I feel that by constantly pointing out my flaws, I am unable to keep up with my new year resolution of developing self-confidence and re-building my broken self-esteem.

Also, I talked to a friend few days ago and she expressed her persistent feelings of sadness at things in general, at life in general. I know that she's an extrovert and a very lucky young woman; soon, she'll even forget that we had this conversation.

But I am very sensitive. While I was the one convincing her and a depressed aunt to be happy and more productive, I'm in a scary situation: the feelings I experienced while suffering from depression two years back, and I'll never feel that I'll be fully cured because there's no cure to something so transformative, are coming back-some important ones-aside from the occasional yet few and far in between relapses.

My point being it is currently not well suited for my mental well-being to continue with pointing out my flaws.

I am in no mood to start a gratitude journal either.

Additionally, I feel Wattpad had become an unsaid pressure. I have a few loyal readers who always comment on the new updates and thus, I self-inflict pressure on myself to update-at the cost of valuable time that should be spent studying.

I also think that I don't value time, not at all. I'm going to start the third year of my undergraduate degree soon and I need to figure out a future path to start working towards, much as it is outside my comfort zone.

So far, I've never planned a thing in life. Mummy has always made the important decisions for me. This time she went wrong with the choice of my undergrad subject which, being clinically depressed, I was in no state of mind to speak against. We had a huge fight and continuous ones at that-for the entire first year of my degree. I used to come back home and cry everyday. I hated studying this shit and not having friends and being fat and the snobby crowd.

This is such a personal confession that I'm really not thinking of anybody reading it. But I need to type it out for myself. There're very few things in the world I do for myself-the rest of the time, I'm just this lost girl wandering from class to class with an empty mind and a constant companion named insecurity-so I deserve to give myself this one chance.

That's not to say that I'll stop learning, or unconsciously observing everyday actions. I think there's a lot I need to stop doing, and very few to begin.

I'm one year down into a professional qualification. I don't think of the final year. Each day is a battle for me-forcing myself to do something I'm completely against.

I feel that I'm not a good singer and have learnt nothing from the singing classes so far so I should stop them until later. But I'm scared of offending my teacher.

I feel that I'm not flexible with my body and cannot carry myself as a dancer should. I should stop my dance classes until indefinitely later. But I'm scared of offending my teacher.

I don't like learning German. There's no giddy, happy or excited feeling in my tummy when I go to class or learn new stuff. And I'm not making this up from the books. This happens to me when I think of learning new things that I'm genuinely passionate about, or when I discover new things entirely on my own-though the latter happens very rarely as I constantly put myself down and internally criticise myself a lot. I don't want to learn German but it's a good thing to learn a foreign language so I'm doing it. I want to stop. But I'm scared of things going wrong for negative-thinking me if I don't know at least one foreign language.

I don't like running and I don't enjoy running and I don't want to force myself out of bed on a Saturday morning, the only day I get to sleep, to do an activity with aunties who don't encourage me as much as I need it. But I'm scared of offending Krishnan aunty.

I have very low self-esteem, a negative self image, a fat body-an unhealthy one in the sense that there's stubborn tummy fat, zero drive to make a career, and currently, no luck that I sense that'll make things great for my on its own.

I need to change myself a lot. I don't know where to start and what to change and what to keep and what to cut out and whom to meet and whom to forget-if forgetting ever were easy.

I hate being myself. I do. Despite what I've been this last one month, I haven't changed. I'm still the same old me-the one who gets periods pain despite howmuchever she exercises and whatever nutrition changes she makes, the girl who's still lonely with no friend to go out with or talk to at her will or take a stroll with, who is still lonely and unsure of her life, who has bad skin and bad hair and a short height and is basically not yet a supermodel and thinks the age has gone for her to be one because neither her dream body nor the scouts have come, who still gets sexually harassed and actually feels bad about it despite the helplessness and inaction against these things in her society, the one who is sad and trapped and unloved by everyone-family, friends and herself.

I'm not an attention seeker in the actual sense of the word but I need more attention than what my Mummy and other family members pay to me, definitely more, and if that gets me labelled an attention seeker then I don't mind. I did call myself a feminist initially but then I discovered #nolabels and that's been me ever since. That hashtag is my essence personified. Yes, I do have an essence to literally speak of but in real life-as I live and I walk-I feel nothing.

