Unfiltered Footnotes

We’ve built a world where being seen feels more important than being real . Where silence is suspicious. Where presence is judged by performance. Where even solitude needs a caption. We call ourselves social beings. But what if we got it wrong? What if human beings aren’t inherently social— but just deeply afraid of being forgotten ? The Performance of Connection Scroll. Smile. React. Repost. We’ve been conditioned to keep showing up—not as ourselves, but as a version that works . A version that fits. That doesn’t question too much. That plays along. Because relevance has become a currency. If you disappear for a bit, people ask, “Are you okay?” Stay silent for too long? You’re ghosted. Be real and raw? You’re “too intense.” So we choose the safer mask. We stay visible, even when we’re invisible to ourselves. Self-Love or Just Marketed Narcissism? We live in an age where “self-love” is everywhere. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about healing… and star...

The Beauty of a Boring Life Why the quiet path is the strongest rebellion today Not every story needs fireworks. Not every soul is meant to shine in neon.  And not every life has to be a performance.  In a world obsessed with “doing more,” the most radical thing you can do is live quietly, intentionally, and without the need to be seen.   We’ve come to fear the mundane.  We mistake boredom for failure, discipline for oppression, and simplicity for mediocrity. We're addicted to highs—dopamine hits, likes, reels, and the illusion of progress.  But somewhere between the hustle and the hashtags, we’ve lost something real: The art of a slow, grounded, normal life.  The Dharma of Restraint. Take Rama, A prince by blood, a warrior by strength, a divine avatar by destiny. He could’ve ruled with an iron fist. He could’ve defied everyone, taken shortcuts, lived a glorious life. Instead? He chose exile. He chose rules. He chose restraint. No bragging. No shor...

We often overlook the poetry of everyday things—until they suddenly reveal themselves in moments of stillness. In something as mundane as peeling an onion, I found a strange, piercing metaphor for human relationships. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense: love, like an onion, has layers. And reaching the heart of it can be both beautiful and painful. Consider this. To truly taste an onion—to blend its flavour into the dish—you must first strip away its outer skin. And in doing so, your eyes begin to sting. The deeper you go, the more it burns. And when you finally start slicing it, tears often follow. Yet, once it’s mixed in, cooked down, and settled into the meal, it transforms everything. It becomes the one ingredient that elevates the whole dish—bringing warmth, balance, and even comfort. Ironically, that same onion often leaves a strong aftertaste that lingers longer than you’d like. Isn’t that how it is with people too? When you’re drawn to someone—truly drawn—y...