Inklingwonders

I think the hardest part about being the middle child isn't being forgotten.

It's being remembered last.

Not in cruel ways. Not in ways that make people question whether you were loved.

Just in the quiet, ordinary ways that no one notices until you're old enough to replay your childhood and realise you've always been standing one step behind everyone else's importance.

You become the understanding one.

The child who adjusts.

The one who is expected to be okay because you've always looked okay.

No one ever says, "We'll think about you."

So you learn not to think about yourself either.

I wasn't treated badly. That's what makes this feeling so difficult to explain.

I was loved.

But it never felt like the kind of love that existed simply because I did.

It felt earned.

When I scored well, I became everyone's favourite for a little while.

When I obeyed, I was praised.

When I became someone people could be proud of, I was held a little closer.

Love always seemed to arrive carrying conditions I was too young to recognise.

So I grew up believing that affection was something you deserved, not something you simply received.

And children have a strange way of turning repeated moments into lifelong truths.

Mine became this:

There will always be someone more important than you.

Someone who is chosen first.

Someone whose absence is felt before yours.

Someone who is loved a little more.

I don't remember ever being anyone's first thought.

No one's favourite.

No one's instinct.

That kind of loneliness doesn't make noise.

It just settles inside you, quietly enough to become part of who you are.

Maybe that's why I ask for so little now.

I don't want to be someone's entire world.

I don't want to replace the people who loved them before I existed.

I only want to know what it feels like to be chosen without asking.

To be thought of before I remind someone that I'm here.

To have someone instinctively reach for me in a room full of people.

To matter without performing.

To be loved without proving.

Maybe that's why I place so much of this longing onto the person I love.

Not because I expect him to abandon everyone else for me.

But because, for the first time in my life, I want to believe that I can become someone's certainty instead of someone's afterthought.

I want him to think of me after he's done thinking about his family—not because I demanded a place in his life, but because my place was already there.

Because he wanted me there.

Maybe that's all I've ever wanted.

Not grand gestures.

Not impossible devotion.

Just to know, for once, what it feels like to be someone's first instinct.

I don’t know how to explain it anymore.

It’s not sadness—I know what sadness feels like.

It’s not stress either; stress has a shape, a deadline, a reason.

This is something else.

A deep, bone-level exhaustion that seeps into me and refuses to leave, no matter how much I sleep, no matter how long I pause.

I laugh when I’m supposed to. I nod at the right moments. I talk about work, about plans, about the weather, about everything that makes me sound normal. I wear ease like a second skin because it’s easier than answering questions I don’t have words for. People see me smiling and assume I’m fine. Maybe I even convince myself for a while.

But the moment I’m alone, everything collapses.

The silence becomes loud.

The weight returns, uninvited and familiar.

It sits on my chest, not crushing—just heavy enough to remind me it’s there. I sit still for hours, staring at nothing, replaying the same question in my head: What’s wrong? And every time, the answer is the same—nothing. Nothing specific. Nothing dramatic. Just life, slowly pressing down.

That’s what makes it worse. There’s no single moment to blame, no clear wound to point at. Just an emptiness that stretches wide, a tiredness that lives deeper than my body. I’m exhausted in places rest can’t reach. My mind is tired of holding itself together. My heart is tired of pretending it knows how to carry all this weight gracefully.

Some days I feel too full of everything I can’t name. Other days, I feel hollow—like something essential quietly slipped away and never came back. I move through my days on autopilot, doing what needs to be done, while a part of me watches from a distance, wondering when I started surviving instead of living.

And the hardest part?

I’m tired of pretending I can handle it.

Tired of being strong in silence.

Tired of saying “I’m okay” when I don’t even know what okay feels like anymore.

I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want fixing.

Man Works from Sun to Sun, Woman’s Work is Never Done

They say, “Man works from sun to sun, Woman’s work is never done.” I heard this line once and it didn’t just stick with me — it sank straight into my bones.

Because even today, with all our “progress” and “modern thinking,” it still feels true.

