Writeia

I’m on the verge of turning 30. Over the past decade, I’ve done a bit of everything—jumping between jobs, trying different paths, having fun along the way. But if I’m honest, my biggest regret is not taking care of my health the way I should have. That’s something I’ve started working on consciously now. At 28, though, I find myself burned out and uncertain about what comes next. I don’t know what steps to take toward a life that feels fulfilling. My parents think marriage is the answer. I don’t agree—not entirely. I feel the pull to marry, but not from necessity. The question “What next?” probably haunts most of us. Maybe that’s just human nature—to be unsatisfied, never quite “through” with anything. As I reach this point in my life, I realize that much of what I’ve experienced feels shallow compared to what I’ve learned. The last decade was mostly repetition: complaining about the state of the nation, the chaos in personal life, the same habits looping in a cycle. I didn’t really l...

I meet three friends regularly on the low. I enjoy their company, and I guess they enjoy mine. One of them is imaginatively named Blackey—because he's black. Another is called Sketchers; it's because he looks like one of those shoes you can get at Sketchers. The third is just "Dalley" (Shorty), on account of his height. Blackey is not like the other two. He stays with his folks and comes out for a few hours most days. The other two—they're homeless. They wander around and greet me excitedly because they know I have something for them and that they’ll get to eat today. There are some other neighbors, too, who do the same. Whenever those guys spot me, they come running. It’s fun to tease them as well. It’s been years since I’ve known these three, and they feel like good companions, even though all they can do is bark and wag their tails at me. Sometimes, during the day, I wonder what they might be doing, and the thought of them goofing around our street makes me ...

Am I greedy? Or is it ambition? Or perhaps just laziness?  Lately, I’ve been thinking of quitting work. Again. It seems like a pattern now—I dive into something, stay long enough to realize it’s not for me, then start looking for an exit. My reasons vary: sometimes it’s the dream of launching my own venture, sometimes a pull toward the art world. But if I’m honest, the cycle is always the same. I leave, I sit around for a few months trying to figure it out, and eventually, I find another job—usually one that pays better, but still, a job. And once the routine sets in, boredom follows, and I start unraveling. This time, I want to do it differently. I plan to speak with my senior—not to quit, but to seek advice. What I want now is to work on my own terms. I’d like to start something of my own, with his guidance if he’s willing. I believe I can do it. The only question is: what do I do? That’s the part that remains unclear. I don’t yet know what kind of venture will feel like mine ...

I remember it clearly — most of this happened more than a decade ago. Something in me snapped. I’ve never been the same since. I can think of many events from my life to begin this story with, but I’d like to go back to when I was 13. That was when I stole a digital camera. My friend — let’s call him Parbat — and I were strolling around our school compound when we spotted a digital camera on a bench. Without thinking much, we sat beside it and pocketed the shiny red object. It didn’t belong to us, but we sold it for 4,000 rupees. The next day during the school assembly, we found out who it belonged to. Nothing to do now — half the money was already spent. We decided to keep silent and spend the rest. From then on, two 13-year-olds were on the path to a business journey. We dealt in electronics: MP3s, cameras, PSPs, iPods — the whole lot. An odd deal here, a pen drive there — we were set. We made around 1,000 rupees on most deals. Unknowingly, we were disrupting the market for ano...

They’ve guided me for most of my life. I’ve always known how they feel about my shortcomings. At times, I feel completely lost in this business of living. What decisions are we supposed to make, the ones that shape the rest of our lives? I find myself wondering—alone in the night. I wish there had been a blueprint. It would have made things easier. Advice comes my way constantly—about my current state, my future—but it often feels more like a confession than a suggestion. Aren’t we all truly unique? I’ve been a traveler, guided by the day, by the necessity of the moment. The only place I get to wander—trackless, aimless—is here, on the page. Writing opens a door to a land that is mine alone. I fantasize about stories—most of them go unwritten. Daydreaming has always been one of my favorite hobbies. Sometimes, though, it turns into stress. I feel a sudden passion to write, to create, but that energy often has to be diverted to something else—something already committed to. It wreaks hav...

