of boundaries. People who liked the version of you who didn’t say “no.” People who only knew how to love you conditionally.

Let them go.

Because the right people? The real ones? They won’t just respect the boundaries—you won’t even have to remind them. They’ll meet you there. They’ll cheer for your growth. They’ll love the way you love yourself.

And here’s the magic: when you start loving yourself first—really loving yourself, with the same softness and patience and loyalty you give to others—you start building a world that feels safe inside your own skin.

Suddenly, a delayed reply doesn’t mean you’re unlovable.
Someone not liking you doesn’t unravel your sense of self.
You stop needing permission to shine.

Because you realize: the greatest love story of your life is the one you have with yourself.
And every other kind of love? That’s just extra.

So go ahead. Be full of love. Overflow, even. But make sure you’re sipping from your own cup before you pour into anyone else’s.

And when you find yourself giving too much again—losing yourself again—ask:
“Am I loving them more than I’m loving me?”

If the answer is yes, pull back. Breathe. Re-center.

You are not a background character in your own life. You are not here to be consumed, managed, or made smaller.

You are the main event.
The sunbeam.
The standard.
The starting line.

And anyone lucky enough to love you? Should know that you loved you first.

8. focus on the people who love you instead of running behind people who don’t. quality over quantity, in every area of your life.

Let’s start with the truth bomb:
You are not a lost puppy.
You are not a discount sale.
You are not an Instagram algorithm begging for engagement.

So why, why, my dear, are you breaking your back chasing people who clearly aren’t running in your direction?

Look, I get it. The brain does weird things. It mistakes lack of attention for a challenge, rejection for mystery, silence for something we’re supposed to solve. You convince yourself that if you just try a little harder, text first a few more times, tweak your personality to be more palatable, then maybe they’ll stay.
Then maybe you’ll finally be enough for them.

But let me let you in on a little secret:

You were always enough. They were just never your people.

And here’s what’s even wilder, while you were busy spiralling over the person who forgot your birthday, or who ghosted you after 5 months of “talking but not talking,” or who only messages you when they’re bored at 2AM, someone else was out here loving you the whole time.

Like actually loving you.
Liking your posts.
Sending you playlists.
Asking how your day was.
Celebrating your wins and holding space for your breakdowns.

But we overlook them, don’t we? We label their love as “too easy” or “not exciting.” We forget that real love isn’t supposed to be a scavenger hunt for clues. It’s supposed to feel safe, warm, grounding. Like home, not like a test you’re scared to fail.

So let’s get this straight:
You do not need 30 half-friends who flake on plans and forget you when it’s inconvenient.
You do not need validation from people who only clap for you when they’re in the mood.
You do not need the “popular group” if they make you feel like an afterthought.

What you need, and deserve, is real.
Two people who love you loud are worth more than twenty who barely remember your middle name.
One friend who texts back without you having to beg for attention is worth more than a whole squad that disappears the second things get real.

And this doesn’t just apply to people.
It’s jobs. Opportunities. Clothes. Habits.
Stop cramming your life full of things that don’t even fit you just because they “look good on paper.”

Choose depth. Choose intention. Choose enough.

Because running after the wrong things will make you trip over the right ones; the ones already sitting on your doorstep, waiting for you to just turn around and say: “I see you. Thank you.”

So from here on out, let’s live soft and selective. Let’s love louder, but smarter. Let’s stop chasing empty seats at tables that were never meant for us, and start building our own damn table—with the people who show up, stay, and bring snacks.

You are not hard to love. You’ve just been looking in the wrong direction.
Turn around. Your people are waving. 💌

9. The people you surround yourself with can make or break you. Choose wisely.

You could be the juiciest peach, the most radiant sunflower, the human embodiment of a fresh playlist and a cozy hug—but if you’re surrounded by people who don’t see your shine, you’ll start to question whether you were ever glowing to begin with.

That’s the thing about environments. You could be doing everything right, watering your dreams, journaling your manifestations, healing your inner child, but if you’re constantly around people who doubt you, belittle you, drain you, or keep you small?

You’ll shrink.

Not because you’re weak. But because your nervous system is screaming “this isn’t safe.”
And guess what? It’s not.

Energy is contagious. Laughter is contagious. Insecurity is contagious. Jealousy is contagious.
But so is passion. Focus. Ambition. Belief. Support.
If your group chat is full of folks who are actively becoming, that energy will rub off on you whether you like it or not.

But if your circle is full of people who don’t know where they’re going, who laugh at your goals, who scroll aimlessly through life, and give up before even starting—they will take you down with them. Not out of malice, but out of gravity. That stuff is heavy. That stuff sticks.

Unfocused people will slow you down. Useless people (yes, I said it) will drain your drive, dull your shine, and keep you parked in places you were meant to pass through. Because that’s the thing: people who don’t want more for themselves will never want you to have more either. Your growth makes their stagnancy louder.

But here’s the extra spicy truth:
If you’re constantly surrounded by people who project their insecurities onto you, who make your wins feel like a competition, or who secretly root for your downfall just because they can’t find their own footing?
Baby, that’s not a friendship. That’s emotional sandpaper.

So start choosing your circle like your future depends on it—because, hot take: it does.

Pick friends who pour into you without keeping score.
Who remind you of who you are when you forget.
Who speak your name in rooms full of opportunities.
Who show up. Who stay. Who see you.

And remember: you’re allowed to outgrow people.
You’re allowed to want more.
You’re allowed to say, “this friendship no longer serves me,” and walk away.
Not out of malice, but out of self-respect.

The right people won’t flinch at your boundaries.
They’ll thank you for them.
They’ll rise to meet you. Or they’ll quietly bow out, and you’ll realise how light it feels to not carry dead weight anymore.

Surround yourself with people who water your garden, not those who pluck your petals and call it love.

Choose wisely. You’re building your universe.
Make sure the stars you place in it help you shine, not burn.

10. don’t forget to appreciate people- even when it’s not their birthday or some important event. drop in some words of affirmations for them occasionally, every now and then. don’t forget the ones you love. in this fast-paced world, it’s very easy to get detached from people.

