Category: Unscripted Feelings

Unscripted Feelings

The Weight of Wanting

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Looking inward. Learning yourself. Becoming a version of yourself that has lived through many versions of you — and many versions of life you once thought you would have.

I never fully understood what people meant when they said, “Don’t take life too seriously.” Maybe it’s because life doesn’t always work out the way we think it should. No matter how much we want something, how deeply it makes sense to us, or how certain we are that it should work — sometimes it still doesn’t.

I have always believed that our lives are a culmination of the choices we make, for good or bad reasons, in a particular emotional and mental state — choices driven by thousands of silent factors, fears, hopes, wounds, desires, and rationales we ourselves may not fully understand at the time.

Over the last few days, I have realised that the more tightly I try to force something to work, the more anxious and emotionally exhausted I become. So I’ve decided to let things unfold.

Do I fully like that feeling? Maybe not.
Do I like the pace? Probably not.
Has the timing of some of the most important milestones in my life felt difficult and tricky? Absolutely.

But I’m slowly understanding that there is no way to fast-track life.

I can only try:
to let go of what I cannot control,
to take responsibility for what I can,
and to show up each day as the truest version of myself possible.

The unknown future, moments of helplessness, and occasional regret sometimes add fuel to the emotional space I find myself in. But what remains non-negotiable is staying honest about what I truly feel in my heart.

Sometimes the heart needs to be gently guided by the mind.
Other times, it simply needs softness, understanding, and solidarity.

This phase of my life is teaching me a lot. It’s cutting down noise and forcing me to look inward:
Who am I really?
What truly works for me?
And more importantly — why?

I’m questioning my own patterns, behaviours, reactions, and approaches. Not from self-hate, but from a desire to align more deeply with my authentic self.

Maybe that’s what growth actually is:
not becoming someone entirely new,
but slowly becoming more honest about who you already are.

Elaphiti Islands, Croatia
Unscripted Feelings

When Overthinking Fails

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It’s 5:54am UK time.

My peak overthinking hour.

This is usually when my brain decides to conduct investigations. Into people. Into situations. Into feelings that feel a little too good to be true. I replay conversations. I zoom into tone shifts. I analyse pauses like they’re plot twists waiting to happen.

This is when I protect myself.

And yet… I’ve got nothing.

I’ve tried to find something wrong. With the situation. With the person. With the feeling itself. A crack. A contradiction. A subtle red flag disguised as something beautiful. Something I can point to and say, “There. That’s why this won’t work.”

But every time I try to build a case, it falls apart.

I procrastinate. I scroll. I mentally draft exit strategies. I imagine future disappointments just to get ahead of them. I attempt to overthink my way into control.

And my mind — my very loyal, very dramatic mind — is tired.

Not defeated. Not naive. Just… unable to manufacture a problem that isn’t there.

Of course, there are always theoretical reasons something might not work. Timing. Imperfection. Human unpredictability. There are statistics, cautionary tales, endless “what ifs.” I could absolutely assemble a list titled Potential Future Disasters. I’ve done it before.

But deep down, I know when I’m reaching.

I know the difference between intuition and fear trying to stay employed. And this feels less like intuition and more like habit. Like my mind doesn’t quite know what to do when there’s nothing urgent to solve.

It’s unsettling when you’re used to emotional motion. When love, opportunity, or even simple happiness has always come with tension. I’m familiar with that version of myself — the one who questions, tests, pushes. The one who tries to end things first so they don’t end unexpectedly.

But this time, I can’t find the flaw.

And that’s strangely terrifying.

Because if there’s nothing wrong, then there’s nothing to fight. No villain in the story. No dramatic unraveling to justify stepping back.

Google can’t help me. Reddit can’t validate a suspicion that doesn’t exist. Even my usual overthinking triggers seem to clock out early. I try to pace the feeling toward some conclusion — to accelerate it into something definitive — but it refuses.

It’s calm.

Life is becoming still. And that’s what I always said I wanted.

But stillness feels unfamiliar when you’ve grown up bracing for impact. Peace can feel suspicious when chaos has been your baseline.

So here I am. 5:54am. Peak overthinking hour.

And instead of spiraling, I’m sitting in the quiet.

There’s nothing to dismantle.

