We all know that one person. The WhatsApp forward specialist. The one who sends you a dozen messages a day, all marked “Forwarded as received.” They’re like the moon—beautiful, bright, but ultimately just reflecting someone else’s light. This isn’t just about bad jokes and fake news; it’s about the bigger, silent crisis of shrugging off responsibility.
Remember when owning things was the ultimate goal? The car, the house, the pride of a name on a deed. Now, everything is a subscription. It’s convenient, sure. But what happens when we start applying that same logic to the people in our lives?
Even if you smell like Shahrukh Khan, how will your colony aunties know unless they’ve hugged him recently? And if they have, you’ve already lost the game.
We all grew up solving x without thinking of solvi for “Why”. Scored full marks in integration, and still couldn’t integrate our dreams with our decisions. This isn’t a rant against education—it’s a gentle roast of how we often follow the map so well, we forget to check if it’s our map at all.
Ever asked someone for directions and ended up learning more about them than the place you were trying to reach? That’s because the way we guide others reveals what’s guiding us inside.
We’re told that perfection in one area spills into all others. And it does… until it spills all over you, leaving you burnt out and miserable. What if the secret to winning isn’t being perfect at everything, but rather, strategically imperfect?
Sometimes we don’t want to solve the problem. We want to keep it, feed it, dress it up in drama, and introduce it to others at parties. Because letting go of it would mean we have to face life without a script. And that’s terrifying.
It’s a marvel, truly. A self-imposed financial handcuff we willingly don, and then boast about. This isn’t just about debt; it’s about the subtle seduction of a life we think we deserve, powered by money we don’t actually have.
Free advice is like trial room clothing—it looks good from the outside, but once you try it on, you realize it’s two sizes too tight and three generations too outdated. Smile, nod, hang it back, and walk away.
We’ve all met that annoying guy at the petrol pump trying to sell us a credit card. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: deep down, we’re all that guy—just better dressed and selling something else. Like our opinions, plans, or ourselves.
