A crazy,weird, seasonally curious soul

I accept it. Argentina didn't play up to the mark. It honestly felt like a one-sided game—probably the worst match I've ever seen this team play.

I'm broken. Shattered into so many pieces that I don't even know how long it'll take to recover.

I've supported Argentina since I was old enough to understand what football is. And the one person because of whom I chose this team... somehow became something even bigger than football. I always said I didn't believe in love, but whatever I feel for this team—and especially for him—is stronger than love. Stronger than any obsession I've had over the past few years.

We came all this way. We played beautiful football. We fought. We believed.

But the final?

It felt like I didn't even recognize the team I had been cheering for. That was heartbreaking.

But do you know what hurt the most?

The fear that I may never get to watch the man I've admired all my life on the biggest stage again. The only name I've chanted with pride.

Lionel Messi.

The legend. The myth. The humblest GOAT.

I can tell myself, In shaa Allah, Argentina will play another World Cup final. That thought gives me hope.

But how do I convince my heart that the man who made me fall in love with this sport might not be there?

How do I accept that I may never scream his name in another World Cup?

Please, Messi...

Don't let that be your last World Cup.

Just one more.

One last dance.

Let us see you lift that trophy one more time before you say goodbye. Let us sing your name until our voices give out. Let us thank you the way you deserve.

Please... don't leave us just yet.

June 17,2026

Congratulations my dear lil brother ,keep going

Almost three months ago, I made a decision that felt right for me. I wanted to move into a single room in the hostel. There were many reasons behind it—privacy, better concentration while studying, fewer distractions, and most importantly, having a space of my own. Sometimes I just need to be alone with my thoughts without having to interact with anyone. I thought a single room would give me that peace.

As the weeks passed, I became more certain about my decision. I even talked to the hostel authority and completed the necessary arrangements. The day I had been waiting for was finally approaching. I was excited about the possibility of having my own room and creating an environment where I could focus better on my studies and myself.

But as the day came closer, I started thinking more deeply about it. I thought about my parents and their concerns. They were not in favour of the move. They worried that I would be alone and felt that staying with roommates would be better for me. At first, I struggled with their decision because I genuinely wanted that room.

The more I thought about it, however, the more I realised how much I value my parents' opinions. They have lived far longer than I have, faced many situations I have never experienced, and throughout my life they have always wanted what was best for me. I know they would never intentionally make a decision that could harm me.

Today, I decided to give up the room.

It wasn't because I stopped wanting it. Deep down, I still think I would enjoy the privacy and quietness of a single room. But sometimes life is not only about what we want. It is also about the people we trust and the value we place on their guidance. I chose to respect my parents' wishes because I know their concern comes from love.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed. A small part of me still wonders what it would have been like to have that room to myself. Yet I feel at peace with my decision. Perhaps there will be another opportunity in the future. For now, I am choosing to stay where I am, carrying both a little disappointment and a lot of gratitude for the people who care about me.

First term of 3rd year starting with pharmacology tomorrow

What I’m about to write might sound like I’m exaggerating or showing off—but honestly, I just want to hold on to this memory.

I’ve always wanted to become that one person—the one students can turn to, the one who makes things a little easier for others in their studies. From the beginning, I was among the few who attended every class, and often the only one who made complete notes and shared them with anyone who needed them.

Until 2nd year, this stayed within my section. But somewhere in the middle of 3rd year, I realized I had quietly taken a step closer to that version of myself.

Tomorrow, our surgery ward finals begin. I’ve already prepared all my notes, and now almost everyone in the batch knows where to find them. For the past two days, my notebook has been passing from hand to hand—I don’t even have it with me right now. Hopefully, I’ll get it back tomorrow night… I have my own exam the day after.

But what truly stayed with me today was something else.

Two Nepali students from our batch—people I’ve never spoken to, don’t even know by name—somehow found my hotel room and came looking for my notes because their exam is tomorrow. I didn’t even have my notebook with me, but I guided them to someone who had pictures of it.

Maybe this sounds small or even annoying to some. But to me, this is the kind of reward I quietly treasure.

As someone who keeps helping without expecting anything in return, these moments mean everything. This silent trust. This unspoken acknowledgment that “there’s someone we can go to.”

I’m glad to be that person.

Was it easy? No. Is it easy? Still no. There are days I feel like giving up, days I feel like I can’t keep going. But then I think—maybe someone will need these notes, maybe someone will feel a little less lost because of me. And that thought keeps me moving.

I’m not carrying a burden. I’m not trying to prove anything. If someone learns something because of me, that alone feels enough.

Why do I do this? Not for people. For myself. Because helping someone brings me a kind of peace I can’t explain.

Yes, it can feel lonely sometimes—feeling like there’s no one to turn to. But then I remind myself: Allah has made me capable of standing on my own, and that itself is a blessing that softens every frustration.

Today, I feel lucky.

Today, I feel grateful.

Today, I feel kind.

Today was one of those days that started rough but ended with something unexpectedly beautiful.

We had a Pahela Boishakh post ceremony in college today — it was mostly for the teachers, so we just had our regular classes. Nothing special planned for us. But then, right at the end, Raiyana happened.

She practically dragged me to get henna done. And honestly? I wasn't feeling it at all. I'm not really the type to do these things in college — it just feels out of my comfort zone. But she was so persistent I couldn't say no. So I gave in and got a little applied too.

And I'm so glad I did.

Looking at my hand now, I just feel this quiet happiness. In this busy, overwhelming life — between classes, items, and everything else — it's these tiny unplanned moments that somehow mean the most. Raiyana, thank you for forcing me. Genuinely.

The morning though... that was a different story. I came across a whole new side of some people today. Ungrateful doesn't even begin to cover it. I'll write about that another time — it deserves its own page. But right now, I refuse to let it touch my mood.

Because today also brought me something else to smile about — no item tomorrow. Finally. After what feels like forever, a free day is coming and it feels so so good.

I'm feeling extra happy tonight. And I just wanted to remember that. 🌸

It's only the second day of EId

Eid Mubarak 🌙✨

May this beautiful day fill your heart with peace, your home with warmth, and your life with countless quiet blessings. After a month of patience, prayers, and reflection, may Allah accept every effort and reward you in ways you never expected.