Okay, let me say this loud and clear: appreciation is underrated. And I’m not just talking about sending “happy birthday” texts or celebrating your best friend’s promotion (although, let’s be real, those are important too). I’m talking about the small, everyday affirmations—the ones that cost nothing, take less than a minute, and can make someone’s day feel like a warm cup of cocoa on a cold morning.

In a world that’s constantly moving, where texts get lost in busy schedules and hearts get buried beneath to-do lists and unread notifications, a little love goes a long way. Like, way further than you think.

We get so used to people’s presence that we forget it’s a gift. That it’s not owed to us. That some of the most beautiful connections in our lives are here now, but not guaranteed forever. And no, that’s not meant to be depressing. It’s just a gentle nudge—a whispered reminder—to cherish people while you can.

Not just on their birthday.
Not just when they graduate, or get the job, or win something shiny.
But on a random Wednesday at 3:33 p.m., just because you thought of them.

Drop that “thinking of you” text.
Send that photo that reminded you of an inside joke.
Tell your friends they’re doing great—even if they haven’t said they’re struggling.
Compliment the way they laugh. The way they always know what to say. The way they remember your Stardom order or comfort you like it’s a full-time job.

Because we assume people know we love them.
But you know what? It never hurts to say it.

Words of affirmation are free.
And in a world that’s gotten weirdly allergic to vulnerability, giving someone your honest affection is the emotional equivalent of handing them a warm cookie straight from the oven.

In this fast-paced world, where we’re all bouncing around from one task to another like we’re starring in our own personal action movie, we often forget to slow down and acknowledge the people around us. People are like plants, my friend. If you don’t water them, they start to wither. I mean, metaphorically speaking, don’t go sprinkling people with literal water (unless, of course, they’ve asked for it, in which case—go off). But what I mean is, emotional support, kind words, and simple affirmations are the sunshine and water that people need to grow.

It’s so easy to get caught up in your own world—work, school, family drama, trying to remember which side of the bed you woke up on this morning (I’m not the only one, right?). We start to assume that everyone knows we care, that the people we love already know how much we appreciate them. But here’s the plot twist: they might not.

You see, life is busy. We live in a world that’s constantly buzzing, like a beehive on a caffeine binge. You might be texting 17 different people about plans for the weekend while simultaneously planning your own future and remembering to water your houseplants (unless you’re like me and keep them alive by sheer willpower and the occasional accidental overwatering). But the people around you, the ones who bring joy, laughter, and meaning into your life, deserve to hear that they matter to you—regularly.

The truth is, we get so used to people being there that we forget they don’t have to be. They’re choosing to show up. And that’s something worth celebrating.

When was the last time you texted your friend “Hey, I see how hard you’re working and I just wanted to tell you I’m proud of you”? Or called your mom just to say “You’re the best, and I’m lucky to have you”? When was the last time you randomly told someone that you love the way their laugh sounds, or that they have the best advice for every problem (even if you never follow it)?

It doesn’t have to be a huge, grand gesture—it’s the small things that count. A quick text that says “You’re amazing, don’t forget it,” or a comment like, “You’ve been so supportive lately, I can’t tell you how much it means to me” can mean more than you think. We’re all so busy chasing the big milestones—the birthday parties, the anniversaries, the “look, I did the thing!” moments—but people need to be appreciated in the quiet moments too.

Think of it this way: the world is already full of noise—work emails, social media updates, people talking at you about what they ate for lunch (side note: why do people think I need to know what their sandwich looks like?). When you take a second to pause and say something kind to someone for no reason other than just because—you become that soft, still moment of peace they didn’t know they needed. Like a surprise sunset after a long, chaotic day. Isn’t that beautiful?

And let’s be honest, in today’s world of fast scrolling, people often forget to slow down and appreciate each other. We get distracted by the new shiny things. But the people around you—your friends, your family, your coworkers, your cat (don’t forget your pets, they need love too)—are the ones who help keep your world grounded. When was the last time you let someone know you see them? Not just as a “friend” or a “sibling,” but as an individual, who brings their own light, their own flavor to your life? Let them know. It’s like spreading glitter all over someone’s heart. (I mean, who doesn’t like glitter?)

If you’re thinking, “Well, everyone already knows how much I appreciate them,” then let me tell you this: People need to hear it. Again and again. You might think you’ve told them enough, but trust me, they probably need the reminder. Kind words are like hugs for the soul—they never get old, they never expire. No one’s ever walked away from a compliment saying, “Ugh, I had too much affirmation today.”

Imagine how amazing it would feel if everyone around you made it a habit to express their love and appreciation just a little more often. If your best friend randomly sent you a message like, “Hey, I love how you always know how to make me laugh,” or your sibling sent you a meme and said, “Just wanted to remind you that you’re the funniest person I know”? It’s a whole vibe.

In a world where everything is moving faster than a caffeinated squirrel, it’s easy to forget the people who’ve been there for you through thick and thin. The ones who’ve listened to you vent, cheered you on, and picked you up when you fell. So, here’s the challenge: don’t wait for their birthday. Don’t wait for a special occasion. Don’t wait for a holiday when Hallmark tells you it’s time to be kind. Appreciate your people in between those moments, because those are the ones that really count.

Take a second. Send a message. Speak your truth. Tell them they’re important to you, and don’t hold back. Love is too precious to keep tucked inside—let it flow freely, especially when it’s unexpected. People deserve to hear how awesome they are on random Tuesdays, not just the ones that are marked on a calendar.

So, here’s the reminder: The smallest gestures of love can leave the biggest impact. Appreciate the people around you.Tell them you see them. Tell them you love them. Tell them, “You’re awesome and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

11. Have faith that everything will work out just fine, even if the odds are against you. And always remember, “All’s well that ends well.”

Okay, let’s get real for a second: life is a rollercoaster, and not the cute kind that’s all bright lights and cotton candy. Nope. I’m talking about the kind where you’re clinging onto the sides, screaming “WHY DID I GET ON THIS RIDE” while somehow still managing to laugh through the tears. But here’s the twist: despite all the loops, the sudden drops, and the “WAIT, I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS” moments… it all somehow works out.