Women are constantly told to do more, be more, give more. And when they dare to refuse to be constantly tired, constantly available, constantly giving — they are labeled as “not good women.”

Even now, there are men who boldly say,

“A woman should know how to cook.” “It’s her duty to bear children to continue the lineage.”

Duty. As if a woman’s existence is an endless checklist she must fulfill for everyone else.

When both husband and wife work full-time, why is the household still considered her job? Why is the laundry hers? The dishes hers? The mental load hers?

And when a man does the bare minimum — folds his own laundry, cooks once in a while, watches the baby for an hour — society cheers. “He’s such a green flag!” they say. But when women have been doing this endlessly for centuries, they are simply told, “Well, that’s what a good wife does.”

Let’s talk about childbirth — because this is where the hypocrisy becomes unbearable.

Giving birth doesn’t just change a woman’s body. It tears her apart, rearranges her life, rewires her brain. Physically, emotionally, mentally — she is never quite the same again.

And yet, she’s rarely given a real choice.

If a woman chooses not to go through pregnancy, she has to justify it — with medical reasons, with explanations, with apologies. Otherwise, she is branded selfish, immature, or worse — told she’s denying her “duty.”

Duty. Again.

Meanwhile, many men demand “their own blood,” as though a woman’s sole purpose is to fulfill that wish, no matter the cost to her body or soul. And when she does go through it, when she is bleeding, broken, exhausted in the postpartum haze — many are left to recover alone, emotionally and physically abandoned, because no one taught men that caring for a new mother is as important as caring for a newborn.

And after all of this, men wonder why so many women choose to stay single. They are baffled when women say, “I would rather be alone than be in a marriage that drains me.”

But this isn’t shocking — this is survival.

Women are choosing freedom over constant compromise, over being expected to sacrifice everything and still being told it’s not enough.

If marriage means carrying the weight of two people’s lives while being told it’s your “duty,” then yes — women will choose themselves. And they will be happier for it.

Because we are tired of being unpaid laborers, unthanked caregivers, and reluctant martyrs in a society that applauds men for doing the bare minimum.

We are not selfish for wanting choice. We are not cruel for wanting rest. We are not wrong for wanting equality — not in words, but in actions.

After a night stitched in silence and screens, I sit— wide-eyed in the wreckage of dawn. No sleep in my eyes, just a hollow that hums like a warning.

My body begs for surrender, limbs sinking, bones heavy like drowned anchors— yet my mind runs marathons on roads I can’t even see.

Thoughts flicker, blurred slides in a broken reel. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I only know I can’t stop.

Maybe it's the fear— of sleep that swallows and doesn't spit back. Of apnea— the breath stolen mid-dream, the night wrapping tight like a fist.

Maybe it's the fear— of being trapped in a place within myself with no map, no exit sign, no voice loud enough to scream me out.

The world outside is quiet, but inside— a riot in slow motion.

There is something indescribably enchanting about the break of dawn. It is a silent symphony of transformation that unfolds slowly, tenderly, and with remarkable grace. As night begins to retreat, a new world breathes into existence—not abruptly, but gently, as if the universe itself hesitates for a moment, savoring the transition from darkness to light.

The sky becomes an artist’s canvas, painted in hues that no palette could ever fully capture. Before the first hint of the sun touches the horizon, a subtle shift begins. The oppressive blackness of the night, once scattered only by pale starlight, begins to dissolve. Soft blues emerge first—faint and delicate like the whisper of a secret. Then, in a matter of moments, those blues deepen, giving way to streaks of lavender and rose, layering the heavens in gradients that seem to come from a dream.

And it’s not just the sky that transforms. Those who rise early enough to witness it or those who haven't been able to sleep, know that the dawn has a power beyond its visual beauty. It has a way of reaching into the soul. The shifting colors bring with them a quiet comfort—one that seeps into the hearts of those who stand beneath that sky, looking upward. It’s as if the universe is offering a silent assurance: “You are not alone.”