I don’t even know how many of my friends have gone abroad by now—I’ve lost count. I hear from them now and then, and I know what they say life is like over there. They work hard, day and night, often clocking 12-hour shifts. Yet, almost none of them work more than 40 hours a week officially. To work beyond that is considered excessive—almost criminal. It's tough, yes, but that’s the deal. Meanwhile, here I am at home, living a so-called normal life. My job runs from 10 AM to 6 PM, six days a week. That’s 8 hours a day, 6 days a week—48 hours total . That’s the standard for most average Nepalis. Let’s break down the rest of my week: My Weekly Time Breakdown: Activity Hours per Day Days per Week Total Hours/Week Work 8 6 48 Sleep 7 7 49 Eating 2 7 14 Travel (Commute) 1 7 7 Preparation (Bathing, getting ready) 1.5 7 10.5 Total Used 128.5 Total Available 168 Remaining Time 39.5 hours That means I’m left with 39.5 hours per week , or around 5.6 hours per day , for everything else:...

Who are my true friends?  I’ve been asking myself this for a while now—especially whenever my folks start nagging. Somehow, the conversation always circles back to how many friends I have and how I spend time with all of them, here and there. I used to think that having many friends meant being loved by many. But that’s not how it works, apparently. There’s one friend I’ve known for over a decade—someone I considered close. Yet just today, I realized how little we truly know each other. I thought we were the kind of friends who showed up in joy and in sorrow. But we never really had that. What we had was convenience—tolerance dressed as intimacy. We were just... around for each other. That realization hit me hard last night. Some things, no matter how much heart you put into them, reveal their hollowness under close inspection. Even if both sides tried, if it never resonated beyond convenience, it remains just that—a temporary comfort. Like the furniture in a convenience store: yo...

  Am I a Name? Am I a name? Or am I a writer who believes he just hasn’t had enough time to write, or enough people to appreciate the work? Am I the emotional one who seeks comfort, who searches for love? Or am I the one who offers it? Am I the name that was given to me— Akash ? Or am I the person you call a friend, a son, a brother? If knowing me means knowing my behaviors, my thoughts, my actions—then maybe I am the sum total of what I’ve done, what I am doing. But is that all? Am I simply what has happened to me, or is happening? When I think— truly think—about this, I realize, certainly,  I am a body and a mind. Does what I ate yesterday, or what I did a moment ago, define who I am now? If so, then who I am must be shaped by thoughts and actions—summarized, added to, subtracted from, divided into—the totality of my experiences. All the information I’ve absorbed until this point has become thought patterns and behaviors I now mimic. I often believe my ideas are or...

I started reading The Mountain Is You by Brianna Wiest yesterday, and the opening really pulled me in. It’s simple enough to follow, but the first insight about self-sabotage hit hard. I had to stop reading and sit with it for a while. I found myself thinking about all the ways I’ve held myself back. There’s still a lot I don’t fully understand, but late last night, I tried to dig deeper—to look inward and face the fears that keep me stuck. One thing that came up was my fear of failure, especially when it comes to finding something meaningful to do with my life. That fear goes back to childhood. I grew up being told to avoid becoming someone who “fails”—but what does failure even mean if you're happy with what you have? I realized that fear of failing is what stopped me from trying new things, and even when I did try, the fear would creep in so quickly that I’d abandon what I’d started. I still have more to unpack, but I’m grateful to Brianna for putting things in such a clear way...

I met her today. She is more than anything, and I think I have imposter syndrome. What if being with me actually hurts her? I try to understand the things she says—I try my best—but who could tell her what I’m going through? I speak a lot; everyone knows that. But what is it that I say? I cannot tell. She’s been in my life for a month now. It feels as if I want to know her forever. So many facets, so many stories—who could imagine? Not me. Part of me wishes I could bring her here with me now, but all I can do is write. And this is our story. I got to know her a month ago. It wasn’t much, but her name got me thinking. That’s how it started. I searched for her on Facebook, and if you’ve used Facebook, you know—no one’s ever alone. I found her and sent her a request. She accepted it. Then began what is now being written. Our first meeting—a secret. Well, it was one until I decided to write about it. We had some coffee. By the end of it, I knew she was the one. I found every reason to meet...

