Tag: love

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

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

Tell a tale !

Strangers at a Table – Home for a Night

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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.

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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

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
Poems

Home

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Where Healing Is Found
It’s a feeling more than a place
Something no hands can hold,
Nothing the world can ever replace.

When I saw you years ago,
I could finally exist without an ego.
Stupid, cranky, talkative, weak
Yet every version of me felt a little less bleak.

Home felt like waves returning to the shore,
Like the sun resting gently on the horizon,
Like blue belonging to the sky,
Like apples folded warm into a pie :)

Or as we would say
like Parle-G dipped softly into chai. <3

It wasn’t the love of a lover,
Nor the comfort of a partner
It was the safety of my soul,
A quiet room inside me
that your presence once made whole.

But now,
I learn to become that home
A place I do not need to earn,
A belonging that doesn’t threaten to leave.

A space where I am safest,
most held, most understood
Where I can wrap my own arms around myself
and finally believe
I am my own shore,
my own returning,
my own warm light.

Llandudno, Wales

Unscripted Feelings

Tu me manques

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Yesterday, on the 6th of December, I tried to give myself a little space — a pause between my soul and my thoughts. Somehow, as often happens this time of year, that quiet space carried me straight into the arms of yet another Christmas movie. December does that to me. I wrap myself in layers of warmth, pick out my favourite comfort foods, crack the window open just enough for a whisper of cold air to slip in, and lose myself in the glow of holiday lights on screen. There’s something soothing about scrolling through OTT platforms until I find a Christmas film that feels like a soft place to land — a little world of borrowed magic, where strangers fall in love and everything feels possible for a while.

Last night, I chose Champagne Problems. There’s something so gentle and beautiful about watching romance unfold and seeing people discover themselves through love — learning to be honest, to be brave, to simply be. It feels comforting, even if real life doesn’t always reflect that same simplicity… at least not in my experience so far. Still, the story stayed with me, especially the way the French express “miss you.” In French, “Tu me manques” translates to “you are missing from me.” And somehow, that feels so much closer to the truth of the emotion.

When I say “I miss you” in English, it usually means we long for someone’s presence, for moments shared, for the feeling we get when they’re near. But tu me manques… it carries a deeper ache. It suggests that when you’re not here, a piece of me is absent too. That your warmth, your essence, your love — all the little parts of you that intertwine with who I am — are missing from my world, and from me. It’s not just longing; it’s the quiet recognition of how deeply we can belong to each other without ever claiming ownership.

And somehow, in the glow of a Christmas movie and the chill of winter air, that sentiment felt especially true.

Reading, England.