I mean, that’s the magic of life, right? You hit rock bottom, have a mini existential crisis at 2 a.m., then somehow—without any major plot twists or mystical beings coming to the rescue—you end up standing taller than ever, maybe even laughing about it. It’s the plot twist we all secretly hope for. And the best part? It’s not always going to happen the way you think it will. In fact, sometimes life’s version of “working out” doesn’t look anything like what you envisioned. But that’s the beauty of it: you don’t always need to know how things will work out. You just need to trust that they will.

I know what you’re thinking right now: “Yeah, sure, that’s easy to say, but what about when the universe feels like it’s giving you a one-way ticket to Disasterville with a layover in I’m-Not-Sure-This-Is-Fixable Town?” Oh, sweet child, I hear you. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of “WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?” moments. But here’s the tea: sometimes, the most epic stories are the ones that almost didn’t happen. The stories where everything went wrong beforeit all went right. The drama is real, honey.

Let’s take a second to appreciate the fact that life will have you questioning your existence when you least expect it. One minute, you’re feeling like you’ve got it all together—studying for exams, managing your social life, eating actual vegetables, maybe even journaling about your mental wellness (I know, look at you being so adult). And the next? You get that one bad grade, or your phone decides to stop charging for no reason, or you realize that you haven’t seen the sun in three days. Cue the dramatic music.

But here’s where the magic happens. That stuff doesn’t define you. Sure, it might feel like your entire life is falling apart (cue your favorite sad song), but the truth is, everything is a lesson. The moments when you feel like you’re losing the plot? That’s just life being a little cheeky, setting the stage for your comeback.

I know it’s hard to see it in the moment. When things are chaotic, the last thing you want to hear is “Oh, just wait, it’ll all work out.” You’re ready to throw your phone out the window and scream “HOW, HOW, will it work out?” But trust me, there’s a cosmic truth to this: the most unexpected turns often lead to the best outcomes. You just have to hold on. You have to believe that there’s a higher plan at work, even if that plan involves a couple of wrong turns and some serious detours.

Let me hit you with some real talk for a minute: you’re tougher than you think. And so is your life. So, even when things feel like they’re teetering on the edge of disaster, take a deep breath. The odds might be stacked against you, sure—but think about this: you’ve survived 100% of the bad days you’ve already had. That’s a win. Seriously. If you’ve made it through the chaos you’ve already faced, what makes you think you can’t handle the next thing? You’re basically a superhero in training at this point.

I know it’s hard. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t feel your feelings when things go wrong. Feel the frustration. Feel the confusion. Let it out. Scream into your pillow if you have to (I’ve done it, it’s therapeutic). But don’t let those moments of doubt steal your faith that it will get better.

It’s like baking a cake, okay? (Stick with me here.) You’ve got all these ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs, whatever—but you don’t just throw them in the oven all willy-nilly, right? Nah. You gotta mix them up, let them sit for a while, and yeah, you might end up with some weird lumps in the batter (we’ve all been there). But once that cake is done? Sweet, delicious, and a little bit magical. Life’s like that cake. Sometimes, it’s messy, and sometimes you wonder what the heck you were thinking. But eventually, it all comes together.

And remember that one time, you were convinced that this thing, this one moment in your life, was going to ruin everything? Fast forward to now, and you’re looking back like, “Wow, I was a little dramatic back then.” (It’s okay, we’ve all been there). That’s because when things are tough, it’s easy to feel like the end of the world is nigh. But spoiler alert: it’s not. You’ll look back and realize that all those moments you thought were disasters were just stepping stones to something better. They were necessary plot twists.

It’s not always going to be sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes, it’s going to be thunderstorms and emotional breakdowns at 3 a.m. But as long as you keep going, as long as you keep holding onto the belief that things will work out, then, honey, you’ve got this.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Okay, sure, but how do I know it’ll work out?” Well, the truth is, you don’t. And that’s the beauty of it. Life’s a mystery, a beautifully tangled web of highs and lows, and we don’t always get to peek behind the curtain. But guess what? Sometimes, you have to trust the process. And trust—just like cake batter—will rise in time.

So here’s the thing: when life gets tough, keep one thing in mind. All’s well that ends well. It’s like a cosmic mantra. It’s like the universe saying, “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve got this.” Even when things feel like they’re spiraling out of control, hold onto your faith, trust in the journey, and know that everything will work out in the end. It might not be what you expected, but trust me, it’ll be better than you ever imagined.

Keep faith. Keep moving forward. And most importantly—don’t forget to laugh along the way. Because one day, you’ll look back on all of this and say, “Wow, I’m so glad I didn’t quit.”

12. prioritise family as much as you can. most members won’t be here for long and even if they aren’t as close to you, you will regret every moment that you could spend with them and you didn’t.

We always think we have time.

Time to call.
Time to visit.
Time to say “I love you” without it catching in our throat.
Time to show up.
Time to forgive.
Time to just… be there.

But time is a sneaky little thing—slipping through our fingers like sand while we’re busy scrolling through strangers’ lives and drafting apologies we never send.

Here’s the thing about family:
They don’t always look like the people in stock photos.
They’re not always soft-spoken or easy to love.
Sometimes, they’re loud and messy and ask way too many questions at dinner.
Sometimes, they say the wrong thing or don’t understand your world or still call Instagram “Instant Gram.”

But they’re yours.

And no matter how complicated it gets, there will come a day—and it will come—when you’ll wish for one more hour.
One more awkward hug.
One more plate of too-spicy food and unsolicited life advice.
One more moment to say: “Hey, I’m glad you were here.”

We don’t talk enough about the quiet grief that follows missed moments.
Not the big, dramatic blowouts.
But the ordinary things you didn’t realise you’d miss until they were already gone.

Like the sound of their laughter echoing through a hallway you thought you’d always hear.
Like their handwriting in a birthday card.
Like the way they always asked if you were eating enough, even when you rolled your eyes and said, “Yes, Nani, I’m not starving myself.”

And let’s be real for a sec—bonds with Indian parents?
Not easy.
There’s often more discipline than dialogue, more expectations than expression. You grow up in a house where feelings are folded into tiffins, where affection isn’t always spoken, but shown through mango slices and quietly checking if your phone’s charged.

And now?
You’re older.
You understand a little more.
That they didn’t always have the tools to say what they meant. That their “be home by 7” was really “I worry when you’re not near.” That their strictness was love wrapped in fear, trying to protect you the only way they knew how.