This emptiness used to be suffocating till it became a habit but it's still damn painful and that incomprehensible pain hurts with every single breath. No one would probably get this-living without a purpose-but I need one and no spiritual guru, no website, no personality test has helped me. I don't care if learning a foreign language, or switching over to study archaeology, or other such boring suggestions seem like a solution to the experts. They bore me and I would never do that. They are not me. I am not me nowadays. I want to be that happy girl in frocks and short hair-straight, smooth, shiny hair and clear skin-with a best friend who lived downstairs, the girl who lived in a locality that wasn't super rich and well centred as compared to today's standards but was great at that time, and where she was content and could cycle, paint, play, talk to Mosi without any member of the family interrupting their time, with no siblings to think of setting an example for. I want to be the old me-the girl too tall for her age but the one who always shone in class at school, the one without specs and with a group to play with-the real, original, actual Meenal.

That's the me I identify with and I don't know where I lost her over the years-mostly after 10th standard, but I guess I was beginning to lose her, let her disappear into her own, the places where she liked to be and where she belonged, from that moment when I started concentrating on science, a subject I had found tough since third standard, in order to get good marks on my report card else Mummy would openly channel her disappointment unto me.

I am much more than this. I am a sum greater than these events, in fact, greater than an the events in my life put together.

Maybe I'm a miserable witch, or a happy princess in disguise-in the frog mode. Maybe I'm the dark and cold moon that is by birth shiny in colour from the outside, or maybe I'm a ray of sunshine that illuminates herself and everything else.

So far I've been of no use to anyone. I've made no personal relations. Out of fear, I've put lesser and progressively lesser efforts into my relationships but no one has ever compensated for the lack of my contribution. The quotes say no one ever will... What can I say; I'm hopeful to change myself.

I feel bad. This is a confession. One that I make to myself every day, every moment. But one that has just been captured in the written word now, in this moment, on the 13th of February, 2018 at 5:57 pm-been writing for minutes now.

I've read enough books and articles and just today discovered that all this is the Universe at play to convince me against joining the film industry and/or modelling. I have accepted this fact. When I asked myself in the shower today morning if I would make a good actress, the inner voice said 'no'. It was difficult to accept her but today after months of suppression I did. It's not a relief or anything as such, despite what they say in the self-help books about coming to terms with yourself. These, however, remain my semi-active interests. I believe the inner voice speaks for the present and its verdict for the future can change with the changing possible future. I don't know about acting but I'd love to model at the international scene prominently and I know I can and will make a success of it. I have that immense self-belief. My heart says so and my brain says so and my soul says so. The only hindrances seem to be the still unfit body and my being an introvert.

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I can keep writing forever and never run out of things to say.

This is not by any means what it started out as-an explaination as to why this book is ending-putting my thoughts down in words for myself, and a first time reading to the only reader, Pooja.

It's become like a write-up, which reminds me of the lesser pleasant meaning one that I've up complete for college once I wind this chapter up. This is a part of myself, yet fully myself.

I know for sure; I'm never going to come back to assess this write up. It's been written in free flow-no edits-and it might not make sense to even me later on. Maybe my best friend would learn new things about me from this, though as a best friend she ought to know by now. But we don't live in the same city, don't (video-)talk daily, and I fear I'm too much of an introvert to have opened up even to her.

Seriously, I've been trying to conclude so many times and I keep getting back into the flow again. Here I go again: despite of my problems, I think I exist to be a part of the flow of this river. Maybe I'm that odd pebble there that doesn't make sense. But a pebble had a finite, solid existence and I think of myself as here and not here, floating, a white shadow yet someone in flesh, a very Sufi thought.

So rather than winding up, I'm going to end abruptly. This is not for my life-I'll have a proper literary end to it when it comes. But this write up should end abruptly, as per my scripting of its destiny.

I'm power. Now that power is at rest elsewhere till it finds a cause to direct itself to. See? There I go again.

Let's end this with a simple 'bye'.