Friendships Are Supposed To Be Straightforward, Right? You Trust Each Other, You Have Each Other’s

When someone tells me I need to forgive them, I just remember what Taylor Swift said:

"You don't have to forgive and you don't have to forget to move on. You can move on without any of those things happening. You just become indifferent and then you move on."

Do you believe in forgiveness?

"Yes, absolutely. Like for people that are important in your life who have added, you know, who have enriched your life and made it better and also there's been some struggles and some bad stuff too… but I think that if something's toxic and it's only ever really been that what are you gonna do? Just move on. It's fine."

My mind won’t let me rest at night

Every night you dream that you talk to a genie, when you wake up you can't remember what you wished for. One morning you wake up with a giant crab pincer replacing your right arm. What do you do?

Dreams are strange things. They take us to places beyond our imagination, and sometimes, they’re so vivid that we wake up questioning what’s real. For weeks now, I’ve been having a recurring dream where I talk to a genie every night. The weird part? I could never remember what I wished for when I woke up. It was like my subconscious was playing hide-and-seek with the details, leaving me with a hazy memory of the conversation but no clue what I’d actually asked for.

But then came that morning. The one where I opened my eyes, stretched out my right arm, and… it wasn’t there. Instead of my usual hand and arm, a massive crab pincer had taken its place. I froze, staring at the monstrous claw attached to my shoulder, a mix of horror and disbelief washing over me. This couldn’t be real, could it? I had to be dreaming still, right?

I did what any rational person would do: I pinched myself with the claw. Let me tell you, crab pincers are no joke. The pain was very real, and with that, the reality of the situation sunk in. Somehow, someway, my dream wish had manifested into this bizarre and terrifying reality.

After the initial shock, the questions flooded in. How could this have happened? Why a crab pincer, of all things? I tried to think back to the previous night’s dream, but as always, the memory was foggy. Maybe I’d wished for something vague, like “strength” or “protection,” and the genie had interpreted that in the weirdest possible way. Or perhaps I’d made some offhand joke about having a tough exterior. Whatever the reason, here I was, the unfortunate owner of a giant crustacean claw.

So, what do you do when you wake up with a crab pincer for an arm? First, I panicked. Then, I did what I always do when life throws something inexplicable at me: I adapted.

I spent the next few days learning to navigate life with my new appendage. Simple tasks like opening doors, brushing my teeth, or even typing became Herculean challenges. But with practice, I started to get the hang of it. I learned to use the pincer delicately, avoiding crushing everything I touched. I even found it had some unexpected perks—like cracking open coconuts or, if I’m being honest, scaring off unwanted attention.

But beyond the practicalities, this experience forced me to think deeply about identity and change. How much of who we are is tied to our physical form? How do we adapt when something so fundamental about ourselves is altered overnight? The crab pincer became a symbol of resilience, a reminder that even in the face of the absurd, we have the power to adapt, to find humor, and to continue moving forward.

In the end, I’ve come to embrace my new reality, as strange as it is. I still don’t know what I wished for that led to this, and maybe I never will. But maybe that’s the point. Life is unpredictable, and sometimes, the wishes we make in the depths of our dreams lead to outcomes we never could have imagined. The important thing is how we respond to those outcomes—how we choose to grow, change, and find strength, even when life hands us something as bizarre as a crab pincer for an arm.

And who knows, maybe tonight I’ll dream of that genie again and finally get some answers. Until then, I’ll keep pinching myself—both literally and figuratively—just to remind myself that this wild journey is, indeed, real.

I am used to keeping things to myself. I am afraid of telling people about how I feel, or what should I do about it. I’d rather deal with it myself. 

There was a time when I tried to open up to people about some of the things I find a burden to keep to myself but then I am ignored and told that I am just overreacting about situations, or I’m playing with my head. They call me a drama queen. I felt humiliated. I tried to trust someone with what I feel but they just laugh at you and ridicule you, just dismiss it like it doesn’t matter.

On social media, some see people with mental issues as people who just love to create drama to be noticed. Even though how much you try to be understood, others will still think differently. 

Sometimes, if I think I can’t handle the pressure, or the anxiety, I break down. I retreat to my room. Write about it and just try to forget it, at least for a while. I don’t know. As long as it’s off my head I’ll be fine. It will just go away, unless something triggers it. It’s a cycle. Goes on and on and you do not know when it will stop. 

what's on your mind?

Not everyone is meant to be in your future. Some people are just passing through to teach you lessons in life.

I have peaches in the fridge and I’m gonna eat them now. 🍑

I just have to pull some strings here and plan ahead. I should have a better plan for 2022. Two plans. Just in case the first one fails.

I was already in the process of writing a love story but I stopped. I do not have the drive. Maybe I'll just wait for ideas.

This isn't because of insomnia, it's the trauma.

Writing Prompt #210:

The war has been going on for over a 100 years now. Not that you’ve ever seen it, having been born in a bunker and remained here your entire life. You’ve heard the stories however, of the horrors and dangers out there.

Today, as your family is watching the news, one of the reporters snaps, “I can’t do this anymore. Everything is lie! They’re lying to you! Th-“ and the signal cut out."

In the dim light of the bunker, the flickering screen cast uneasy shadows on the walls. Your family sat in stunned silence, eyes wide as the news anchor's final, frantic words echoed in your ears.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Everything is a lie!"

The room seemed to close in as your mind raced. What could be true if the reports were fabrications? You’d always believed the stories of devastation and endless conflict were real, the stories your family told to keep you safe and to explain why you couldn’t ever go outside.

Your father’s face, usually so composed, was now a mask of worry. "It’s just a breakdown," he said quickly, though his voice betrayed his anxiety. "The reporters are under a lot of pressure. Don’t let this shake you."

But something had shifted. The old walls of your reality felt suddenly fragile, and the idea that the world outside might be different—maybe even safe—had begun to seep into your thoughts. Your mother, who had always warned against the dangers of the outside world, seemed unusually quiet, her eyes darting nervously.

"What if it’s true?" you asked, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

Your father glanced at the door as if fearing it might burst open at any moment. "Even if it is, we have to stay here. It's too dangerous outside."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken fears and the flickering uncertainty of the old news feed that had just cut out. The bunker, once a sanctuary, now felt more like a cage. As you sat there, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the world than the dark tales you had been told—a world you might never see if you stayed hidden in the shadows.