The anti-lifestyle blog

Blogging culture in recent years has exploded, every second person on Instagram reviews makeup or cafes and is doing an elaborate giveaway with an up and coming brand. I am proud of their success and at times, yes, a little envious,  because I too would like to enjoy the fruits of free stuff- I am Indian after all. I have, however, resided myself to the fact, that I will never be able to maintain such a facade. A self-proclaimed hermit studying tirelessly- in between binging new series and not living my best life. My life is too mundane to grace your feeds with that perfectly timed aesthetic coffee shot(You know, the one where you had to rearrange the sugar bowl and ask your friend to move their hand out of the shot). If you want to know my days usually go, well, you are in for a wild, thrilling and utterly boring ride.

7-8 AM- usually get out of bed, scroll through social media for a good few minutes. Breakfast is toast and butter or on the days when I’m watching my chiseled physique- special K, otherwise known as flavoured cardboard.

How to get my look: own a pair or jeans, loose culottes or tights and pair it with a collared shirt(the ones that were in like 3 years ago) or if you are at home- comfy sweats and literally any t-shirt with an ironic/ quirky saying. Sometimes a fangirl shirt- where maybe 5 people compliment you and the rest stare in bemusement.

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On my way to campus: It’s time for me to send my daily scheduled “I hate my life, I’d like this day to end” snapchat(with the latest adorable filter) to my many adoring fans( A.K.A my friends who have no choice but to entertain my whims). Sometimes, I throw in a ridiculous pun or two

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9-12: I try my hardest not to fall asleep in lectures and ask myself at least three times, why I pay half a home loan to have people read slides to me in a monotonous, monotone voice. On days off, I am probably on my fifth episode of the day and or still asleep.

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1-2: Ahh lunch, last night’s leftovers, a cheese sandwich or savouries, Mighty appetizing, totally worth the gram.

Late afternoon: I get home, seek out my cat who runs away from me and has more of a social life and then proceed to nap away my misery.

Evening: the overwhelming existential crisis strikes, I contemplate dropping out of uni and marrying a rich old billionaire or getting off my ass and starting to study for my test or doing the tut I am itching to skip.

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Supper: Depends on my mother’s mood and level of “today I want to outdo all the other mothers and try a new kitchen queen’s recipe” or here have toasted cheese.

The hours before I drift into nothingness: scroll, scroll, hahaha funny meme, sends to/tags friend. More memes, tweet something no one else finds funny or cares about, scroll, scroll, existential crisis part 2 because I read about Trump’s presidency or literally anything in the news, shade someone, scroll, scroll.

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PEACEFUL SLUMBER: dreams of meeting my favourite South Asian actors and or an irrelevant twitter crush.

So there you have it, friends. My hauls include hauling myself out of bed, a review of that person I tried not to make eye contact with and products used: the most important of all and highly coveted: WILL TO LIVE.

Disclaimer: while this is, in fact, how most of my days end up, I love fashion, makeup and trying out cute cafes- I just do it far less often than I would like. 

 

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Taking back the reins

I have completely lost the plot, instead of writing for myself as an outlet, I fell pray to consumerist ideals and focused my content on audience perception and less on my main objective. This blog was created to post my ramblings and sometimes curated pieces for you to read and enjoy, but I got so caught up in my pursuit of validation, that I forgot write for myself.

So began the block, the wall as imaginary as the one dear old Donald plans to build. The foundation laid down by own stupidity and the bricks pieced together by the fabric of my depression. Sometimes quaint little windows would appear and breach the everlasting sunlight.

But,the tears dry, the day begins again and I seek solace and contentment. I am no poet, No writer, merely a custodian of words, whether they be freely flowing or caged within my mind

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