The pinks and purples that blend into violet are not merely colors; they are emotions. They carry the calm of rest, the healing of hope, and the promise of renewal. They wash over the darkness of the previous night with such gentleness that the change feels almost sacred. With every passing moment, the sky gets lighter, as though it’s preparing to welcome something extraordinary.

And then, there’s the air. As the colors shift above, the atmosphere below mirrors that transformation. The breeze turns cooler, soft enough to graze the skin like a caress. It carries with it the scent of freshness—the kind that can only belong to a day that hasn’t yet been touched by chaos. There’s dew on the grass, a lightness in the air, and the sound of birds beginning to stir. Their chirping is like music, subtle and rising, echoing the unfolding beauty above. It is the earth’s way of greeting the sky.

This delicate prelude builds anticipation for what is yet to come: the sunrise.

The moment before the sun appears is perhaps the most breathtaking. It’s a pause—an inhale the world takes before it exhales light. The sky now glows with a softness that doesn’t belong to any one color but rather a mixture of many—blush, amber, peach, and coral. All signs point toward the grand arrival. And then it happens.

The first ray of sunlight pierces through the horizon, tentative and golden. It does not blaze forth. Instead, it kisses the world awake. Buildings, trees, mountains, rivers—everything it touches is bathed in a gentle brilliance. Shadows retreat, not in fear, but in reverence. There is peace in that moment, a serenity that is almost holy.

But what’s more powerful than the beauty of the sunrise is what it brings with it—hope.

The sun, in all its radiant glory, signals a fresh beginning. It whispers that today is a clean slate, untouched by the mistakes, sorrows, or fatigue of yesterday. Its rays feel like the arms of nature stretching wide to embrace every soul willing to believe again. And in that embrace is the seed of fulfillment—the drive to begin, to try, to persist.

As the light grows stronger, so does the energy within. The world comes to life. Flowers begin to open. The streets fill with motion. Life picks up its rhythm again. But somewhere, beneath the surface of that routine, lies something deeper—the promise that this day can be different. That it will be different. That what was left unfinished yesterday can find its completion today.It is this silent promise that makes the sunrise more than just a natural phenomenon. It becomes a metaphor for our own lives. Every sunrise says: You made it through the night. Every ray of light says: Here’s another chance. And that’s the beauty of the morning sun—it doesn't ask for anything. It simply gives. Light, warmth, renewal, and courage.

It’s easy to dismiss mornings in the rush of everyday life. But when we pause, even for a moment, to witness the artistry of dawn, we remember what we often forget—that beauty surrounds us, that peace is available to us, and that hope is never far.

So the next time you find yourself awake before the world fully rises, take a moment. Step outside. Look up. Let the sky speak to you in color. Let the wind soothe your worries. Let the birdsong fill the silence within. And when that first ray of sunlight breaks through, let it remind you that every day begins with a gift.

A gift of possibility.

A gift of renewal.

A gift of golden light.

There’s a certain kind of ache that never really leaves you—an emptiness that lives quietly within, only to swell in moments you least expect it. Every time I see a child laughing with their father, when I see that pure joy reflected in their eyes, something inside me cracks all over again. That smile—a simple, innocent expression—becomes a cruel reminder of everything I’ve missed, everything I continue to long for. It cuts deep, like a wound that keeps reopening, no matter how much time has passed. I try to carry on, to function, but the absence of you, the void you left behind, is always there.

I wish you were here. I wish I could turn around and see you standing there, ready to hold my hand, to wipe away the tears that seem to fall far too often these days. You were supposed to be my safe haven, the person I could always turn to when the world became too much. Now, when the weight of everything crashes down on me, I find myself looking for you—searching in my thoughts, my memories, my dreams—hoping for just a flicker of your presence, a whisper of your guidance.

There are so many things I want to tell you. So many things I wish you could hear. Life is moving forward, and I’m doing my best to keep pace, to make choices that would make you proud. But the truth is, I feel lost more often than not. I long for your voice, your wisdom, your quiet strength. I wish I could talk to you about my doubts, my dreams, my decisions. Every new step I take feels incomplete without your insight. I want to sit with you and unpack every thought, every dilemma, every little crossroad I find myself at. I want to hear you say, “You’ve got this,” or even offer a firm nudge when I’m about to head down the wrong path.

I think about the kind of support I would feel if only you were here. Not just emotionally, but spiritually—knowing you’re behind me would give me a strength I haven’t been able to find elsewhere. I often imagine scenarios where you’re sitting beside me, nodding thoughtfully as I explain my plans, your eyes lighting up with pride or narrowing with concern. I want that. I need that. And it breaks me that I can’t have it.

People say time heals, but what they don’t understand is that time only teaches you how to live with the pain—it doesn’t erase it. Some days I go through the motions, managing to smile, to laugh even. But behind that smile is a heart still aching for the love it lost. I miss the warmth of your embrace, the comfort of your presence, the way everything felt okay when you were around. I would give anything to have just one more conversation, one more walk, one more moment with you.

You weren’t just my father—you were my grounding force. The one person I believed would always be there, no matter how old I got or how far I wandered. Losing you was like losing a piece of myself, a piece I’ve been trying to find ever since. I’ve tried to be strong. I’ve tried to carry your memory forward with dignity and grace. But there are days, like today, when the sorrow becomes too heavy to carry quietly.

I don’t know what the future holds, and that terrifies me. I’m doing the best I can, but without your guidance, everything feels like a gamble. I want to make you proud. I want to live a life that honors your love and your legacy. But I also want to cry on your shoulder when things get tough. I want to feel safe again.

Maybe someday, we’ll meet again. Until then, I’ll keep holding onto the memories, the lessons, the love you gave me in the short time we had. I’ll keep talking to you in the quiet moments, hoping somehow, somewhere, you hear me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a relationship. And somewhere in that stretch of solitude, I found something precious—peace. I fell deeply in love with my own space, my own rhythm, and the unmatched comfort that comes with not having to explain myself to anyone. There’s something incredibly liberating about living life on your own terms. No check-ins. No emotional labor for the sake of someone else's insecurity. Just me, my thoughts, my time.

And I’ve grown to cherish that.

Being single isn't a sad chapter. It’s actually been one of the most empowering phases of my life. I’ve learned what it means to be whole on my own. I’ve learned to romanticize solo coffee dates, long walks with music, late-night overthinking sessions, and dancing in my room like no one's watching (because really, no one is).

But despite how content I feel on my own, I also understand the beauty of companionship. I'm not against love. I just refuse to water myself down for it.

The transition from singlehood to a committed relationship isn't as simple as swiping right or texting every day. It’s a conscious shift. A mental and emotional pivot. When you're used to being alone and thriving in it, welcoming someone into your life takes real courage. Because now, your space isn’t just yours. Your time isn’t just yours. Your silence will often be filled with conversation, your plans will some times involve compromise, and your decisions might require collaboration.

And that’s fine—if it’s with the right person.

But here's where I draw the line: I won’t be in a relationship where constant updates are expected as proof of loyalty. I won’t entertain someone who confuses control for care. If your idea of love is policing my movements, questioning my choices, or needing validation through constant check-ins, I’m not the one for you.

Yes, I know the difference between being controlling and being concerned. I know what genuine curiosity looks like. And trust me, if I’m with someone I truly care about, I’ll overshare without being asked. I’ll tell you what I had for lunch, who I ran into, what weird dream I had last night. But that only happens when I feel safe—emotionally, mentally, energetically.

What pushes me away isn’t the commitment itself. It’s the imbalance. The gendered expectations. The assumption that because you’re the “man,” I owe you answers or obedience. That’s not partnership. That’s hierarchy—and I want no part of it.

I’ve had moments where I almost got into something just because it was “the right time” or because “I’ve been single too long.” But then I remembered: I’d rather be single with peace than be in a relationship full of doubts and discomfort.