“In general, people are often too focused on their own problems to care about how you're solving yours.”  This is from Cal Newport's Slow Productivity . And I get it—I’m just as wrapped up in my own problems as the next person. Right now, I’m trying to solve a few monetary issues by building a second source of income. Ah, the hustle culture. I do need the money, mainly to pay off some debt. I am trying to be productive but not so much that I stress myself out and do nothing about it.  My idea for that second income? This blog. It’s starting to gain some traction, thanks to the thousand or so readers who visit it monthly. And now, I want to take that momentum and shift it in a more personal direction. I’m the eldest child in my family, with a younger brother who’s nine years younger than me. I’m approaching 30, still searching for my “purpose” in life. That’s probably one reason why I haven’t been able to hold down a job for more than a year—or maintain a strong relationship,...

Slow Mornings, Fast Days What pleasures I derive from a slow morning, Drive me through the rest of the day. Though I cannot help but Stress the tough work that is not of art— Matters of economy always guilt the heart. Can I leave it behind? Will you give the okay? Your okay? Is that even possible anyway? I chained myself, so you could save the day. Tell me, oh fellow sinners of mine, What do you do that is so divine? Can I summon God, or will the devil appear instead? They chatter all day long—or is it just in my head? What keeps them at bay? What stirs up there? Is it hope I dream of—or merely live in fear? Ah, the life of a working human! You must be down for anything—there’s always a plan. In constant action, forever and always, And yet you wonder Where your life went— Dying, you worry and ponder. Alas, know now: Childlike is the way to be. Regretfully, with the dying of the light, You truly start to see.

I recognize the ghost that’s been haunting me. It’s been a few years—almost a decade, honestly—that I’ve lived by the mantra: "Do it fast, do it now." The fast and the now are what have been slowly burning me out. Right now, I’m reading Cal Newport’s new book, Slow Productivity , and a lot of it resonates with me. Living by that "do it fast, do it now" mindset, I’ve ended up making quick decisions without really thinking about where my priorities should lie. What Cal calls "pseudo-productivity" is exactly what I’ve been doing. And it's taking a toll. The result? Low-value output that I keep churning out. This blog is a good example too — I wanted to blog daily to gather views, but now I realize this is just as much about me needing a place to let out my feelings and emotions as it is about making new connections with people around the world. That old mantra has summoned an unfortunate guest — a phantom that lives at the back of my mind, pushing m...

  A Day to Live What would I do with a day to live? Would I make amends, or give away dying confessions? Would I drown in booze, before I forever snooze? With a day to live, what would I even choose — the loving embrace of friends and family, or a day spent lamenting this tragedy? Would I dull out my consciousness, or be consumed with all seriousness? With a day to live, what new lines would I write? What new play would I cast? What words would be my last? Drowning in memories of the past, would there be tears of sorrow? Would I even care with no tomorrow? If I had a day to live, maybe I'd search for a day to borrow.

  Senses of pleasure keep me awake; Friends, happiness, sleep — all are at stake. What shall I do, a creature of habit? Is it a flaw that I so inhibit? No! I can say — the only constant is change. But how, then, shall my days arrange? Bit by bit, even pleasure grows estranged. What wealth of riches, bed of kings, Highness without its wings — it brings! Yet I cannot find it in my sedated state. Where in the stars — a billion years ago — Was written my life? A dated fate? Here it stands: now I shall cross this gate. Innocence I cannot presume, for I have grown; The fruits of labor are unborn— they were never sown. Calling away — who hears me: god or man? Falling away — are those dreamlike plan. Cast me off, call the guards, freeze my place. But who are they, if not myself, in this hellish daze? The wheel is in motion, the dice already spun — It all began, innocently enough, to have some fun. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ophelia_%28painting%29

The year begins anew, and I've made changes—maybe just a few. What I must do is listen to the silence, choose spirit over the pleasures of sense. What mirror have I become? True neither to myself, nor to anyone. The dark shadow that this mirror casts bends the light—what use are these masts in shallow waters where most life lies? Or is it in the depths that true life thrives? Come close now, the light is dying. The mirror shifts—no use denying. Too long it’s been—captain your bow! The waters are deep, ahead and below. Take your life—steer clear of the shallow.

