My Petrichor Pages

 Remember how I had recently written about the damage done to little hearts. I was upset about the way I was made to feel less by my classmates as a kid. Just today, as I opened my Instagram, I read a message from the same girl, well a woman now, who made me feel that I was really dark-skinned and kids should not play with me. Imagine my surprise. She saw an Insta post I had recently shared of my husband returning to the UK and so she decided to contact me about it. She asked me to visit her in London, I too politely said that she should visit us here. What I actually wanted to write was - some guts! Making me feel horrible all throughout my childhood only to act all fake and nice once we have grown up.  I won't lie, a part of me started feeling, for lack of a better word, worthy of all the attention. All because my husband is good-looking, people now want to be friends with me. I know, a really stupid thought, but this is the first thing that came into my head. Remember how w...

 On my way to work, I came across a tent on the University Campus. It had "Love where you live" written in caps. Which got me to think, do I really love where I live?  The story goes back to 2014. When I had come here as a Master's student. A part me of remembers that version of me as the effortlessly sexiest version of myself. I had great hair back then, a body to absolutely kill for, a sky-rocketing confidence, friends who adored me for simply being me. It was much easier to fall in love with this place back then than it is now.  In 2023, I spend each month, struggling with my inch tape, hiding away my weighing machine by kicking it further inside the bed, avoiding mirrors, and switching off the video button in video calls. The place is the same, the me - isn't. What happened in these 9 years! Well, life happened in these 9 years, love happened in these 9 years, bad bosses happened in these 9 years, heartbreaks, eating disorders, a miscarriage, and the list goes on....