At this point in my life, I’m not interested in a boyfriend for the sake of a relationship status. I don’t need validation through someone else’s presence. I’m not here for temporary sparks. If anything, I’m open to slowly exploring something real—something grounded. Let’s take time. Let’s see if we’re compatible on values, not just vibes. If it works, beautiful. If it doesn’t, let’s respectfully part ways with no bitterness.

What I want is simple: someone I can be fully myself with. Someone who doesn’t get insecure when I say I need space. Someone who isn’t threatened by my independence but is inspired by it. Someone who knows love isn’t about ownership—it’s about honoring each other’s existence, together and apart.

She's ready for more than what the world has tried to sell her, more than fleeting connections or temporary relationships based on superficial attraction. She’s reached a point where she knows her worth, and it’s far beyond being treated as a conquest or a mere object of desire. What she desires, what she needs, is the presence of someone who understands the depth of her being—a man, not a boy, who recognizes that her needs go far beyond the physical.

She’s ready for a man who sees beyond the surface, who understands that she carries layers of emotions, thoughts, dreams, and fears. She's lived enough to know that while chemistry and physical attraction are important, they aren’t enough to sustain a meaningful connection. A relationship built on shallow foundations will eventually crumble. She’s learned this the hard way. She’s ready for a connection that transcends the body, for someone who respects her soul, cherishes her mind, and understands that love is more than a moment—it’s a commitment.

This kind of man, the one she's ready for, is rare. He’s someone who can see her heart and respect it. He doesn’t get intimidated by her strength, nor does he try to diminish it. Instead, he celebrates her independence, her passion, and her resilience, all while being there as a solid foundation, a pillar of support. She doesn’t want someone who is present only when it’s convenient for him. She wants someone who is willing to stand by her side, no matter the storm, no matter the challenge.

She’s ready for a man who is invested in her well-being. Her emotional needs are just as important as her physical ones, and she desires someone who will take the time to understand that. She wants a man who can offer emotional safety, where she doesn’t have to second-guess his intentions or wonder if his affections are fleeting. She needs a space where she can be vulnerable without fear, knowing that her feelings will be honored, not dismissed. She’s ready for someone who is emotionally mature, who can hold space for her when she’s overwhelmed, and who is patient enough to see her through her darkest moments.

When she speaks, she wants to be heard. Not just the words she says, but the emotions behind them. She’s ready for a man who takes the time to listen, who isn’t just waiting for his turn to speak but genuinely wants to understand her perspective. She knows relationships aren’t about winning arguments or being right, but about creating a shared understanding and growing together. She wants a partner who doesn’t shy away from difficult conversations but leans into them, knowing that they are necessary for deepening the bond they share.

She’s ready for a man who challenges her, not in a way that seeks to undermine her, but in a way that encourages her to grow. She’s ready for someone who inspires her to reach her full potential, while also standing by her side as she figures things out. He doesn’t need to fix her problems; he simply needs to walk with her as she navigates them, offering support and understanding. She’s ready for a partnership where both people are lifting each other, where the growth is mutual, and the respect is unwavering.

And perhaps most importantly, she’s ready for someone who loves her for who she is, not who he wants her to be. She’s ready for a man who doesn’t impose his expectations onto her, who allows her to evolve, to change, and to be the fullest version of herself without trying to mold her into his idea of perfection. She’s ready for love that is unconditional, that doesn’t come with strings attached or hidden agendas.

In a world where relationships often feel transactional, she craves something real, something steady. She’s tired of the games, the uncertainty, and the emotional rollercoasters. She wants stability, someone she can count on, someone whose actions match his words. A man who is consistent in showing up for her, who proves through his actions that he’s there for the long haul.

She’s ready for a man who knows that true intimacy comes from connection, not just in the physical sense but in the meeting of minds and hearts. She wants a love that feels safe yet exciting, a love where she doesn’t have to question her place in his life because he makes it clear every day that she’s a priority.

Friendship between a man and a woman is a delicate balance, often riddled with unspoken boundaries and emotional nuances. One common question that many guys ask is: "Why don’t girls let their guy friends know that they might consider them for a relationship or marriage?"

