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people out there are helping each other, protesting for a cause, hanging out with their loved ones, kissing and dancing with their lover and having a good time in this earth

people out there are helping each other, protesting for a cause, hanging out with their loved ones, eating and drinking delicious food kissing and dancing with their lover and having a good time in this earth

ever since i was young, i was taught to write with a fountain pen. my first experience with it was my dad buying me a camelin pen and me falling in love with it. But more so something that really elevated that passion was my 4th grade math teacher Austin sir. Although I grew to eventually not like the subject, my love for fountain pens did not change.

The sharp, precise strokes, the nib just gliding through the ink every time i wrote something. It was an emotion. It was a moment. It then slowly turned into a Flair Inky pen, and eventually into more finer models like Parker Vector which i currently consider my favourite. Overtime I also grew to taking a liking to my late dad's pen collection, Sheaffers, Lamy, and other handcrafted German pens whose nibs are a little rusty for me to read its names.

Growing up, i also found that my opinion was not as popular among my peers, the found fountain pens unnecessary, clumsy and very messy to write with. While I don't entirely disagree with them, I think there is beauty in it, to write something with blotted sheets and ink stained palms. I still think if someone dislikes the pen, it is that they have not found the right one, just like how the wand chooses the wizard, the pen chooses its owner.

In a world filled with pens focusing on speed and lightweight technology (or as they market it to be) a fountain pen tells you to slow down. The luxury ones are designed to be heavier and do not write quick or the nib might take some damage.

So can we stop now? Like now? Being smaller, thinner, hairless, smoother, no lines, no wrinkles, no grey hair, is not more attractive. It’s just younger. That’s what it is. It’s not more attractive.

The ideal woman in 2026 looks like she’s trying to disappear. What happened to the body positive movement that existed for, like, a short second? Annihilated. Now it’s like, let's go back to taking up as little space as possible. No hips, no belly, no evidence that she’s ever lived or eaten or given birth or existed.

Who benefits from women looking like children? It’s not you. We’re starving ourselves into acceptability, apologizing for being hungry, for having thighs that touch, for arms that jiggle, for faces that move when we talk, bodies that look like they belong to the adult world of people who have lived.

And the whole time men walk around like gods looking like however the fuck they want. Bigger, distinguished, grey hair. Silver fox takes up the whole sofa, he’s just chilling. But a woman gains five pounds and suddenly it’s a health concern crisis.

Fuck skinny as the new standard, guys. Fuck it. Fuck flat stomach as the goal. Fuck the idea that my worth is measured in how little space I occupy. We need women strong, not frail, not weak. Build muscles, eat the food, take up space. Grow into your body instead of shrinking it, because the industries make billions of dollars convincing you that you’re too much and you need to shrink.

we're living in tough times lately, times of genocide, environmental degradation and absolute political turmoil. everything i write comes from a place of privilege because i am not starving, i am not worried about whether i might live the next day or not. that being said, i find it hard to distinguish between being an empath and being so into politics that it consumes me.

as an active user of social media just as much as every other person, i often get reels from the ones struggling, to donate, to interact, to help them. but the more i repost, like and comment about all things popular to get the reach the more it takes over my page, to an extent that almost every single thing i consume is about hunger, starvation and death. but at the same time, if i ever skip through one of those posts i end up feeling like a bad human being, so much to the point that making use of my privilege makes me guilty.

My internal exam ended at 9am today. Ideally I'd have left home but I'm waiting on my boyfriend to get done with his lectures so we can spend time together in a bit. Currently 11am. After parting with my friends, I sat down at my library's general reading section and picked up my book; Down with the System by Serj Tankian.

Due to my constant use of social media my attention span had drastically fallen down. I found myself constantly wanting to pick my phone up, but deleting socials and the slight discomfort of my cracked screen guard helped a little in not picking up my phone as often. I proudly finished reading over a 100 pages within the span of an hour. The initial few minutes were very uncomfortable. I felt weird and confused as to why I was resisting to do something that I genuinely enjoy- reading. But pushing myself beyond those 15 mins and I entered into such a flow state that I was focused, present and inspired and completely captivated by the contents of the novel.

I think a lot of my time spent in college feels like the same way I spend my time rotting at my own home, but with more restrictions. This semester has proven the very fact that college is pointless. You see, there's such a stark difference between when an institution hires professionals in a certain field and when they hire people who can actually teach that particular subject in the field. The gap and the frequency of their thoughts makes it harder for students to relate, grasp and understand the concept in a comprehendible manner.

