I finally gave up on God

I finally gave up on God.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I tried again and again to believe, and it slowly stopped making sense.

I prayed for things. I begged. I asked with hope.

But most of the time, nothing happened.

Some good things did happen in my life. But honestly, those things came because of hard work, not prayer. We work day and night, we struggle, we stay consistent—and when success comes, we say “God did it.” But it was our effort. Our pain. Our discipline.

When my father was sick, I completely broke.

I cried in front of God.

I prayed more than ever before.

I truly believed God would save him.

But God didn’t.

My father died.

After that, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. If God exists and still does nothing, then what is the point? To me, God felt like someone who only watches—silent, distant, doing nothing.

So for me, God does not exist.

Or even if God exists, He has no power to change things.

For me, hard work is God.

Hard work gives results. Hard work changes life. But even hard work doesn’t fix everything, because some things are not in our control. And that truth hurts—but it feels real.

I liked a girl.

I prayed for her.

I cried in temples.

I did everything possible from my side.

Still, nothing happened.

God stayed silent again.

When I see people who have someone to talk to—someone who listens, someone who understands—I feel jealous. I feel angry. I feel sad. I wish someone would listen to me. Someone would say, “Don’t worry, I am here with you.”

But as a man, I can’t show this side.

If I show emotions, people think I am weak.

So I stay quiet. I keep everything inside.

But staying quiet doesn’t mean I am strong.

It just means I am tired.

I am not writing this to hurt anyone’s belief. If religion gives someone peace, that’s okay. But for me, belief only gave pain, disappointment, and guilt.

I don’t pray anymore.

I just work.

I accept life as it is.

And if you feel the same—alone, angry, sad—know this:

You are not weak.

You are not wrong.

You are just human.

Sometimes we don’t need God.

We just need someone to listen.

Comments

My Anonymous Friend

After wrapping up my previous project, I found myself transitioning to a new one. While the excitement of a new challenge was palpable, a certain sadness lingered as I would miss my friends from the last team. Yet, this sense of melancholy slowly faded when I met her. She was part of my new project team, and we quickly discovered that we were of the same age. Our conversations began casually but soon delved into deeper topics. Her voice was mesmerizing, and her thoughts were refreshingly novel. What struck me most was her unwavering positivity and polite demeanor, underpinned by a strong faith in God. She became a beacon of light in my new environment, and I started to consider her a close friend. We spoke often, and I became emotionally connected to her. Our calls became a daily habit, a comforting routine that I looked forward to. Despite never having seen her face, I felt like I knew her deeply. She was a soothing presence in my life, and I grew accustomed to the warmth of her ...

Uncelebrated Birthday Celibration

I have never celebrated my birthday with my friends. It’s not because I didn’t want to; it’s because I couldn’t afford to. Ever since I was young, money has always been tight. I’ve watched as others around me planned parties, bought gifts, and enjoyed their special days surrounded by friends and laughter. I’ve never experienced that for myself. Growing up, I quickly learned that attending someone else’s birthday meant I would have to spend money on a gift. And if I had a party of my own, I'd have to reciprocate that generosity. But with empty pockets, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. So, I kept to myself. Whenever someone would invite me to a celebration, I'd find an excuse not to go. It wasn't that I didn't want to be there—I just knew I couldn't afford it. Each year, as my birthday approached, I'd tell myself it didn’t matter. I'd say, "It’s just another day." But deep down, it did matter. There’s a special kind of loneliness in watching the w...

A Narrow Escape

The sun was high in the sky, making the Bangalore heat even worse. Time was running out, and we had to reach the office before 1:30 PM. My friend had rented a scooter for our daily commute. The roads were jam-packed, and we were already late. The tension was building up. As we rode through Niladri Road, the traffic was crawling. Cars, bikes, and autos were stuck everywhere. My friend, trying to save time, took the off-side path. We saw an auto taking the same way, so we followed. Everything seemed fine for a moment. But then, suddenly, the auto shifted back to its lane, leaving us alone on the narrow path. Before we could react, a bike appeared from the opposite side. It all happened so fast — a loud collision, and we were thrown to the ground. I remember the sharp pain in my hands and knees. The front part of the scooter was completely damaged. My friend had hurt his shoulder, and his leg was scratched. The biker, a Swiggy delivery guy, was also hurt. His phone was broken, though it w...

Room #501: Her Spirit & His Soul

. Electronic City, Bangalore A tech jungle by day, a ghost town by night. On the 5th floor of a fading PG building stood Room 501—small, silent, and always a few degrees colder than the rest. This is where Chitish, 25, lived alone. He wasn’t antisocial. In fact, he tried. He smiled at colleagues. Shared food with PG mates. Spoke kindly to strangers. But no matter what he did—he remained invisible. He watched others fall in love, plan dates, hold hands—and wondered what he lacked. “Maybe I’m not good enough,” he’d whisper to his mirror. “Maybe I don’t know how to talk right.” Sometimes he even stared at his reflection and thought, “Maybe I’m just… ugly.” He craved someone—not just to love, but to see him. Really see him. But every night, he returned to Room 501. Alone. Again. He wanted to have someone, whom he can share about his day, who would be listening him and support him. The Beginning of Terror It started with a blackout. The entire building went dark. Chitish lay in bed, phone b...