So maybe now, you start the conversation.
Maybe you ask how their day was.
Maybe you sit next to them during their boring soap opera and just exist together for a while.
It might feel awkward at first. Forced. Even clumsy.
But every bridge starts with someone taking the first step.

This isn’t about pretending every family relationship is perfect.
Some are strained. Some are healing. Some are held together with nothing but thread and tradition.

But if there’s love there—even a flicker—you’ve got to protect it like it’s made of gold.
Because it is.

And if the bond is broken, and it’s safe for you to try again—do it.
Make the call.
Send the message.
Go to the function.
Let them take that blurry photo of you holding a plate of food you’re pretending to enjoy.

Because when the dust settles, you won’t remember the assignment you stayed home to finish instead of seeing your cousin.
You won’t remember the random Wednesday you spent binge-watching reality TV instead of having chai with your grandfather.
You’ll remember who made you feel like home before you even knew what that meant.

And if they’re already gone—if the chance is no longer there—let that be your reminder.
To show up for the ones who still are.

Time doesn’t send out calendar invites.
It doesn’t wait until you’re less busy, less angry, less tired.
It moves.
And it takes people with it.

So hold the hands that still reach for you.
Laugh at their terrible jokes.
Listen to the stories they’ve told a thousand times—because one day, they’ll stop telling them.
And you’ll miss the sound.

Let love be inconvenient.
Let connection be messy.
Let family be complicated and still worth it.

Because the regret of time not spent?
It’s louder than you think.

So go.
Make the call.
Hug them tighter.
Forgive where you can.
Show up—even if it’s just for a cup of chai and a twenty-minute visit.
That’s the stuff life is made of.

And trust me—when the chair at the table is suddenly empty,
You’ll be glad you did.

13. you need to have days when you just switch off your braincells and indulge in self-care. whatever form. a hobby, skincare, doing that one work out you were afraid to try, anything that physically, emotionally or mentally supplements you.

Let’s get one thing straight: this world will chew you up and spit you out if you let it. It will pat you on the back for overworking, gaslight you into believing rest is laziness, and convince you that you only matter if you’re producing, performing, or perfecting something. But you were not born to be a productivity robot with anxiety issues and a caffeine dependency. You were born to live, to feel, to grow, to mess up, to heal, to try again, and to experience life in all its messy, weird, dazzling forms. And to do that, my love? You need to rest.

Not just sleep (though please—get that 8 hours, you’re not immortal). But real rest. Soul-deep rest. The kind that whispers, “Hey, I see how hard you’ve been holding it all together. Let me hold you now.”

There is a sacred rebellion in slowing down. We live in a world that profits off your exhaustion. Capitalism doesn’t care if you’re crying in the shower at 3 a.m. as long as you show up for that 9 a.m. call with a fake smile and a power-point. Society rewards the “girlboss” grind and side hustle culture, but it doesn’t hand out medals for saying, “I chose peace today.”

But what if you did? What if you made a habit of asking yourself: “What do I need right now, just to feel like me again?” Sometimes it’s a long walk with no destination. Sometimes it’s ugly crying to a comfort show that knows your trauma better than your therapist. Sometimes it’s singing loudly and off-key in the shower, or buying overpriced iced coffee just because it gives you a tiny hit of serotonin. It doesn’t have to be glamorous. It just has to be true.

Self-care isn’t an aesthetic. It’s a survival strategy. This isn’t about posting a facemask selfie with cucumber slices over your eyes (unless that makes you feel cute, then by all means, slice away). This is about finding your version of care. Maybe it’s sweating it out in a dance class that makes you feel alive again. Maybe it’s switching off your phone, your brain, your guilt—and just being. Maybe it’s reorganizing your closet at midnight because chaos on the outside is how you deal with chaos on the inside. It can be baking. Or journaling. Or rage cleaning. Or curling up in bed with a book that smells like comfort. Whatever it is, if it replenishes you, if it softens the static, if it makes you feel like your spirit just took a deep breath—that counts.

I am still worthy, even in my quiet.
I am still growing, even in my pause.
I am still me, even when I am not producing anything.

You deserve to do things that don’t serve a capitalist purpose. Not everything you do has to result in a grade, a paycheck, a LinkedIn achievement. You’re allowed to have hobbies that aren’t monetized. To create art that no one sees. To spend time doing absolutely nothing. Because you are not a machine. You are not measured by your “output.” You are not less worthy on the days when you’re tired, slow, or off-track.

There’s this dangerous idea that rest is only earned once you’re completely spent—burnt out, broken, or sobbing into your planner. But here’s the truth: You don’t have to hit rock bottom to deserve a break. Take that nap. Cancel those plans. Say no. Put your peace on the priority list. Not at the bottom. Not when everything else is done. Now.

Your brain needs softness. Your body needs gentleness. Your heart needs slowness. We talk a lot about self-love, but loving yourself isn’t always about affirmations and mirror pep talks. Sometimes it’s asking yourself: “What have I been ignoring? What have I been postponing? What have I been punishing myself for?” It’s recognizing that your burnout isn’t a badge. It’s a siren. It’s your body waving a white flag, begging for tenderness. And you? You’re allowed to give it. Without shame. Without explanation. Without anyone’s permission.

Rest is resistance. And it is your birthright. When you rest, you’re saying, “I matter even when I’m not achieving.”You’re saying, “My peace is not up for negotiation.” You’re saying, “I am a living being—not a brand.” You don’t need to earn your own care. You don’t need to justify your joy. You don’t need a crisis to deserve comfort. You are allowed to press pause. You are allowed to be “unproductive” and still be valuable. You are allowed to care for yourself like someone who matters—because you do.

So make space for your soft days. Make space for the days where your to-do list has only one item: feel okay. Make space for laughing without agenda. For crying without judgment. For existing without expectation. Let rest be the routine. Let joy be the goal. Let stillness be your sanctuary.

And when the noise gets loud again—when guilt creeps in, whispering lies about laziness—answer with this truth: I am still worthy, even in my quiet. I am still growing, even in my pause. I am still me, even when I am not producing anything.

So please, for the love of everything soft and sacred—take the damn nap. Put on that playlist. Get outside. Paint your nails. Bake the cookies. Call a friend. Journal your rage. Buy the candle. Skip the meeting. Say no. Say yes to you.

