Why Showing Up Alone Feels Like A Big Deal

 There’s something weirdly poetic about taking a bus ride alone, with raindrops playing antakshari on the window and your mind going full Bollywood flashback mode without warning. Just me, my navy blue bag, chocolate milkshake, and the unspoken chaos in my head.

Today wasn’t about being productive or aesthetic. It was just about…showing up. Existing. Looking decently put-together in my oversized white and pink striped shirt (obviously thrifted vibes) and pretending like I wasn't freaking out inside. And honestly? That itself deserves a slow clap.

The journey was 2 hours long, but I didn’t feel alone. I had my journal, a book I knew I wouldn’t read, and an Orbit that I bit into way too early. The driver didn’t ask where I was going, the conductor just nodded, and Maps was my toxic bestie....draining my battery but still keeping me sane.

I reached, entered, smiled politely at the invigilator, took my window seat (destiny knows I need emotional support from the outside world), and just…sat. No panic. No drama. Just this weird calm like, okay, I’ve done this before, I’ll do it again. Rain kept tapping on the window like, “Main bhi dekh rahi hoon, tu chill kar.”

Honestly, I didn’t go there to prove anything. Not to the world, not to any college, not even to myself. I just wanted to return home knowing I did what I had to. And I did. No friends around, no one to click a “first bench, last exam” pic. Just me and my awkward messy bun and an umbrella I thankfully didn’t forget.

And while returning? I wasn’t tired. I was light. Not because everything went perfectly...but because I carried myself through it. Alone, yes, but not lonely. I had myself. And baby pink claw clip included....

So no, this isn’t a “day in my life” blog. This is more like…a “I handled it without melting down and maybe that’s enough” kind of thing.

And oughhh, that’s why Harini and I are roomies....because we laugh at horror movie deaths and life’s near-death-level exam stress the same way: casually unhinged but deeply philosophical.

Moral of the story? Sometimes, strength isn’t about roaring. It’s wearing black slides and carrying tissue packets “just in case” and whispering chal, ho jaayega.