While this question might seem straightforward, the underlying dynamics are much more complex. From what I've personally experienced and observed, it often comes down to one key issue: the shift in behavior that occurs when a guy gets the idea that a girl might be interested in more than just friendship.

The Shift: From Platonic to Physical The moment some guys begin to sense that a girl could be open to a deeper connection, they tend to express their feelings through increased physical contact. Even the smallest gestures, like holding hands, suddenly become common in situations where they weren’t before.

A girl might not mind small touches in certain contexts, but when it becomes excessive or feels forced, it can make things very uncomfortable. What used to be a friendly hug while saying goodnight can turn into an everyday expectation, one that’s now layered with a romantic undercurrent that wasn't previously there.

This shift in behavior can make girls feel trapped or even pressured, causing them to pull back from what was once a comfortable friendship. The comfort and safety that friendship provides suddenly vanish, leaving behind uncertainty and awkwardness. The ease of the relationship is replaced by tension, and what was once lighthearted becomes weighed down by unmet expectations.

Navigating Expectations: When Friendship Turns Romantic One thing that guys should take into consideration is that if a girl suggests she might be open to more than friendship, that doesn’t mean she wants to rush into a relationship or immediately shift the dynamics. She still wants to feel comfortable being around him. It’s crucial for the guy to maintain the sense of trust and safety that the friendship was built on, even if there’s a possibility for something more.

Jumping from platonic to physical can create an emotional imbalance that might push the girl away, especially if the guy’s actions are driven by excitement or impatience. What’s key here is restraint and respect for boundaries. The girl may very well consider a relationship, but her comfort level should always be prioritized. If she feels like her space, trust, or autonomy is being encroached upon, the potential for romance will likely diminish.

Why Do Guys Mess This Up? It’s not always intentional, but many guys often misinterpret or overestimate the significance of small gestures when they sense that romance is in the air. The thought of a relationship can become exciting, and that excitement sometimes clouds judgment.

Rather than approaching the situation with patience and care, some men might rush into expressing their feelings physically, thinking that it’s the fastest way to show affection. But physical contact doesn't necessarily equal emotional intimacy, especially if the girl isn’t ready for it.

Another reason is that societal conditioning often teaches men that physical expressions of love are more valid or effective than emotional ones. As a result, when a romantic opportunity presents itself, they might feel the need to escalate the situation through touch. However, what they fail to recognize is that physical gestures, especially too early or too often, can feel invasive to the girl.

What Can Be Done Differently? If a guy senses that there’s potential for something more, it’s important to tread lightly. Communicate openly about feelings and intentions instead of assuming physical cues will do the talking. Just because a girl might be open to romance doesn’t mean she’s ready for immediate physical closeness.

The key is to maintain the friendship first. Let the girl set the pace. If she feels comfortable and safe, she’s more likely to open up about her emotions. Pressuring her or misreading her signals will only damage the connection.

For any relationship to evolve healthily, respect, patience, and emotional understanding must form the foundation. The same qualities that make a great friendship—trust, comfort, and mutual respect—are the ones that will allow a romantic relationship to blossom naturally.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of the crowded train, my eyes were drawn to a middle-aged couple. The wife, her face etched with fatigue or perhaps just the remnants of a long day, leaned against her husband’s shoulder. His sturdy frame provided a comforting anchor for her weariness. As the train halted abruptly, jolting its passengers, her head swayed, threatening to lose balance. But the husband, with unwavering devotion, held her steady. His hands cradled her head, fingers entwined in her hair, as if protecting a fragile treasure.

To the casual observer, this scene might appear mundane—a husband supporting his wife during a mundane commute. Yet, for those who recognize the nuances of love, it was a profound display of commitment. Theirs was not merely a physical bond; it was an unspoken pact forged through years of shared laughter, whispered secrets, and silent understanding. Their love transcended societal norms, bypassing the superficial and diving deep into the reservoirs of empathy and compassion.