Because here’s what no one tells you: Your rest is not a waste of time. It is an act of power. It is a gift you give yourself.

So give it. Freely. Fully. Fiercely. You don’t need a reason. You only need you. And when you give yourself permission to pause? That’s when the healing begins. That’s when the joy returns. That’s when the magic happens.

Rest. Refill. Reclaim. Because the world can wait—but you? You can’t pour from an empty cup. Fill it. Overflow. Repeat.

14. people have an awful lot to say about the lives they’ve never had to live. they’d be rattled to their bones if they stepped in your shoes. just block out the negative voices. most opinions just do not matter.

Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat: opinions are like old receipts—everyone’s got one, most of them are irrelevant, and nobody asked for them. Especially the unsolicited ones, coming from people who wouldn’t last a single day living your reality. These are the same people who couldn’t survive your Monday morning, let alone your entire journey. And yet, somehow, they’ve got the audacity to critique your choices like they’re guest judges on some imaginary episode of “So You Think You Can Live My Life.”

People are loud about things they don’t understand. It’s easy to sit on the sidelines and shout instructions when you’re not the one running the marathon with blisters on your feet, knees buckling, heart pounding. They don’t see the behind-the-scenes struggle. The mental gymnastics. The healing. The late-night overthinking. The moments you had to pull yourself back together while the world expected you to keep smiling. They see the highlight reel, not the bloopers.

And yet, these folks, equipped with nothing but ignorance and inflated egos, love to act like experts in the syllabus of your soul.

Why? Because it’s easier to criticize than to empathize. It’s easier to project than to reflect. Because if they actually took a second to listen instead of judge, they might have to confront their own mess. And trust me, they’d rather not.

Here’s a radical idea: You don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you live your life. Not your pace, not your priorities, not your dreams. Not your healing timeline, your boundaries, your weird coping mechanisms, or your need for space. You get to write the rules for your existence. You are the main character, the director, and the entire production crew of your life.

And here’s the real kicker—most of the people who are loudest with their opinions? They’re not even on the same page as you. Not mentally. Not emotionally. Not spiritually. They’re trying to comment on your novel with the comprehension level of a bumper sticker.

So why let them into your sacred space? Why give their words the power to rattle your peace?

People love to drag others down because it gives them a momentary high. Misery loves company, but you’re not obligated to RSVP.

Oh, you’re wearing that? Block.

You’re still not over it? Block.

That’s not how I’d handle it. Well, Karen, it’s a good thing you’re not me.

I’m not saying block everyone on Instagram (unless you want to—then go off, queen). I’m saying mentally, emotionally, spiritually block the noise. You can’t keep handing out VIP access to people who haven’t earned front-row seats in your life.

And let’s talk about why people get so nosy. Spoiler alert: it’s not about you. Most of the time, it’s about them. Their unresolved insecurities. Their fear of seeing someone else break free while they stay stuck. Their jealousy disguised as concern. Their projection dressed up as advice.

You don’t need their permission to bloom.

In fact, bloom louder. Be extra. Be “too much.” Take up all the space you need. You weren’t put on this Earth to shrink yourself to fit someone else’s comfort zone.

And if they don’t like it?

That sounds like a them problem.

You are allowed to outgrow people, opinions, expectations, and places. You’re allowed to redefine what success looks like. You’re allowed to say, “This doesn’t serve me anymore,” and walk away.

You are allowed to protect your peace like it’s national treasure. Because it is.

Let me ask you this: whose voice matters more? The one that raised you, supported you, saw your tears and held you? Or the voice of a passing stranger with a superiority complex and a Wi-Fi connection? Exactly.

You owe it to yourself to tune in to the people who pour love into your life, not the ones who poke holes in your confidence. You deserve to feel safe in your own mind.

Here’s what you can control: how much real estate you let others take up in your brain. Evict the critics. Upgrade your mental space. Give your energy to the people and passions that actually deserve it.

And when it gets really loud? When the world starts shouting its opinions at full volume?

Pause.

Breathe.

Put on your favorite playlist. Go for a walk. Write it out. Scream into a pillow. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. Remind yourself that people who haven’t lived your life don’t get to narrate your story.

You’re the only one who truly knows what it’s taken to become who you are today. Every scar, every comeback, every choice—you earned those. With sweat, tears, and a whole lot of strength.

So no, you don’t have to accept every opinion thrown your way. Not everyone deserves to sit at your table. Especially not the ones who come empty-handed but full of judgment.

Protect your peace.

Guard your joy.

Live your life out loud.

And next time someone tries to offer you commentary on the journey they’ve never walked? Smile, nod, and keep it moving. Because you’ve got places to go, dreams to catch, and zero time to waste on people who can’t even lace up your shoes.

You are doing just fine. Keep going. Block the noise.

Because you’re not here to be understood by everyone. You’re here to be true to yourself.

And that? That is always enough.

15. treating people the way you want to be treated doesn’t guarantee that they will treat you the way you want to be treated.

We grow up hearing this golden rule like it’s gospel:
“Treat others the way you want to be treated.”
It’s stitched into our childhoods, like glitter glue in school posters and scrawled in cursive on the walls of bathroom stalls. And it’s a lovely sentiment, truly. It teaches empathy. It teaches softness. It teaches us that kindness should be reflexive.

But you know what it doesn’t teach?

That the universe does not run on karma points and mutual respect.
Because sometimes, no matter how gentle you are with people, they will still handle your heart like a clearance sale item. Sometimes, even when you pour your soul into someone’s hands, they’ll forget it’s not made of rubber and bounce it right out of your life. Sometimes, people are just… not gonna get it.

And that’s where the heartbreak lives.
Because you thought being good would guarantee good back.
You thought love in = love out.
You thought if you stayed soft, they’d stay safe.

But instead, you learn:
Not everyone speaks your language of love. Not everyone grew up with the same emotional instruction manual. And not everyone is wired to treat people with the same care you do.

You’ll bend to accommodate someone, and they won’t even notice. You’ll go out of your way to make sure someone feels seen, and they’ll still leave you on read—both literally and emotionally. You’ll show up again and again, and they’ll flake like they’re sponsored by snowstorms.