Good Friend: Used but Unseen

There’s a strange loneliness in realizing that people only reach out when they need something. They call me a “good friend” in those moments, but I know it’s not true. To them, I’m just someone useful—a problem-solver, a helper. Once their need is fulfilled, they forget me. What hurts even more is when I seek help. I’ve reached out in my moments of struggle, only to hear, “I’ll get back to you.” But they never do. Their promises feel hollow, and I’m left wondering if they even considered helping or if it was just a polite way to brush me aside. It stings because it shows that the care I offer is not something they’re willing to return. I’ve asked myself if I’m to blame. Maybe I’m too available, too eager to help, making it easy for them to see me as a convenience rather than a friend. But should I have to guard my kindness just to feel valued? I still help, even knowing the pattern won’t change. Maybe it’s hope—hope that someone will eventually see me for who I am, not just what I can ...

Burdened by Broken Dreams

I feel like I'm suffocating under the weight of my own responsibilities. Every day, I wake up with a list of things I must achieve, things that feel too big for my two hands to handle. I have to renovate and build a home, not just four walls, but a place where my family can finally feel peace. I have two sisters whose marriages I need to arrange; they are getting older, and I can see the silent worry growing in my mother's eyes. My mother, fragile and aging, depends on me more than words can say. And yet, beyond all of this, a fire still burns in my heart — the dream of doing my master's abroad in data science, to build a better life for us all. But that dream feels like a distant star because I also have my current job as a software engineer pressing down on me. My work pays the bills, keeps the house running; if I stop, everything around me will crumble. I am only 25, and I tell myself I have to accomplish all of this before I turn 27. Time feels like a rope tightening ar...

Darjeeling Da: The Motivation of My Gym Days at Bangalore

After moving to Bangalore, I found myself in a new city, surrounded by strangers and unfamiliar streets. In search of stability and a routine, I joined FZ Fitness Club in Electronic City—thanks to a suggestion from my friend, Biki. Initially, it was just the two of us trying to stick to our workouts. But gradually, the gym turned into something much more than a place for lifting weights—it became a second home filled with friendships I never expected. There was Dharma, the Kannada coach with a serious passion for fitness. Anuraj, the energetic Goan trainer. Nishat, the arm-wrestling enthusiast from Karnataka. And Shravan, the silent but focused Malayali guy who always trained with quiet intensity. Slowly, everyone became part of my circle. But among them all, one person left a mark that will last a lifetime—Ruben Lamadey, we used to call him as Darjeeling Da. He was a Gorkha, proud and strong—not just physically, but in spirit. With a solid build, a heartwarming smile, and the discipli...

Scold by my Manager

Recently, I found myself in a somewhat strange situation at work. I had two nominations for an Insta Award, which, according to the rules, meant I could nominate myself if I wanted to. But I chose not to. Instead, I saw this as an opportunity to acknowledge two of my teammates, who I believed truly deserved recognition for their hard work. I didn’t think twice about it—after all, supporting each other is what teamwork is all about, right? However, things didn’t go as smoothly as I had expected. To my surprise, my manager was not pleased. I was called where I was met with an unexpected outburst. "What do you think of yourself? Are you the manager? Are you the lead? Who are you to nominate someone?" His words hit hard. I was instructed to immediately retract the nominations and send an apology email. At that moment, I was confused. Was I wrong to nominate others? As per my understanding, I could nominate anyone, so I decided to double-check with my previous manager. To my relie...

My Pet Kalu: A Tale of Love and Loyalty

It was a rainy day when a small, shivering puppy lost his way and stumbled upon our home. He was trembling from cold and fear, his tiny body soaked from the relentless rain. Despite his condition, his tail wagged with a hopeful energy when he saw me, as if pleading, "Please help me; I am scared." I was only 13 years old at the time, but I knew instantly that I wanted to give him a safe place to call home. When I told my mother about the puppy, she initially refused. But my father and sister stood by my side, and together we convinced her. We brought the puppy inside and named him "Kaliya," lovingly shortened to "Kalu." His name suited him perfectly, as his jet-black fur glistened with hints of gold on his cheeks and above his eyes. He had the most adorable features—a tail curled like a jalebi, one half-lingered ear, and white paws that looked like he had stepped into paint. Kalu became much more than a pet; he became a beloved member of our fam...

Memoir: When Krishna Wasn’t Fair Enough

I still remember that day—I was in Class 6. The sky was cloudy, and a light drizzle had made the school ground smell of wet mud. Our class teacher, Mrs. Lata, had just entered with a big smile and announced, “This year, our class will perform a play on Lord Krishna’s life for Janmashtami!” All of us became so excited. Hands shot up for roles—Radha, Sudama, Balram—and then, the most special one, Krishna. I don’t know what gave me the courage that day, but I slowly raised my hand and said, “Ma’am, can I be Krishna?” Some of my classmates looked at me in silence… and then, they started laughing. “You? Krishna?” “Arey, Krishna was handsome…” “Tui toh kalo!” “Krishna looks divine, not like you!” Their words cut deeper than I could understand at that age. I stood there, awkward and frozen, pretending like it didn’t affect me. But my heart was shaking. And then, our teacher smiled and said, “Let’s give the Krishna role to Arnav, he’s perfect for it.” Arnav was tall, with a sharp nose and fair...

MeLogging

Search This Blog