Nothing to sabotage.

Nothing to preemptively destroy.

Maybe this phase isn’t something to interrogate.

Maybe it’s something to witness.

And maybe the bravest thing I can do is let something be beautiful without trying to prove why it shouldn’t be.

PS: My head feels what I felt when I was here (see pic)

Kemeri National Park, Latvia
Unscripted Feelings

Becoming Water

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There are days when you realize you are water.

Not stone. Not fire. Not wind.

But water.

Flowing quietly through cracks no one noticed, finding passage where there seemed to be none. Making your way from home to city to countries, across worlds. Sometimes in gutters, sometimes in crystal glasses, sometimes pooled in muddy lands, sometimes resting against serene mountains.

Water does not resist its journey. It absorbs its surroundings, the environment, the treatment, the processing, and still moves toward its end. Serving purpose one step, one drop at a time.

Today, I feel like water.

Looking back, I see the shapes I’ve taken, the containers I’ve been poured into, the rocks I’ve curved around, the dams that held me still longer than I wished.

There were phases. Moments of sinking deep into silence. Moments of rising high, almost weightless. Times of crashing down, and times of stillness. The kind that looks calm on the surface while entire currents move underneath.

And then the heavy waves, the ones that drown you briefly only to teach you how to surface again.

No wonder water brings me calm.

Standing before a lake or sea feels like recognition, an unspoken familiarity. It is as if I am seeing myself reflected, the depth, the quiet chaos, the endless motion disguised as peace.

Still water holds a profound secret. Beneath its surface lies movement. Beneath the chaos of life lies calm. Beneath my own turbulence, there is something steady.

Rivers rushing with pressure, that relentless, roaring flow, feel like my emotions when they can no longer be contained. A release I cannot always put into words. A force that does not ask permission to move.

I am surprised I could not articulate this before. But perhaps this is what calm does. It gives language to what was once only sensation. It lets you sit long enough with yourself to recognize your own element.

When you truly begin to know who you are and what matters, you stop fighting your nature.

So yes, I think I am water.

Sometimes ferocious.

Sometimes still.

Mostly flowing, shaped by the landscapes I pass through, yet always, quietly, unmistakably myself.

Kennet River, Reading
Unscripted Feelings

Still, and Full

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Yesterday, while walking back home, something unfamiliar found me. I stopped on a quiet stretch of pavement and let the feeling settle. It was uninhibited, gentle, and deeply calming. Before I knew it, I was smiling — surprised by how peaceful it felt to simply stand there.

Have you ever felt something so magical that you want to name it, hold it close, and still allow it to move freely through you? That kind of feeling. For the first time in a long while, I felt light — entirely light. No tremors, no racing thoughts, no uneasy goosebumps. Just stillness. A soft fullness. A calm that didn’t ask for anything.

The presence of someone new in my life has quietly revealed how simple and profound life truly is. How happiness doesn’t require grand gestures or ornamentation. I’ve always loved the small, grounded moments, but this time was different. I didn’t rush past the feeling. I stayed. I listened. And in that stillness, I recognised something honest — a gentle truth about who I am, what I want, how I wish to live, and with whom.

If I were to describe it the way I understand the world, it would be like waves meeting the shore. The shore stands steady calm, patient, unwavering, allowing the waves to arrive exactly as they are. Sometimes soft, sometimes fierce. Sometimes carrying fragments from the depths, sometimes arriving empty-handed. The waves do not need to explain themselves, and the shore does not resist them. They belong to each other, endlessly, one in motion, the other in quiet constancy.

And that is exactly how I felt.

Kemeri National Park, Latvia

Unscripted Feelings

Changing lens.

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The last few weeks have been experiential. Not something exotic in worldly sense but more on spiritual or soul level. I have gotten to know myself better, I understand my feelings and behaviour more and I am ready to take the lead to soften myself, accept myself and become better more cautiously. Statements starting with why are being replaced by, might be because of.

I have always been understanding, caring, thoughtful, leading, giving etc etc but now I am more interested in intentions than attention. I know what I bring to a relationship, friendship and nothing half hearted. I now have stopped compromising. I am learning to read the boundaries better or set them up if need be without fear of abandonment or fear of loss. Yes, it will take time putting myself first as thats not been the norm but I am getting there slowly and steadily.

