.png)
Me, Myself and The World Around Me
3 years, 4 apartments, 1 serious crash out, and a million memories.
I knew the day would come. I prayed for it.
But now it’s here, I’m still here, and everything kept going. Thank god it did.
I came to Melbourne a girl who thought she knew who she was and what she wanted.
My god, was I wrong.
Do I know who I am now? Sure.
But it’ll change and I won’t know anymore.
I’ll learn again though, and again and again.
Do I know what I want? In part.
I know more of what I don’t want.
I know more of what I deserve. What I crave.
What makes my heart feel something.
All in all, I don’t know much.
About anything. From what I do know, the rest of my life excites me. The unknown isn’t scary anymore, it’s thrilling.
Becoming an adult to me seemed like just a formality. A number, a legal drinking age, paying for my own rent.
What I didn’t see coming was learning to live a solitude so emotional and expressive. I didn’t see myself finding my own group of safety and comfort. I didn’t see myself finding so much confidence in the little girl who didn’t know if she’d even make it to 21.
So growing up, exploring what life has to offer.
Not what I expected. Not in the slightest.
But I’m glad I was wrong.
I’m glad this is what life turned out to be.
With our eyes closed (2025)
​
“You think when I was kissing you and closing my eyes it was you in front of me?”
I didn’t know that. I didn’t need to know that.
No wonder I thought you loved me too.
The way you held me felt like someone who was never planning on letting go.
But I see I’m not the woman in front of you.
When I look back it’s all gone away.
Every touch, every kiss — every hug.
Every I love you, every I’m sorry.
From hugging you hello, to holding you till we said goodbye. It’s all blurred into this haze.
I feel sick.
Every time I close my eyes I hear the words coming out of your mouth.
“It’s the truth.”
It doesn’t feel like the truth.
How could that be true?
How could I make that up?
How was I so sure?
I don’t know what to say. Every moment keeps replaying in my head.
I wasn’t in front of you? Really?
A stand in. A temp.
It was me, I was in front of you.
I was in front of you, I was there with you.
I guess I wasn’t, I guess I was all alone.
I always was, because to you it wasn’t me in front of you. Right?
To be in front of someone who doesn’t see you in front of them.
I wish I wasn’t in front of you.
I wish you didn’t do that to me.
My eyes were closed too,
you were still in front of me.
I was foolish to think it was me in front of you.
Present but not seen. Present but not felt.
I wish I never had been.
Someone Push Me (2021)
I’m at the bridge, I’ve got to choose which way to go.
Could turn back into your arms, turn around to what I know.
Should I walk forward into a path that I’ve never seen?
How will I know if I’ll be pleased?
It’s easier to turn around,
it’s easier to know what’s going to happen.
I’ll turn around, you’ll hold me close, and after a few moments you’ll let me go.
I’ll cry for a couple of days, wondering why you always walk away.
So I find myself at the end of this bridge.
Someone push me to the other side—I shouldn’t, live like this. Because I think about you even when I’m asleep in my bed .All I need to do is take one more step, and you’ll just be another person to me, not the only thought going through my head.
Someone push me, I don’t care if I collapse on the other side—just get me there. Because if I turn around, there’s no saying if I’ll make this journey again.
Push me to the other side, just get me there.
Coffee, Aarthi?
I met my younger self for coffee today.
She was 10 minutes early; so was I.
We never liked to waste anyone’s time.
She was in her first year, I was in my last.
She ordered black coffee, I ordered iced tea.
She asked me if he and I ended up together.
I said we’ve never been further apart.
She started to cry; I knew she would.
I told her to be careful with the people she surrounds herself with. She reassured me she knew what she was doing.
I knew she didn’t.
She went to the bathroom after she ate. She came back out of breath. I gave her some gum and held her hand. There was nothing I could do to stop her.
​
She asked me how her parents were. I told her the same, more or less. She still didn’t understand them—she wouldn’t for a while.
I told her to call home more; she rolled her eyes.
She told me how much she loved being alone.
I told her about all the people I share my life with.
I told her how many love interests were waiting for her. She dismissed them all with a smirk on her face.
Her phone rang, and her face lit up.
“My friend is here to pick me up. Thanks for coffee.” She got into his car and drove off.
I wanted to tell her what happens next—
the sleepless nights, the tears that were to follow.
I wanted to tell her everything.
But I know she gets out of that car one day.
Because I did.
​
My Best Friend Isn't My Best Friend Anymore
​
The guy I was in love with for 6 years is not welcome in my life anymore.
My friend of 3 years is a creep, and I had to block him.
But that’s all the negatives, I get that it sounds rough. It is.