And it hurts. Because you think:
What did I do wrong?
Why isn’t it being reciprocated?
Do I just love too much?

But baby—let me say this loud enough for your inner child to hear it:
You didn’t do anything wrong. You just gave love to someone who didn’t know what to do with it.

Let’s get one thing straight:
Being kind? Still worth it.
Being generous with your time and your heart? Still a flex.
But you’ve gotta unlearn the idea that being kind means you’ll always be met with kindness.

Sometimes, your softest moments will meet brick walls. Sometimes, your best intentions will be misread, dismissed, or flat-out disrespected.

But that’s not a “you” problem. That’s a them problem with a capital T.

And please—please—don’t let the wrong people teach you to shrink your light.

Let me say that again for the people-pleasers in the back:
You can love someone deeply and still walk away.
You can treat someone like gold and still decide they’re not treating you like anything worth holding onto.

Because kindness doesn’t mean becoming a doormat. Compassion doesn’t mean accepting crumbs. Empathy doesn’t mean emotional martyrdom.

16. the cost of procrastination is the life you could’ve lived and now get to see other’s live from the sidelines.

Not me procrastinating my 50-questions-long assignment that I have to submit in 7 hours while writing this, but hey, what’s one more delay when we’re already knee-deep in the swamp of avoidance and “I’ll start tomorrow” energy? Let’s talk about it—the ever-so-sneaky, soul-sucking, dream-deflating monster known as procrastination.

Because while we love to joke about it (“I work best under pressure,” “Deadline? More like guideline,” “I thrive in chaos!”), procrastination isn’t just a cute lil’ personality trait. It’s a silent thief. A smooth criminal in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie who tiptoes into your life, promising “just five more minutes,” and before you know it—bam—five years went by and your goals are collecting dust while you’ve memorized the entire Netflix catalogue and developed a dangerously codependent relationship with your bed.

Here’s the cold, crispy truth:

The cost of procrastination is the life you could’ve lived—and now get to watch someone else live while you scroll bitterly from the sidelines.

Oof. That one stings, huh?

But let’s not get stuck in guilt mode—this isn’t a guilt trip. (We’re not our Indian parents, okay?)
This is a wake-up call, a loving slap with glitter across the face. Because you’ve got stuff to do, dreams to chase, empires to build, people to prove wrong, and a Pinterest board to turn into reality. And procrastination? It’s the one thing standing between you and the version of you who’s out there absolutely eating in life.

Let’s break it down. Why do we procrastinate?

• Fear of failure.
• Fear of success (yes, it’s real).
• Perfectionism.
• Lack of motivation.
• Overwhelm.
• The simple fact that our brains were replaced with soggy cereal during exam season and we never recovered.

But whatever the reason, you need to know this:
Procrastination will always disguise itself as comfort.
It’ll tell you, “Just rest a bit.” “You’ve got time.” “It’s not that urgent.”
But it lies. Because comfort without growth becomes a cage.

And while you delay, someone else is out there making moves with less talent than you, less vision than you, but more discipline. They’re showing up. Not because they’re better. Not because they have it easier. But because they decided to.

And you? You’re just… deciding not to. Every single time you say “later,” you’re saying “no” to the life you actually want.

Imagine this:
You see someone your age, doing the thing you dream of doing. And instead of clapping for them with genuine joy, your first thought is, “That could’ve been me.”
And worst of all? It’s true. It could have been.

Not because life is a competition (it’s not), but because you know you have it in you. You know you could do great things if you’d just start. But that “start” keeps getting pushed to tomorrow, and tomorrow is the busiest liar you’ve ever known.

So here’s the thing:
You don’t need a perfect plan.
You don’t need aesthetic stationery or a 15-step routine or to suddenly become a productivity guru overnight.

You need to start.
Start messy. Start scared. Start with ten minutes.
Start by writing one sentence.
Start by googling one thing.
Start by cleaning your desk.
Start even though you feel like a potato with Wi-Fi.

Because progress >>> perfection every single time.

And let’s get dramatic for a second (you know I love the drama):

If you don’t chase your dreams, someone else will hire you to chase theirs.

If you don’t write that book, someone else will—and it’ll be a bestseller while your draft collects digital cobwebs.

If you don’t pursue that career, someone less qualified will, and you’ll find yourself clapping from the bleachers thinking, “Damn, that could’ve been me.”

You do not want to be a background character in the movie of your own life.

So quit romanticising your potential and start fulfilling it. Quit hyping yourself up on Instagram bios and Pinterest quotes if you’re not gonna follow through. Quit treating your goals like they’re optional—they’re not. Not if you want that main character energy you keep manifesting.

It’s okay if you’ve procrastinated. We’ve all been there. But babe, it’s time to choose yourself.

Not tomorrow. Not Monday. Now.

You deserve a life where you’re not just watching others thrive while muttering “must be nice.”
You deserve a life where you are the one people look at and go, “Damn, how did they do that?”

And when that day comes, and someone asks you, “What changed?”
You’ll look them in the eye, smile, and say:
“I stopped putting my life on pause.”

Now—go open that assignment. Go work on that dream.
Do it for the version of you that refuses to live on the sidelines.
She’s tired of waiting.

17. don’t be afraid to be alone.

Because being alone isn’t the same thing as being lonely. I know, I know—it’s a scary idea at first. The thought of quiet. Of no one to text at 2 a.m. No arms to fall into when the world feels too loud. No constant social buzz to distract you from your thoughts. It can feel like you’ve been dropped into a black-and-white indie film, soundtrack by Phoebe Bridgers, main character: you, wearing a hoodie and heartbreak.

But here’s the plot twist no one tells you:
Being alone might just be the best thing that ever happens to you.

Let me say it louder for the people in the back who think solitude = failure:

We grow up thinking that being surrounded by people 24/7 is the goal. That popularity equals success. That if you’re not in a friend group chat that pings every 10 seconds or in a relationship that’s Instagram-official, you’re somehow missing out. But babe, you are not missing out when you are focusing in. On you. On your peace. On your healing. On your dreams.

Here’s the real gag:
Most people are afraid of being alone because they’ve never been forced to sit with who they really are.
They’ve always had noise.
Distractions.
People to validate them.
Lovers to fill voids.
Friends to avoid silence.

