Like every other delusional girly on the planet, I started this year with rituals that made absolutely no scientific sense, like eating 12 grapes under the table because apparently that brings luck… and maybe a tall, emotionally available man.
Spoiler: it brought neither. But okay, universe, go off.
Then I made this aesthetically pleasing Pinterest-coded vision board and pinned it proudly on my green board like the main character of a Netflix coming-of-age film. The goals? Massive. The confidence? Delusion-level high.
Did I achieve them?
No.
Not even one.
Actually, let’s make it worse: one of my goals was to take therapy and fix my mental health. Technically… I did take therapy. But did it fix me? No sweetheart, it made me a better liar. Now I can fool a trained professional with a degree and a clipboard. Honestly? Talent.
So yeah, was my year the only circus, or were we all clowns together?
Because this year… has been wild.
It started normal. Classes, assignments, routine, painfully boring. And then suddenly the universe pressed: “Let’s add drama.”
I planned a trip with my friends and got all excited like a golden retriever. Guess what? I didn’t get permission from my hostel at the end moment. Devastating. Character development moment.
My coping mechanism? Men. Bad idea.
First guy: sweet, kind, charming.
Red flag? Already taken.
Second guy: Even worse, I almost fell in love.
For a moment, I genuinely believed.
“Wow… maybe I’m not unlovable.”
Cute thought.
But then the universe said: “Delete that.”
So yeah, lost him too.
And that’s when the emotional downfall began.
Therapy round two, not by choice but because crying in random places, panic attacks, and anxiety spikes aren’t considered “quirky personality traits”.
Then I quit therapy again because apparently I can gaslight a trained therapist. Honestly, put that on my resume.
Half the year passed like that: tears, breakdowns, panic, and random delusion highs.
Second year ended, and suddenly the word “internship” became scarier than ghosts, taxes, or world war headlines.
It felt like EVERYONE had internships.
Everyone was achieving something.
Everyone was moving forward.
And me?
Waking up at 12 p.m., scrolling Instagram, and contemplating my life choices.
Then came my big break, an offer from a well-known MNC.
And because consistency is my toxic trait, I messed that up too.
Right at the finish line.
But hey, at least I had an amazing Goa trip. Balance.
After that, semester resumed, and I swear, this one should have come with a warning label.
Professors? Weird.
Courses? Miserable.
Motivation? Missing since June.
Companies visited the campus like celebrities doing a selective meet and greet, and guess what I messed up FOUR offers. Impressive, right?
Then to make things worse, my friend group exploded like a badly timed bomb, and somehow I was dragged into the blame narrative, even though all I did was exist.
Meanwhile, academics were trash, my mental health was hanging by a dental floss, and two of my professors decided to make me their entertainment.
Sir, ma’am… please.
I’m a child. Stop bullying me.
And just when I thought the universe was done laughing at me, my passport got rejected.
A chance to go to France, gone.
Poof. My long-planned academic trip, gone.
At this point, the only consistent thing in my life was disappointment and iced coffee. But somewhere between the breakdowns, heartbreaks, rejections, and unwanted plot twists… something shifted.
I realised this year wasn’t a failure, it was a mirror. A messy, cracked, chaotic mirror showing me the version of me who hoped, the version who broke, the one who survived, the one who pretended, and the one who quietly kept going.
Maybe all these versions were necessary.
Not pretty. Not perfect. But real.
This year wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t wasted either.
It was a chapter full of lessons I didn’t ask for… but definitely needed.
And maybe, just maybe, next year won’t be about becoming someone new. Maybe it’ll be about becoming someone true. Someone softer. Someone stronger. Someone who finally gives herself a chance.
So yeah, that was my year.
Not aesthetic. Not productive. Not the Pinterest version of me I envisioned.
But real, chaotic, confusing, funny in a tragic way, and kind of beautiful because I survived it, even when I thought I wouldn’t. If this year taught me anything, it’s this: we don’t just live through a year, we outgrow it.
We become softer, louder, quieter, wiser, depending on the season.
We lose people, gain people, lose ourselves, and then slowly find pieces again.
We fail goals we swore we’d finish, and sometimes that failure gives us the biggest clarity.
So here’s to all the versions of me I met, fought with, healed, buried, and learned from.
And here’s to the version I’ll meet next year, the one who deserves patience, grace, and gentleness.
And if you made it all the way here, reading the chaos of my 2025 life, thank you.
So this was me: the messy, unfiltered, slightly dramatic version of a girl still figuring it out.
If you want to read more chaos, more unhinged honesty, or just follow along as I embarrass myself in writing form, you can find me on Her Campus at MUJ.
Trust me, it only gets funnier from here.