Another difference is the one between teachers who are strict and teachers who are rude. I have nothing against teachers who are strict. I believe they are necessary to instill discipline in terms of compliance to certain rules and shape you as an individual. On the other hand, teachers who are rude, those who try to control the students that exceeds their authority as though they were nothing but lifeless dolls, I despise them. Telling a bunch of adults in a room that you aren't allowed to use the washrooms, to control your bladders, taking pride and happiness looking at miserable faces. Expecting decorum in a classroom is one thing but using the authority to fuel passive aggressive hatred to students serves absolutely no purpose.

In addition, the inconsistency with following up with the timetable, or their own actions baffles me. Classes aren't according to schedule. Faculties changing timetables last minute leading to further attendance issues. Half of the assignments not evaluated. Every student's GPA at stake.

Maybe if the teachers were meaningful enough the students would themselves listen. Now i have absolutely nothing against boring teachers, the ones who speak in low monotonous tones because even they are trying their best. We do not expect excellent public speakers. All we expect is basic empathy, which seems to be such a big thing to ask lately.

Genuinely so tired and frustrated with this semester. The environment around me is saddening. Ending this post hoping for a better summer semester.

not in the financial sense, no, although i do consider myself grateful enough for everything that is being provided to me.

but i am a spoilt girl. spoilt in letters and words of affirmations by those who i hold close to my heart. spoilt in flowers given to me at any instance even for a small accomplishment and spoilt in head pats by my friends and head massages for when I'm having a rough day. spoilt in love, with kisses and hugs and little messages and gifts. spoilt by my mom whose lap i get to lie on while she tells me about her day. spoilt by the free scooty rides given by my sibling and my friends and so very spoilt in all the quality time and the bits and pieces of people's personalities that I've chosen.

Around a month ago, after a not so very casual falling out with a man I cherished and me breaking the no contact rule and a lot of tension, we ended up confessing our feelings to each other on a warm afternoon under a metro station. Ever since then it has been a beautiful experience. I adore that man and i love the feeling of loving someone and being loved.

But sometimes it also hits me - i am in love with a paradox. We are so different as individuals. His field involves thinking in binary codes and mine involves analyzing every single perspective in a given case. I love slow, raw, natural unfiltered music and he loves experimenting with new tunes and genres which involve a lot of creativity but may not sound very musically pleasing to the naked ear. I do not seem to understand it but he finds it very interesting. He has a strict routine, he works out in the evening to take care of his incredibly handsome physique, and he's tucked in before 11pm. On the contrary, my chronology of the day is driven by my heart. I sleep anytime between 8pm and 3am and I make hot chocolate way past my dinner time and call my friends at ungodly hours and cry and read and listen to music and ponder when the sun is down. My body is far from perfect when it comes to external standards, every curve and crevice of my body dawned with marks.

But when I'm near him it's like these these differences never mattered. I like feeling the warmth of his hands when they're intertwined with mine and I like to feel his arms wrapped around my body. I like hearing his heartbeat against my ear when we're close to each other and I really, really like kissing him.

And despite all the people in my life who share similar interests and hobbies, when I feel like things in my life are crumbling down, I only think of him. I think of the day all my walls that i built emotionally shattered when I was with him and bawling my eyes out. I think of the time that he hugged me when I was crying over a baby that wasn't even in existence and just him being around. He doesn't judge me. And that is a privilege very few people get to have. And someday, i want to look at the deepest parts of his soul, open the chest to his most valuable treasures, his vulnerable self, and every little habit of his. i want to stare at him and memorize the shape of his eyes. his deep brown beautiful eyes. i want to kiss him scars and remind them that his existence is a boon for me. it is really scary but he makes it all so worth it.

I refuse to let the cruelty of this world hollow my soul and snuff out all the love i have. this world is cruel, therefore i won't be. this world is cruel, but it doesn't have to be. there is love everywhere you look. there is love in the laughter you share with your friends, love in the stranger complimenting your hair, love in the palestinian children dancing together in their refugee camps, love in the communities full of people defending and protecting their neighbors from ice agents, love in the flotillas sailing to gaza in attempts to break the siege and end this calculated and intentional starvation, love in the freedom fighters defending their people against colonizing forces throughout the world, love in the people showing up to do jail support when their comrades are arrested at protests, love in the people in my downtown that give neighborhood discounts to me and other people they know work in the area. there is love in museums and art galleries and libraries, at community actions and on picket lines and in town halls.