There are times I am etched to step further, its uncomfortable at times too because I am used to being certain way and change is hard especially on this level. But I am enjoying this journey of being at same pace at the other person is. Emotional attachment, investment has costed me in past and I don’t want to be the one carrying a relationship of any-kind alone anymore. It’s a partnership build on mutual efforts and showing up consistently and standing the ground despite hardships.

I didn’t write for a while because I stepped onto this journey but this space allows me to share with Universe with no expectations and it helps ❤️

Onwards and upwards.

Unscripted Feelings

It’s OK. Is it, though?

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Of course, by now you all know I am a think tank—perhaps even more so lately, as my universe continues to shake with all kinds of quakes. I’ve been thinking about how often I’ve said “It’s OK” to people and situations that were anything but.

I’m not OK with that anymore.

I don’t use this phrase lightly now. And when something isn’t OK, I don’t pretend that it is.

For far too long, people I loved and cared for—colleagues I meant well for, friends I believed were closest to me—said and did things, and all I ever offered was “It’s OK.” Maybe I wanted them to stay longer. Maybe I wanted peace, calm, less stress for them. But in soothing everyone else, I took the beating.

I became someone who, on the surface, seemed OK with everything—someone who never put herself first.

I compromised, and looking at where I am today, I know it wasn’t always the right thing to do. Every individual is accountable in a relationship, whatever form that relationship takes. Repeatedly hurting someone is not OK. Being polite when it’s killing you inside is not OK.

I wish I had known this earlier. I wish I had known it better.

I wasn’t there for my younger self the way I should have been—the way I was there for others, many of whom took the easy way out when it came time to be there for me.

So from here on, we don’t say “It’s OK” when it actually isn’t.

Unscripted Feelings

My Love story with Sun ☀️

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There is something about a sunrise that feels like a quiet resurrection inside me. Every time the sun peeks over the horizon, I feel as though a part of me that had gone silent—tired, forgotten, maybe even bruised—slowly opens its eyes again. It’s not loud or dramatic. It’s gentle. Reassuring. Almost like the universe leaning in and whispering, “You made it. I’m here.”

With every sunrise, it feels like my waiting ends. Waiting for hope. Waiting for warmth. Waiting for something—or someone—to show up and stay. The sun does that without asking questions, without conditions. It arrives faithfully, as if it promised me long ago that it would never abandon me, no matter how heavy the night before was.

And then there is the sunset—my most peaceful goodbye. I let the sun sink into the void without fear, without resistance, because I trust it. I trust that this parting is not an ending. It’s a pause. A promise wrapped in fading gold and bruised purples. The sky puts on a final show, pouring every emotion it can hold—longing, gratitude, nostalgia, peace—before surrendering to darkness. And somehow, my heart learns to let go a little better every time.

The drama in the sky, the chaos of colors colliding and melting into one another, feels so achingly human. Just like life. Just like love. Feelings rise, clash, overwhelm, fade—but one truth remains constant: the sun will return. That certainty shapes the way I see everything, especially human connections. For me, love, friendship, family—everything important—comes down to one simple benchmark: show up. Be consistent. Be present. Be calming. Even if you must leave, promise me you’ll come back.

The sun taught me that.

I know it might sound foolish, but I believe I share a love story with the sun. A peaceful, unspoken bond with the clouds. A heart-string-tugging attachment with the rain. No human presence has ever soothed me the way these do. They ask nothing of me, yet give me everything—comfort, clarity, grounding. Maybe life is better when humans and nature exist together in these moments, but without this… I feel incomplete.

These moments—sunrises, sunsets, quiet skies, soft rain—may seem ordinary to the world. Mundane, even. But to me, they are sacred. They are intimate. They are deeply, achingly personal. And that’s why I feel protective of them. Not everyone deserves to stand beside me during these times. Not everyone knows how to be gentle with something so tender.

And yes, I am emotional. With everything. Always.

But maybe that’s because I still know how to feel wonder when the sun rises—and how to trust when it sets.

PS : If anyone really ever wanted to see my best side, it be during the golden hour overlooking a rise or a set ❤️

Jurmala, Latvia
Unscripted Feelings

Existence

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Have heard, loss is part of life and nothing is permanent in life more often than I would like to admit. I am not a fan of this and neither am I very optimistic.

