RAW.R Ft. Nimisha

Been too long since I posted a new blog.

I still remember how happy I was after writing my half full, half empty theory.

I spent months putting that one together, and when it was done, it felt like I had cracked something about life.

I AM not sure about it anymore.

I don’t even know if I still choose optimism — or if I even think about choosing between optimism and pessimism these days.

What changed?

...

Honestly, nothing major. No new job, no move, no heartbreak.

Just months of quiet shifts inside me — slow, steady ones.

Maybe,

because of some people I met

or

situations that didn’t look like lessons back then but ended up being exactly that.

For the longest time, I believed optimism came with only one real risk — disappointment.

And I used to tell myself, so what?

What’s the worst that could happen?

You get disappointed? That's all right?

Well, I got a taste of it. Very recently. Not just spoonful but, plateful.

And it wasn’t VERY nice.

When optimism didn’t feel like a choice anymore, pessimism became survival.

At least it prepares you. There’s safety in gravity, even when it feels heavy.

Somewhere along the way, life made me see my own colors.

I thought I had balance — especially with my temper.

I thought I had it under control. Turns out, I didn’t.

I started losing my temper over things that usually wouldn’t bother me.

What hurt more wasn’t the reaction itself but, that I was pretending to be calm, trying too hard to look sorted and composed.

It wasn’t real. It was performative.

And when I realized I was slipping, I didn’t feel angry — I felt disappointed in myself.

Was I mistaking suppression for balance? Control for growth?

Cut to another scene,

There were the people I counted on. They disappointed me too — not in loud, dramatic ways, just quietly.

Just enough to sting.

I keep saying I don’t expect much, but if that’s true, how did the fog show up on my car window?

Fog doesn’t just appear — there has to be a difference in temperature.

Maybe there was more warmth from my side than I wanted to admit.

Up next,

My hobbies — singing, dancing, writing, building things — started to bore me.

My mind kept chasing new interests.

And I couldn’t tell if they were truly mine or just reflections of someone else’s influence.

Was I evolving or just adjusting?

At one of those moments, I just stopped fighting it and let myself react the way I really felt.

There’s indeed something peaceful about sitting with your thoughts alone.

No advice, no validation, no audience. Just you and your mind.

And that’s when it hit me — it wasn’t the outside world I had expectations from.

It was me, for the most part.

I carried an image of myself in my head and truly believed it.

I’m not sure what made me build that version — maybe the idea of being ideal.

When I didn’t live up to it, I turned on myself faster than anyone else ever could.

Expectations can look like the perfect comforter in a product photo — but you only learn their truth when you’re out in the cold with them, and by then you’ve already paid the price you were willing to put on that belief.

It took a few hard moments to help me let go.

Maybe being realistic isn’t about becoming bitter.

Maybe it’s about finally seeing yourself clearly — what you can do, what you can’t, and what’s simply life.

You do what’s needed.

You show up when it matters.

And slowly, you find a quiet kind of confidence in yourself — a sense of clarity about what you can handle.

The quiet kind — the one that comes from knowing you’ve already faced it and made it through.

Not because you thought you could.

Because you did.

PS: Never thought a blog this raw about me would take this much guts. Low-key kinda proud of myself for hitting publish on this one.