But solitude? That’s where the real work happens.
That’s where you meet yourself.

And damn, what a privilege that is.

You learn what you like—truly like—not what you’ve been conditioned to chase for approval. You learn how to self-soothe, how to be your own hype squad, your own therapist, your own shoulder to cry on and your own reason to smile. You learn how to take yourself on a date, how to spend Friday night doing whatever the hell you want, no compromise required. You learn to romanticise the heck out of solitude. Candles. Face masks. Midnight dance parties in your room. Sitting in cafés with a book and an overpriced caramel macchiato, knowing you don’t owe anyone an explanation for your peace.

And suddenly? Alone doesn’t feel empty.
It feels whole.
It feels powerful.
It feels like you’ve found home inside your own ribcage.

Yes, relationships are beautiful. Friendship is magic. Community matters. We are wired for connection. But your relationship with you? That’s the foundation. That’s the anchor. That’s the love story that lasts forever.

Because people will come and go. Lovers may leave. Friends may drift. Circumstances will change. But you? You’re the only one who will be there from start to finish. So be someone you actually want to spend time with. Be your own soulmate first.

And when you do finally let people in again? You’ll choose better.
You won’t settle for crumbs, because you’ve tasted peace.
You won’t fear silence, because you’ve befriended it.
You won’t chase love, because you’ve already found it—in your own damn chest.

So, no, don’t be afraid to be alone. Be afraid of never knowing who you are when no one else is watching.
Be afraid of filling your life with noise just so you don’t have to hear your own voice.

Be alone. Be loud about it. Be soft about it. Be proud of it.

Because one day, someone’s going to ask you how you got so grounded. So radiant. So calm in your spirit. And you’ll smile and say,
“I learned how to love being alone.”

18. love is an action verb. a failure to show caring actions, is a failure of love. we make time for the things we love, and excuses for the things we don’t. love grows where effort flows. 

Okay, here we go. The lesson that sucker-punched me in the heart and taught me how to hold it gently again.

Love.
The four-letter word that drives the entire human experience. The thing that has inspired every Taylor Swift album and every dramatic monologue in every teen coming-of-age movie ever. And yet—most of us still have no clue how to define it, let alone practice it. Myself included.

But nineteen? Oh, sixteen to nineteen was ruthless in the best way. It said, “You think you know love? Cute. Let’s test that.”

And spoiler alert: I failed a few pop quizzes.

See, I used to think love was just a feeling. That tingly warm buzz in your chest. The butterflies. The 3 a.m. playlist swaps. The electric eye contact across a crowded room. And while those are magical—chef’s kiss levels of poetic—they’re not love. They’re the aesthetics of love.

Real love? Real love is the follow-through.

It’s not just the “I love you.” It’s the showing up, again and again, even when it’s inconvenient. It’s remembering someone’s coffee order, checking in when they go quiet, listening—actually listening—without trying to fix them. It’s picking up the phone even when you’re tired. It’s effort. It’s care. It’s choosing someone even when there’s no sparkly Instagram story to post about it.

Because love without effort is just a beautifully decorated house with no foundation. It looks good… until the first storm hits.

I’ve been in situations where someone told me they loved me—but couldn’t be bothered to text back. Where “you matter to me” was said with words, but never actions. Where the love felt more like a ghost—something that used to live here but now just lingers, cold and confusing.

Love that lives only in your head never reaches anyone else’s heart.

We make time for the things we love. We prioritise them. We make plans, not excuses. So if someone’s constantly “too busy” for you, too flaky, too non-committal, too mysteriously unavailable—that’s not love. That’s a low-effort situationship with a cute filter on top.

Don’t settle for half-loved. Don’t be someone’s “when I get time.” Don’t chase people who breadcrumb you with affection when they’re bored. You deserve someone who shows you they care, not just says it when it’s convenient.

Because here’s the dramatic, devastatingly wholesome truth:
Love is not something you fall into. It’s something you build.

And building takes time. Building takes intention. Building takes two people actively showing up, over and over again, not because it’s easy—but because it’s worth it.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it burned in one.

John Heywood

And this isn’t just about romance, by the way. This is about all love. Friendship. Family. Even the love you give to yourself.

If you don’t put in the work to maintain the relationships that matter to you, they wither. Fast. You don’t water your plants once and expect them to live forever, right? Same rules apply. OH NO, I FORGOT TO WATER MY FITTONIA.

So what does love actually look like?

It’s calling your best friend after a bad day, even if all you can do is cry together on FaceTime.
It’s sending a meme that made you think of someone.
It’s writing letters.
It’s holding someone accountable because you love them.
It’s being honest. Vulnerable. Real.
It’s hard conversations. Shared silences. Hysterical laughter.
It’s not perfection—it’s presence.

And on the flip side? If someone is not showing you effort, not meeting you halfway, not treating you like the glowing, radiant beam of cosmic magic that you are? Let them go.

Release them. Lovingly, but firmly.
Because love is not an excuse for pain.
It’s not about holding on because of potential.
It’s not about rewriting your worth just to make someone else feel comfortable.

It’s about finding—and being—someone who shows up with their whole chest. Who says, “I love you,” and proves it with every quiet action. Who makes you feel safe. Seen. Supported. Soft, even on the hard days.

Let love be an action. Let it be verbs:
I stayed.
I listened.
I remembered.
I tried.
I showed up.

And most importantly: I chose you.

Every day. In small ways. In real ways. With effort. With joy. With intention.

That?
That’s love.

Don’t chase fireworks. Build campfires.
Steady, warm, sustaining.
The kind of love that doesn’t just sparkle—it stays lit.

Love out loud. Love with your whole heart. Love with your actions.

Because the world doesn’t need more people saying “I love you.”
It needs more people proving it. 

So as I close the book on nineteen and all its drama, I’ll leave you with this:

19. YOLO!!!

(You Only Live Once—but like, let’s not waste it doomscrolling and obsessing over whether he liked your story at exactly 11:11 p.m.)

Let’s be real—YOLO used to be the anthem of doing something outrageously dumb with zero forethought. Like, “I skipped my 8 a.m., dyed my hair electric blue, and got a nose piercing all in one afternoon—because YOLO.”
But now? Now it hits different.