My friend of a year, one of my first adult friendships is no longer my friend.
The guy I fell in love with for the first time after Mr. 6 years was in the end just a booty call after all.
Man, that shit hurts, but fuck, I have a beautiful apartment.
I have a deeper connection to people I thought only went semi surface level.
I have a beautiful gym to work on myself in.
I have the opportunity to find a job I like. I have to look at the positive.
The positive can coexist with these feelings.
With all that has happened. I am free. No guilt. No self sacrifice.
I have opened a door that closed a backroad back to what I’ve always known, and I will be thankful for that.
I am not the feelings I feel. Because that would mean when the feeling ends so do I.
I do not end with this feeling. That’s just when the next starts.
I am taking a step back right now, from feeling this feeling.
I am just aware of what is going on.
I am aware that it will end, and something else will start.
I will bloom again and again and again,
from my blue blue feelings.
A Man Who Could Never Love Me
​
It’s 12:00 AM at Lincoln Square. I’ve just finished a shift at Veriu Collingwood. It was one of those shifts where you question if you get paid enough — I don’t. I walk past the park and see a familiar blue sweater, knitted, with a big yellow star. Just like the one I bought a few days ago. I spent 80 bucks on it. I realize I haven’t had my “on the way home” ciggie, so I whip out my pack.
​
“Manchester special editions?” I turn around, and a girl — oddly familiar face, in that blue sweater — is talking to me. She has the most comfy-looking jeans on, and she’s wearing white shoes and a nice black coat. I think it’s sick.
“Yeah, they’re great — you know what I mean,” I laugh.
“Long day?” the mysterious woman asks.
“Just starting, to be honest. I’m just getting off work, about to cram some assignments,” I reply. You can hear the anxiety in my voice.
My phone rings — it’s him. I sigh audibly.
“Boyfriend?” she adds.
“Really consistent ex,” I joke.
“I’ve had one of those.”
“Had?” I ask.
“Yeah, you never think it’ll become ‘had,’ huh. Six years on and off. Now off.”
“Fuck, that sucks, man.” I felt bad for her. I can’t imagine what it would be like to say that about him.
“Not really. You don’t actually believe that, do you?”
“Don’t you miss him?” I ask, with wonder in my eyes.
“For a while, yeah. But as time goes by, things start to add up. You see stuff for what it is. In my case, I was diminished into something close to nothing.” She seemed happy saying that.
“Are you something now?” I shouldn’t have said that. That sounded rude.
She laughed. “I think I was always a lot. I just needed the right environment to actually feel it.”
I thought for a moment. What environment? She’s probably rich.
“I’m not rich, by the way.”
“How did you do that?” I was stunned.
“Sorry, I just see a lot of myself in you.” I’m officially weirded out, but equally intrigued.
“Environment. The people around me, how I talk to my family, how I understand myself.” I’d never really thought of environment like that. It’s always just been, How can I do this alone?
“I’m sorry for keeping you from your house.”
“It’s a box, really,” I smirked.
“I’ve lived in one of those. You make the most of it, I guess.”
“I’ve gotta go home. I hate being out so late. Nice talking to you. Get home safe.” She pulls out a ciggie and leaves.
“Thanks,” I reply. What the fuck was that? I get home. My ex asks me to come over. I think about what she said to me. About my environment. Can’t wait to tell him what happened.
Writer’s insert:
This is me when I was glued to a man who could never love me.
A version of myself that didn’t want to learn to be more than that version of herself — in fear of losing the only love she truly felt she deserved.
​
To All the Girls Who Feel Like They Aren’t Pretty Like Her (2019)
​
We are told day and night that we are beautiful, that we are gorgeous, and that we are special. Nevertheless, a multitude of girls go to bed thinking of ways that they could be better — not in the mental aspect, but more in the aspect of physically looking better. We constantly compare one another and are drawn to the thought of competition between girls — some who we may know and some we have heard of. The repetitive act of degrading yourself and your looks because somebody looks better is a dangerous activity that a countless number of girls take part in daily. Feeling insecure about your body is almost normal now, feeling like you have to look a certain way is a trend, and the number of people taking advantage of it is endless.
​
Feeling like that picture she posted with you looks awful because your arms look fatty, or feeling that video on his story where your stomach is showing is revolting — these are all scenarios that a lot of girls have to go through. The truth is that no matter how many times she tells you that you are gorgeous, or how many people like your post and comment heart-eye emojis, you are the only person who is able to change your own mind, change the way it works.