Having gone through loss of a sister at a young age, feelings of abandonment from that point on, to being a most responsible adult (without anyone asking), chasing some sort of safety and belonging, attachment issues, going and growing through college which felt like a longest time in history. There were days when I was lost then and days that I am lost now.

Post college, I went to work in a strange city and I could see myself feeling out of place almost all the time. Probably seeking validation of some sort or recognition or just that a notice that I exist. Through that time I had encounters that didn’t really meant a lot but left a grave impression on how dismissive and shallow relationships could be. That not everything has depth for people in it.

I fell in love in that city, or atleast thats what I thought it was. There were shared experiences, no common grounds language or culture, there was sense of being together but a constant etch that this wont last long. My headspace is quite different from the place I come from. And hence I tend to see possibilities even where is a narrow chance. It ended by the other person getting engaged and sharing that over a text.

Met someone at work, became fast friends, grew into relationship though I hesitated. I wasnt sure but I slipped into it. Felt that was forever, loved, fought, tried hard. Waited to be seen.. struggled, made a wrong choice. Tried to reconcile.. stayed present. But I guess it was naive of be so in love and still so not be wanted. There is never an unconditional love. You think there is but there isnt. Lost Dad. Moved countries and lost him as well. Parted ways with my younger brother too, I love him but there isnt any respect from him anymore.

Been a few weeks, since someone I cherished whole heartedly, just said “there is no reason for is to talk” I just completely feel hollow. Not because I had a breakup, not because I lost family, but mostly because I dont know how to exist anymore. I want to complain, I want to cry, I want to shout the loudest. And then I feel I need to be held, caressed, made to feel safe, that my existence matters, that I matter. 36 years of life and doesnt feel that I am good enough, that I was good enough. That I ever was enough.

I wake up to anxiety most days, I sleep with the same. I try to hide that away in day light but cant anymore. It’s been this way since many years. Travelling seems a runway. I keep running to no end.

The more I think about myself the more I realise I am not meant for the world as it is. Changing the core of myself to be just chosen, showed up for, just accepting objectivity as is, being ok with everything everyone does. Where am I in all that? Why do I feel empty? The quest is tiring, exhausting and most importantly unsettling. The constant fight to find or be at peace, I am ready to give up.

Sunrise from the window
Unscripted Feelings

A small survival

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This week was… heavy. And honestly, there haven’t been many light days lately. I keep wondering if my perspective is just clouded or if I’m stuck in some loop of hurt—but even if that’s true, today still hurt. A colleague spoke to me in a way that made me feel small again. Diminished. As if my effort to stay afloat means nothing to the people around me. Being kind feels like a luxury no one wants to spend on me.

I tried—truly tried—to de-escalate things, to clear the air, to show I wasn’t looking for conflict. But he pushed right through me. And in that moment, I felt helpless. Inferior. Disrespected. Unheard. Irritated in that deep, hollow way that sinks into the chest.

My mind spiraled. It’s exhausting trying to stay calm when you feel constantly triggered, when the instinct to retreat, to hide, feels so strong. I ended up calling a friend just to pour it all out, because that’s the only way I know how to loosen the pressure in my chest. Only trusted ears get those pieces of me.

And somehow, the spiral brought me back here—where I’ve so often come to spill everything I can’t hold anymore. You’ve been the place where I can let it all out and, even if I’m annoyed or overwhelmed, feel a little more at ease.

I’ve been thinking so much, therapy, reflection, reading, watching about how to take care of myself, how to soothe my own mind and body when everything feels too fast, too loud, too much. After logging out today, I lay in bed and drifted for a bit. When I woke up, I felt empty. Hollow.

So I opened the window and let the cold air wash over me on my face, my skin just to remind myself I’m here. That I exist. And for a brief moment, that simple sensation made me feel a little more alive.

It’s one of those days when the urge to disappear grows stronger, when the weight of existing feels unbearably heavy. And yet… I’m still here, gently holding myself together in the small ways I know how. Reassuring myself. Softening toward myself. Loving myself just enough to stay.

On weeks/days like this you need a scenery like this.

Conwy, Wales