Unscripted Feelings

The Weight of Wanting

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

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

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
Tell a tale !

A Quiet Detour to Milfontes

Sometimes (okay, most times) I don’t know how I feel or what I want. And in those moments, I do things like booking Milfontes—the small place tucked between Lagos and Lisbon. It just felt nice to go. So I went.

I was carrying Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine. Yes, the title resonated—deeply—and it felt good to return to reading while traveling through Portugal. I finished most of it on the bus to Milfontes. I reached in the evening, and of course, the sad part: the sunset was unfolding on the left side of the bus while I was seated on the right. My heart ached, naturally—it always does when I miss things like that. Still, once I got off, the sky put on enough drama to make up for it. (Check the pic.)

The Airbnb itself was quaint, and I met another traveler who looked visibly relieved at my arrival—she’d been staying there alone with her dog for four days. Company is always nice :) She cooked dinner and kindly offered me some. After food and easy conversation, I took a long shower and hugged the bed like it had been waiting for me.

The next morning, I decided to walk the Fisherman’s Trail. I started around 9, assuming I’d find a café somewhere along the way. Surprise—there was nothing. So there I was, walking for the next six hours on an empty stomach. The only savior was a daily milk bar I’d bought the day before in Lagos. The walk—from town through farms and out onto the cliffs—was stunning. Hardly anyone around, except for a generous number of cats keeping watch.

After a while, I saw a few people here and there, moving in both directions along the trail—not crowded, just enough to remind me the world still existed. It felt surreal. I could see myself, hear myself—my thoughts moving alongside the ocean, the sun, and the vast stretch of sand. Luxury, isn’t it?

Around 2 p.m., I decided to head back and somehow chose the most odd route possible. I crossed arid sand dunes, wandered into fields of nothingness, no one in sight in any direction—just me, singing to myself, enjoying every little thing along the way. Yes, including the trees. I felt like I was home. Like this was exactly where I was meant to be.

At some point, I struggled to find my way back—everything looked the same, all grass alike, all trees indistinguishable. Eventually, instinct kicked in, and somehow I crossed over near someone’s house (private property)… and that’s that.

I made it through a crooked road and finally back into town, to the BnB. It had been a perfect day—full of nature, myself, and a deep sense of serenity. Just before reaching the BnB, I spotted a café. I was relieved, and I’m fairly sure the server was too. I must have looked as exhausted as I felt. A great coffee, toast, and eggs later, it was time to retreat to bed.

And honestly, I couldn’t have asked for more.

Milfontes, Portugal
Fisherman Trail, Milfontes
Unscripted Feelings

Still, and Full

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

Tell a tale !

Strangers at a Table – Home for a Night

Christmas Eve 2025 was special in the most unexpected way.

Picture this: two Germans, one Austrian, an Indian, and an American—complete strangers—sitting around a dining table in a hostel in Lagos. Plates half-full, stories overflowing, laughter bouncing off the walls. By the end of the night, we were no longer strangers, just humans sharing pieces of our lives with open hearts.

The Austrian man was elderly and proudly analog. No digital gadgets, no constant scrolling—just a man carefully planning his travels the old-school way. He worked at a ski resort in Austria, and there was something deeply grounding about how he moved through the world. Watching him made me wish I’d lived in that era… or at least inspired me to seriously reduce my digital footprint.

One German girl was three months into backpacking across Southern Europe—curious, fearless, and full of stories. The American girl was making the most of her one-month summer break, traveling across Europe with a kind of joyful urgency. She was from Minneapolis—yes, the irony! Of all places. After working with AMPF, I never expected to meet someone from there at a hostel table in Lagos. She was genuinely surprised I even knew the place.

Another German guy was traveling too—cooking, chatting, and casually smoking weed (which, let’s be honest, felt very on brand 🥲).

And then there was me. Listening. Laughing. Sharing.

Our conversations drifted effortlessly—from how each of us travels, to the strange familiarity of grocery stores around the world, to why analog still feels incredibly cool in an overwhelmingly digital age. We talked about how America is changing, how there’s still hope (Mamdani), and how we imagine watching the sunrise—like an egg yolk slowly spilling out of a sky-blue pan over the ocean.

Lagos, Portugal

Unscripted Feelings

Changing lens.

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

My Love story with Sun ☀️

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
Tell a tale !

Where I Go, I Carry This With Me

After lying in bed for what felt like forever, my mind crowded with open tabs I couldn’t close, I finally got up. I cancelled the trip in my head a thousand times before I even left. I looked up ways to escape Faro, searched for places to run to — though I don’t even know what I was trying to outrun. And yet, somehow, I still boarded the train to the airport this morning.

Travel has never felt this heavy. There is no excitement tucked away in any quiet corner of my heart. I am scared. Truly scared. I’m running from something, but carrying it with me all the same. You can’t hide from yourself — and I’m learning that the place was never the problem to begin with.

I felt so achingly needy that I asked someone to be present on my birthday. Saying that out loud still stings. It doesn’t feel like something I would do. But this year, I really didn’t want to be alone. I didn’t want to feel that familiar abandonment — that quiet confirmation that I don’t matter enough to be chosen, to be celebrated, to be made to feel special. I asked anyway. And as expected, the answer was no. Somehow, that hurts more than I imagined it would.

The only thing softening the blow — even slightly — is the sun and the landscape slipping past the train window (see pictures 😬) Their presence feels steady, almost merciful. I wish human connection could be like this: constant, unconditional, consistent, and quietly warming. Something you don’t have to earn or ask for.

So here I am, carrying all this heaviness onto another flight, into another city, holding on to the simple promise of sunlight. I look forward to it more than anything else right now. Always and forever indebted to its existence. Sometimes, when people fall short, you cling to what isn’t human just to feel a little less broken.

I’ll write more on this as I land this evening, and try to soothe my heart in the best possible ways I can.

Somewhere Enroute to Airport
Unscripted Feelings

Existence

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