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#5483

We won't be passing the Bechdel test tonight. God forbid I find something actually meaningful to write about. But, as someone who alleviates their anxieties by writing, there is nothing more haunting than a white screen. So, here we are.


My parents warned me against talking to strangers on the internet too. Up until five years ago, I would've listened to them. But lately, I've had good reason to believe that my instinct leads me down interesting (and mostly harmless?) paths. That makes three in a row - I haven't had this much luck in my own circle!


Years ago, on a drab Sunday, my computer science teacher decided to take a little break from our ongoing lecture and exchange life stories. Since we were barely fifteen at the time, she did most of the sharing. To this day, I remember this one instance she spoke about, which shaped a significant belief I hold onto even today. It was something about how she was once in a bad space in life, and while traveling on a bus one day, she broke down. The passenger sitting next to her comforted her and eventually motivated her to start her own coaching center.


I have always considered myself fortunate for the people I've found in life. The family I was born into, the family I chose over the years, the support system I was privileged enough to grow up with. Having said that, I have always recognized the liberation one can feel with a stranger. There is something to be said about the kind of psychological safety you derive from being able to talk to somebody who has no insights into your everyday life, somebody you can shake hands with and walk away from. A safe space, in a counterintuitively effective sense.


The latest one is interesting. I don't know many people who'd go out of their way to read somebody else's perspectives on love, life and everything in between. I find myself wondering about them on occasion (ayy, I have my reasons), but that's the human mind for you, I guess. Trying to form associations in a desperate attempt to discover any shred of the unknown.


My ego doesn't permit me to use external ideas in my writing, so my rant against men and their obsession with poultry will have to wait. Maybe I can take that time to refine my image of the good looking, well-built brainiac in my head. Until next time.

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