​
Instead of frowning at a picture where your friend looks like a princess, smile at it. Instead of walking behind a crowd of what you think are “better-looking friends of yours,” walk amongst them and take in the positive energy. There are always going to be days where we feel ugly, where nothing looks good, nothing feels pretty — but when those days occur, remember the days where you put on that dress and felt like a queen. Remember the day where your smile lit up the whole room. Remember the day where you felt unstoppable in your bedroom wearing your favorite outfit. Remember taking those pictures with your best friend, acting like supermodels. Remember the days where you felt what was real.
Don’t feel like because she’s five sizes smaller than you that she’s prettier, or that because she’s taller and has a flat stomach people will dismiss you. Don’t feel as though because someone looks a certain way that is different from you, it makes you any less there, any less noticeable.
​
There are plenty of shows, books, movies, songs, etc. that spread the message that all girls are beautiful — but not enough messages that say, “all girls supporting girls, including themselves, for being their exquisite selves, is beautiful.”
​
Although it feels like it matters — like how you look matters — it doesn’t. If you wear those shorts, nobody will be affected. If you don’t want to wear that skirt, nobody will notice. We overthink our decisions, which at the end of the day have a fraction of an impact, and dismiss the decisions that make a large impact.
​
We need to start to think positively. We need to make that the trend — make thinking of the brighter side of things a trend.
​
Triggers (2019)
No matter how old you are, how big you are, how strong, tall, and powerful you are, everybody has a point where they can’t take anything anymore. Everyone has that trigger inside of them. Once someone does or says something that pushes a button inside of you and releases all your emotions you have trapped inside your head in order to be able to function properly, it all comes out. It usually happens when you are mentally at your weakest.
​
It feels as if the pain and anxiety that you’ve tried to contain is taking control of your body. You start to feel like everything you have been trying so incredibly hard to keep inside is bursting out into the open—just like dropping a glass of water onto the ground and having the glass shatter. The glass is your mind, and the water represents the thoughts and fears inside of you.
It is incredible how many things one individual can keep enclosed inside without giving the slightest impression of being in pain or fear. Which is essentially what the thoughts that you box up are. They are fear. Fear of pain, fear or pain, fear and pain. Multiple possibilities exist, but they are all equivalent to each other, all causing the same amount of frustration to someone.
​
Back to the trigger: many know what the trigger is but do not understand how to contain themselves once it is pulled. Many understand how to control themselves but don’t know exactly what is the cause of the pulled trigger. That is what instills fear in someone—the unknown.
​
A person can never be one hundred percent sure of what they have boxed up. Any fear can expand, but so can it diminish. The one thing that is unique in every individual is how they cope after the trigger is pulled. That is what truly shows a person: how they cope.
Nobody should be judged by what they do to make themselves feel better. If what they do causes harm to others, they should simply be taught to tweak their ways in order for such situations not to occur. Nobody deserves to feel guilt for coping, as it’s the necessary step for any type of recovery. In fact, it is recovery.
l*ved
To All the Boys I’ve F*cked Before
​
A part of me will always be shocked.
There was a version of me that never believed I was desirable enough. That I was enough for
someone to want me in the way that you have all wanted me. To that I now say: well, no f*cking
sh*t you would.
In saying that, though, I still can’t believe that it happened. Multiple times. With multiple men
(Sorry, Mum and Dad). I also can’t believe the multiple stories that came with it. The things I had
to handle. The things I learned from. The things that hurt me. The things that broke me.
I think my sexual experience thus far has been an interesting one. You were all a part of that.
Whether it was good or bad or somewhere in the middle. Whether it was awkward, whether we
laughed, or whether it was dead silent. There are parts of sex that weren’t what I imagined they
would be, yet I’m still grateful that I had these opportunities to discover more about myself.
Granted, with those opportunities came a lot of hurt and pain, but also an understanding.
Understanding what I stand for in myself.
Because I just want to be myself.
And to do that, I must accept my needs.
Whether another person can meet them is up to them.
In saying that, if I had to do a pro and con list of the sex I’ve had:
Pro: I’ve been taught some fun things.
Con: None of it was ever good enough.
Because through it all, I’ve learned I can never be that person who goes out, meets a guy at a
bar, goes back to his place and has great, romance-movie-type sex.
Even though I wanted to be that kind of person my whole life, someone who has these
romance-movie-sex stories, I’ve realised it’s because I was ashamed to be the person I am —
someone who wants a relationship and love as much as I do.
I’ve now come to the realisation that all of that is great.
Most of you were great in your own ways.
Some of you not at all, if we’re keeping it real.
And some of you were, in all honesty, quite odd.
I’m sure the future men this letter will apply to will be a mix of the above as well.
It was all great because it taught me who and what I want.
I had to explore you all to experience it all.