Everything I heard,  I internalized. Every story I saw, I internalized. Every sorrow I read, I internalized. Every death I knew, I internalized. Every pain that grew, I internalized. Every lie that I spew, I internalized. Every tie that I called, I internalized. Every day that I stalled, I internalized. Everything that I hid, I internalized. Too soon—or too late—now? My faults, I’ve realized. (Painting : "The Absinthe Drinker" by Pablo Picasso (Blue Period))

  The Day The day begins with some anxious thought, I breathe in and push them out, Sitting quiet for a while, almost meditative. What the day brings—I can't say I'm excited about, Maybe just about getting through it somehow. How? I'll figure it out as I trot on my way. Early in the morn, I call it quits on the day. To begin with, I drag myself out of bed, Some salt water, as the social doctors suggest, Some decaying food, to get last night's meal to digest. Once, I had a dream—the land looked like it does today. Maybe it was a nightmare, and I was just unaware. I could spend all day sitting, naked and bare, But with a thousand strings pulling at me, I don’t know how this puppet would fare. Now, maybe, downtrodden—from dreams and nightmare, To live once again, I can only hope to dare. (By Giorgio de Chirico (died 1978) - http://www.artuk.org/artworks/the-melancholy-of-departure-melanconia-della-partenza-198490, PD-US, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=103...

Oh, the fathers! I don’t know about the rest of the world, but in my corner of the place, the story is something unique, at least feels tome. Fathers drive the lives of their children—or at least, they try to. At its best, this helps sons set out in life on a good footing, a silver spoon in the mouth, so to speak. But the power they have built carries an inherent weakness—at least to them—the world will not remain the same as it did during their life time and their sons will never measure up. I can’t speak for others, only for myself. He—my pops—has acquired a kind of deity-like status among some of our family members, most of whom are part of our regular social circle. Where does that leave me? Like always, with choices—mostly two. I can either be the son of God or the angel that has fallen, the devil who will never cast a larger shadow than his father or the son who will have rights to the power of the father. One of them has happened to me. Daily, from the million of things I do, th...

 It’s one in the morning, and oh, the week I’m about to tell you guys about. I can't think of a particular point to begin with. I’ve met a lot of wonderful women in my life—women who have blown my mind away. But whether by sheer luck or destiny, I’ve now met someone I can talk to in a way that makes me want to be chatting with her right now instead of writing this. The kind of conversations we have, how we can talk about anything and still find something new to discuss moments later—I’ve never felt that before. But let me not get ahead of myself. I was about to tell you about my entire week. Let’s go. Last Monday, I was supposed to attend a very important event in my life—my friend’s wedding. What I would’ve done to be there. I had everything planned out: I was supposed to fly to Birgunj in the evening, attend his wedding the next morning, and make it back. What I didn’t do was tell JD about it. And by the time I got around to it, it was too late—he wanted boots on the ground by ea...

I had the opportunity to meet my prospective bride yesterday. I found her casual manner refreshing, although she was nervous about meeting me at the beginning. I don't know how this arrangement will fare because I didn’t feel the thrill of meeting the possible light of my life. Nonetheless, she seems like a good person. I don't know what attitude one must take in such a matter because I am not used to taking my family with me on such occasions. That was the first one. I will keep you updated as things move along. Other than that, I have decided to do something for myself on the weekend. Nepalis get Saturdays off, and I think that is the best time to reevaluate my week and plan for the next one. On those holidays, however, I will practice my hobbies as they lead me toward my true creative self. I have always dreamt of being in what seems like a retired life, enjoying the company of strange places and putting my mind at ease through words—written, sung, and crafted into wonderful...

 Huwelijken, de huwelijken die in Nepal worden geregeld. Nou, ze zijn anders. Ik en een vrouw die ik nog nooit eerder heb ontmoet, moeten kijken of het tussen ons kan werken. Tenminste, zo gaan gearrangeerde huwelijken. Ik denk er zelf ook zo over. Sterker nog, mijn vader heeft een idee in zijn hoofd. Laten we zien hoe het uitpakt. Ik ben ook op zoek naar een partner, en wat is een betere manier dan mijn familie te laten kiezen wie zij leuk vinden? Je moet respect hebben voor de mensen die altijd van je houden, zelfs op momenten dat je misschien niet van jezelf houdt. Ik denk dat dat een soort meetlat kan zijn, dus ik wil haar ontmoeten, degene die mijn vader goed voor me vindt. Als het werkt, zal zij de reden van mijn bestaan worden. En ik weet dat ik alles zal geven wat ik kan. Ik heb geen exacte criteria voor wie er gekozen moet worden of wie mij zou moeten kiezen, maar als we samen dingen kunnen laten werken, kunnen we misschien gelukkig aan de overkant van de rivier komen. Dat...