Doing My Damnedest To Free Myself Of The “just Gotta Get Through This Week” “only X More Days

honestly WHAT is it with stem fields and turning every man who majors in one to look like this

my father used to be a frat boy who went to parties and got drunk as hell but every pic of him post graduating in chemical engineering looks like this. what happened.

me fighting entropy everyday to keep my workspace clean 🤺

mornin’ 👋🏻

Bodies aren’t meant to stay the same. We are supposed to grow and change. We shouldn’t be making people in their 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, etc feel like they need to strive for the bodies they had in their teens and 20’s. Or making people feel like they “need to get their bodies back” after they have had children. These mindsets aren’t healthy and change is inevitable.

no YOU live in a society i live in this frame of pride and prejudice

you’re going to love again, find a job again, create art again, do what you love again, feel powerful again. you’re going to be back on track. i don’t know when, but you are going to feel like yourself again, eventually. this isn’t the end. hang in there.

20th december, 2021 || anatomy of a physics student’s desk during finals season (ft. interstellar, flashcards and an astronomical amount of maths)

I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.

Movies and books also don't tell you that friendships don't just end after one fight or incident, it's like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn't thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend' and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?

It's been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire