A tired reflection on burning old notebooks, an embarrassing high school crush, and the numbing reality of sharing a tiny room with eight people while pretending to care about politics.

Okay, I feel so fucking sad that it's my own diary and I have absolutely nothing going on in my personal life. I'm not writing any personal stuff anymore. It’s been several years. I even burnt those old notebooks.

Even back when I was actually writing things down, it was mostly pathetic scribbles about a crush on a girl from higher secondary school. I don't even talk to her. I rarely ever do. It’s exactly the kind of one-sided, embarrassing crush that movies try to romanticize. They even have a cultural term for it around here—Idhayam Murali—the tragic loser who never conveys his love. Yeah, my situation was far worse. But you know what? At least I had something personal to write about back then.

Fuck man, I'm just sitting here crying and I feel so fucking lonely. I just feel very shitty. I don't even know. Sometimes I just feel completely numb. Not feeling anything at all. My feelings keep shifting violently—from feeling so dumb, to total emptiness, to being incredibly depressed, to crying, to just wanting to scream until my throat bleeds.

So what do I do? Sometimes I just go to the nearby railway tracks. I stand there in the dirt. I wait for the train to violently pass by so the noise drowns me out, and I just shout and cry. I'm staying in a paying guest accommodation right now, crammed into a single room with eight different people. Eight. You can't exactly sit on your bed and bawl your eyes out when seven other sweaty dudes are breathing the same stale air.

I just feel so fucked up. And I don't know why I keep writing random shit about politics and society in my blog when my own brain is collapsing. Anyway, the situation out there is quite dire, and politics certainly isn't helping the working class. There is no proper land saving. People are just hoarding wealth. It's the same old cliché—the rich get richer, the poor get poorer—and you can see it physically rotting the streets every single day.

I know these systemic failures occupy my mind whenever I grab a pen or start typing. But the truth is, I cling to that because I have nothing personal left to write about.

Man, this is so sad. I'm fucked up. I guess it looks incredibly sad and fucked up if I view it from a second or third-person perspective. But I guess this is just life too. I mean, my lungs are expanding. I'm breathing. I'm still alive.

Maybe I'm not actually living, but I am alive. Whatever.