I’ve also realised that there is nothing more sensual and lovely than feeling the physical and
mental presence of someone.
Like, a hundred percent of someone. All at once.
That feeling — it feels like your souls are connecting.
I don’t think that last bit has really applied to anyone in my life so far, even though I wished and
thought that it would have by now.
For a long time, I never realised that although I can mentally convince myself of love,
I don’t have the power to convince my body of it.
The way we feel in our most vulnerable state it’s something my mind and body must agree upon.
And while they’re yet to for me at least now, I’ll know the difference.
I get that hookup culture can get in your head.
Dating culture now isn’t what dating culture used to be; it can’t be.
We must accept that for the good and the bad it entails.
But that other culture still exists.
It’s just a bit more difficult to find.
We can’t hold up signs,
‘Hey, I’m trying to find love.'
​Because, as much as that might help, I think for a version of romantics, love is never going to
come that structured or planned.
And personally, if it did, it wouldn’t feel the way I’d want it to feel.
Maybe that means my standards are unrealistic.
But a more approachable way of looking at it is:
I would never want to sacrifice my dreams of love just because I think it’s hard to find. It’s hard
because on the way from finding to being found, it may get a little chaotic. So yeah, it’s hard, but
I figure.
One: I can do hard things. You boys can vouch for that.
Two: I’ve got a lot of time to do them.
So no, none of you were what I wanted, but you trained my internal love compass. I’m not
scared to admit that I didn’t always have the best one. But at the end of the day, at least I know
now what I want.
Even if it’s a little further away from the present day than I’d like.
I’ll take it with my arms wide open when it comes.
Not yours,
but mine.
​
Aarthi
/
Becoming Me Again
I love myself again. I love my life again. I’m excited to make it better. I’m excited for university. I’m excited to get a new job. I’m excited to move in with my friends. I’m excited to be challenged.
​
I can breathe again. My soul isn’t tainted by the people from my past anymore. I hold no envy, no jealousy, no sympathy. I can finally know that I can do what’s best for me. No matter what. No matter who it affects. I can do it without being scared, because I believe I’m a good person who makes thoughtful decisions. So if I am making a decision for me, I can finally just make it, without having to worry about the repercussions it will have on others and how it will affect them.
​
I’m in my own head and only mine. I feel like my mind is a temple, filled with love and passion and tranquility. I’m not scared to handle the downs anymore. I can stay in one place and feel my feelings. And I can also move on from them without losing myself to people who broke into it and ransacked the place.
​
I want to protect my temple. I will fight to protect my temple. I will do whatever I need to do for me. I will not let the outside world hold me back. I will run my race, with my friends, without my friends. I won’t stop running for anyone again.
​
I Love Cats
​
I love cats. I think cats are lovely.
They have a tenderness to them that calms you. They are so real. They are so sweet.
Honestly, I think cats are our guardian angels (who, themselves, don’t have a sense of morals — thus leading to the unfortunate fact that they are also the most selfish, mean creatures I’ve ever met). Cats have hurt my feelings more than people sometimes.
​
When I bring my cat Mich (whom I’ve loved since I found him at four years old) into my bedroom, and his immediate reaction is to jump off my bed and leave the room, it breaks my heart, man.
But he’s also the same Mich who, in the soft moments where nobody is looking, is the star of the show and my best friend all over again.
​
He’s quite old, and honestly, I haven’t even thought about him dying. I mean, I know he will. I hate that, but I know that. Still, I don’t think I can imagine a world where he isn’t there.
My life, my memories — they start with him. When I found him in my garden, near the swing. (Later I found out my old chauffeur, Salim, had put him there because I had been begging my parents to get me one. Eight years later, by the way, to be specific.)
My memories start with him. He’s honestly my longest friendship.
I was talking about friendship earlier to myself (duh), and I defined it as:
I think friendship is a lasting connection with someone. I know not all connections last —
but what you’re left with is knowing that, when you need it, it’s there.
A Poem About Society (2019)
Society can’t let a girl just fucking hurt
without making her think that it’s just her being her.
Society can’t let a girl shed a tear
without making her think she’s just being unfair.
Society fucks all these women in the head,
half of them can’t even go to sleep with dry eyes in their beds.
Society makes being vulnerable a crime;
now we’ve got all these blank faces and stale hearts—
but who gives a shit, right?
Everyone’s problems are given an expiry date,
so hey, if you’re not over it yet, well shit, it’s too late.
Don’t talk about it. They’ve heard enough,
even if you’re on the verge of giving up.
Shut your mouth, they don’t wanna hear another word
about how you gave your heart to someone who didn’t deserve.
They don’t care if you still think about it at night.
So shut your mouth—society says goodnight.