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Womanhood

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This post is going to be controversial; this is not intended to hurt anyone’s belief that is not aligned to mine. I’m just writing my opinions and thoughts on this topic. I recently watched the Netflix documentary A Child of My Own, and it completely broke my heart. It tells the true story of Alejandra, a Mexican woman in her twenties who faces overwhelming societal and family pressure to have a child. After tragically suffering multiple miscarriages, the psychological toll drives her to pretend she is still pregnant. She gains weight, forges medical documents, and fakes ultrasound images—and under immense psychological stress, her body even mimics a baby's heartbeat. Tragically, her desperation culminates in her kidnapping a newborn from a hospital matching her due date. She is caught and sentenced to 13 years in prison. While I absolutely do not condone her final actions, my heart aches for her. She committed an illegal act out of a desperate, lonely belief that motherhood was he...
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The Extra

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We’ve all heard of the heir and the spare. But allow me to introduce a third, highly elite category: The Extra. This is the true story of a girl who spent her entire life under the impression that she was extra special , only to eventually realise she was just… a Phantom. And for the sake of setting the record straight, let’s just assume that "she" is me. I entered the world as child number three. I wasn't the glorious firstborn, nor was I the heavily anticipated first son. I was the sequel nobody asked for. Despite this, I was a deeply dedicated tag-along. For my first eighteen years, I was glued to my parents like a shadow. For the next four years, I was their loyal weekend visitor. During those initial eighteen years, my summers weren't spent relaxing. They were spent in our ancestral village meeting a small army of relatives and exactly zero TV time. Our primary source of entertainment? Endless, gruelling pilgrimage trips to visit roughly ten t...
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My recent glimmers

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​Being a mom is the only job where you are simultaneously a CEO, a personal chef, a punching bag, and completely ignored—all while being paid exclusively in "core memories."  Every phase of parenting is a chaotic mix of “I need a nap” and “Oh my gosh, my heart is melting.” ​Thankfully, mother nature gave us selective amnesia. We completely forget the tantrums and only remember the glimmers. ​Since my teen son (Aa) is currently tolerating my existence, I wanted to document a few recent wins before he realizes I’m not cool: ​The other day, I poured my heart out, telling him he is my absolute number-one priority in this chaotic world. He was listening with the fierce intensity only a teenager staring at a smartphone can muster. Out of nowhere, he muttered, "Yeah, you’re mine too." I told him that would change one day when he gets a girlfriend, and that's totally fine. He looked up and said, "Nah, you come first always." Brb, crying into the laundry basket...
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A Chronicle of an Overthinker: The World's Most Exhausted Superhero

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If overthinking were a superpower, I wouldn’t just be a superhero—I’d be the undisputed leader of the Avengers. I wasn't bitten by a radioactive spider or a genetically modified chimpanzee. No, this absolute curse is generational wealth, passed down directly from my ancestors.  Chapter 1: The Origin    It all started in school with multiple-choice questions in exams. I hated them. Other kids saw A, B, C, or D. I saw four psychological traps. Through the power of severe overthinking, I could construct a flawless, 10-step logical argument for why every single option was correct. Naturally, I would pick the wrong one. To this day, multiple-choice questions give me hives. Chapter 2: Codenames and clues This superpower extends to family game night. Whenever I play Codenames with my cousin, niece, and Aa, a simple one-word clue becomes a Da Vinci Code cipher. I will connect "Tree" to "Spaceship" via a complex web of conspiracy theories, overcomplicate the entire ...
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Awfully dutiful!

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I’ve been dragging myself to the gym in the pre-dawn darkness for over a decade. It’s my thing. I’m an "early bird," which is just a polite way of saying I lack the capacity for joy of sleeping-in after 6:00 AM. Since the rest of the world is still dreaming, I have zero excuses to skip. It’s a flawless system that works well for my schedule. Today started like any other day. I pulled out of my driveway while the sun was still snoozing. The drive is a five-minute straight shot—just me, a few stoplights, and the eerie silence of empty streets. While waiting at a red light, I noticed a police car slide in behind me. I didn’t sweat it. My speed was legal, my headlights were actually functioning , and I had my license. I was the picture of civic obedience. What could possibly go wrong? Right!  E.ve.r.yt.h.i.n.g.           PC- Google Images  The road signal turned green, I made my right turn, and suddenly my rearview mirror turned into a disco li...
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Between the spectrum!

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I’ve officially watched every serial killer documentary Netflix has to offer. At this point, if there was a PhD in "Staring Blankly at Grainy CCTV Footage," I’d be aceing it. I draw the line at horror, though—ghosts are unrealistic, but a guy with a basement and a manifesto? That’s just Tuesday night entertainment. The problem is, this "education" has turned me into a paranoid investigator. Last week, during my 5:00 AM personal training session at the gym, I spotted it: a roll of black electrical tape sitting right next to a bowl of jelly beans. My brain immediately hit the panic button.  "Hey," I call my trainer "why is this here?"  pointing to the black tape. My trainer started explaining how he used it to patch up the cushions on the gym machines, or how he’d used a strip to fix his watch strap. I’m not sure what else he said because I zoned out after "watch strap." I just shrugged and went back to my deadlifts. A few seconds later,...
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Special M

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May is officially here, which means it’s time to celebrate someone special- it is Mom’s birthday! When I asked my 75-year-old friend Christine what her favourite season is, while we were sitting in the garden watching the fall colours on a sunny weekend, she said September without a beat. I thought she liked Spring, so I asked her again, 'Do you mean Spring?' She sweetly replies back,' No!, September. It is Mum's birthday. This is the person who has forgotten so many little details of her life. No matter how old you get, some people in our lives have big impacts, espacially moms have that kind of power. Dont you think?! Back in my "I know everything" phase, I swore I’d never be like my mother. Now that I’ve actually matured a little (Ahem!), I’ve realised that if I can be even 50% of the woman she is, I’ve absolutely nailed it. Of course, I could have done without the "family heirlooms" she passed down—specifically the ability to stress out over lite...
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