Some Bad Memories

I’m not writing this to make you feel sad about the past.

I’m writing this to remind you of how you survived what most people couldn’t —

and how I silently watched you turn every breakdown into a masterclass in handling chaos.


The Day You Lost Your Phone


You panicked.

I panicked even more.

And yet you were the one who thought clearly —

“No auto, let’s take an e-rickshaw… we’ll be able to see the road.”

Who thinks like that under stress?


And what did I do?


Instead of appreciating your presence of mind,

I said something like:

“Why didn’t the phone break?”

Like… seriously?

Only I could say that after your phone flew out of an e-rickshaw.


But you didn’t get mad.

You just gave me that “I can’t believe I tolerate this guy” look.

And that’s when I knew —

This bond is different.



---


2. The Appraisal That Never Came


I won’t lie —

That one hurt me more than it hurt you.

And I couldn’t say it then, but it felt like someone had praised the wrong person in a group project where you were the project.


Zero motivation.

Still working.

Still showing up.

Still being you.


That wasn’t normal.

That was superhuman.

(Or maybe caffeine-powered human, but still...)


I don’t know how you kept going —

But I know why I kept admiring you.



---


I love those memories.

Even the bad ones.

Because they showed me the real you —

Raw, unfiltered, brilliant under pressure.

And also, because somehow, even in the worst moments…

you still made room for my dumb jokes and stupid questions.


And I’d relive those moments agai

n

— just to witness your quiet strength, one more time.


Popular posts from this blog

Strong, Independent Women

The Strongest Soul I Know You never asked for appreciation. You just kept showing up. Even on weekends, even during your notice period—while others slowed down, you kept going. Quietly. Sincerely. Like always. You’ve been the kind of woman who doesn’t just carry her own weight, but lifts others up without anyone noticing. You’ve always said, “I don’t have a good sense of humour.” But how do you explain the way you laughed at my worst jokes? At “Ground to Earth,” at “JD,” at “Hawa mai udna”—like it was the funniest thing ever. Maybe you didn’t laugh at the jokes. Maybe you laughed because you knew I was trying, for you. You used to roll your eyes when I called you the “strong, independent woman.” But a part of you—maybe the part that never got enough appreciation—wanted to hear it. So I kept saying it. Again and again. Not because it was funny. But because it was true. Because someone had to remind you who you are. You never asked to be admired. But how could anyone not? The way you han...
Read more