Now it’s more like:
YOLO, so I’m gonna protect my peace.
YOLO, so I’m not gonna settle for crumbs.
YOLO, so I’m gonna cry at sunsets, text my friends “thank you for existing,” and blast ABBA at full volume in the car like it’s a healing ritual.

You only live once. That means this is your one big, messy, magical shot at becoming everything you’ve ever wanted to be. So say yes to things that scare you (but in a good way). Take the risk. Start that project. Compliment strangers. Go on that solo coffee date. Wear the outfit that makes you feel like you run the world—even if you’re just running errands.

And when you fall? Because you will fall—into disappointment, heartbreak, overthinking rabbit holes, and dramatic existential spirals—remember: you also only get one chance to get back up with style. Put on your emotional armor (aka a cute oversized hoodie), blast your playlist, and try again.

Because YOLO isn’t about reckless abandon anymore. It’s about intentional living. It’s about squeezing every ounce of joy, learning, and love out of this life and still saving some space for rest, laughter, and dance breaks in your kitchen.

So be bold. Be weird. Be kind. Be messy. Be you.

Because darling… YOLO. And thank god, because once is more than enough when you do it right.

YOLO is not just a catchphrase—it’s a freaking philosophy.
It’s the whispered reminder when you’re about to talk yourself out of joy.
It’s the silent scream behind every “should I just go for it?”
It’s the rallying cry when you’re choosing growth over comfort.

Because living once? It doesn’t mean you throw caution to the wind and become a chaos goblin (unless that’s your truth, in which case—slay responsibly).
It means choosing the life you want, again and again and again, even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary, even when no one else gets it.

It means choosing you. Over and over.

Like, listen—
You’re not just here to clock in, clock out, eat instant noodles, reply to dry texts, and die.
You’re here to live, like LIVE-live—messy cheeks, loud laughter, deep love, full-heart kind of living.
You’re here to taste mangoes that drip down your chin. To fall in love with cities. To ugly cry at movies that hit too close. To find your song-of-the-summer in May and change it in June.

You’re here to chase sunsets and dreams and people who make your heart do jumping jacks.
You’re here to make the Pinterest boards come alive, to romanticize the walk to class, to wear glitter on a random Tuesday because “why not?”

And yes, sometimes you’re also here to feel heartbreak so bone-deep you swear you’ll never recover.
To have your faith in people shaken like a snow globe.
To mess up. To start over. To try again with trembling hands and red-rimmed eyes.

But darling—that’s still living. That’s still YOLO.
Because you’re trying. Because you’re here.

And let’s be real—YOLO also means doing the dumb things with your whole chest.

YOLO means:

• Telling your crush you like them with the confidence of someone who’s never been ghosted (even if you absolutely have).
• Auditioning for the open mic night with your not-quite-in-tune ukulele cover of “Teenage Dream.”
• Cutting your own bangs at 2 a.m. even though history says you should not.
• Quitting the thing that’s draining you just because peace > paycheck for once.
• Flying halfway across the country to see your best friend for 36 hours just because you miss them.

YOLO means romanticizing your own damn life even when it feels like everyone else has it more “together.”
Newsflash: they don’t. They’re just better at curating their chaos.

And hey, let’s talk about fear for a second, because fear is the number one serial killer of YOLO energy.
You’re afraid of failing. Of looking stupid. Of wasting time.
But you know what’s worse than failing?

Not even trying.
Because at least when you try, you get a story. A lesson. A weird little memory that you’ll laugh about later when the embarrassment wears off and your skin clears.

When you don’t try? You get regret.
And regret is so heavy.
Regret sticks around longer than any failure ever could.

So wear the outfit. Start the project. Apply for the thing you think you’re underqualified for. Write the silly poem. Post the Instagram caption that makes you cringe a little but smile a lot.
Say yes. Say no. Say “I love you” if you mean it. Say “leave me alone” if you need to.
Take up space. Ask for seconds. Be dramatic in the name of joy.
Exist loudly. Exist kindly. Exist truthfully.

Because if you’re waiting for a sign that it’s okay to go all in on this one wild, weird, wonderful life of yours?

✨ This. Is. It. ✨

YOLO isn’t a joke anymore. It’s a manifesto. A daily dare. A whispered prayer and a battle cry wrapped in glitter and honesty. It’s the rebel yell against a world that wants you to stay small, stay scared, stay safe.

But you? You were never meant for mild.

So go out there and live like the main character. Cry dramatically on balconies. Make toast at midnight. Paint your walls that stupid shade of green you love. Call your mom. Dance barefoot on the grass. Live a life so unapologetically yoursthat when you finally peace out of this world, the universe stands up and says:

“Damn. Now that’s how you do it.”

I’m Still 19 years old…

So that’s it.

Nineteen things I’ve learned while stumbling, soaring, spiraling, and soft-launching my way through this chaotic, beautiful life. If you’ve read this far—first of all, bless your patient soul, and second of all, I hope something in here made your heart pause, your brain hum, or at least made you snort through your nose a little.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned above all, it’s that life isn’t just about collecting milestones or curating the highlight reel. It’s about the messy in-betweens. The awkward silences. The ugly cries. The butterflies. The 2 a.m. playlists. The last-minute plans that end up becoming core memories. It’s about who you are when no one’s watching—and who you choose to become when everyone is.

Writing this piece felt like sitting cross-legged on the floor of my own mind, opening up dusty drawers of memory, and letting you peek inside. I’ve never claimed to have it all figured out—but I do believe in sharing the mess while it’s still messy. Because isn’t that what makes it beautiful?

So if you want more chaos, catharsis, and caffeine-fueled rants like this one, you already know where to look:

Visit Her Campus at MUJ for everything from heartbreak diaries to hot takes. And for a front-row seat to the rom-com that is my brain, keep an eye out for Niamat Dhillon at HCMUJ ;)

Thanks for reading, for feeling, for growing with me.
Now go out there and make your own list of lessons. Nineteen or ninety-nine, messy or magical—just promise me you’ll keep learning, keep loving, and keep showing up.

And remember: life is too short for boring bios, toxic friendships, or plain salted chips.
So live big. Love loud. Romanticise everything.

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