MeLogging

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...

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 ...

Once upon a time, there was a guy named Raj, who was known in his friend circle as "The Helpline That Never Hangs Up." 🫡 Whether it was solving coding bugs at midnight, lending money to broke friends, or giving life advice he clearly didn’t follow himself, Raj was always just a text away. 📱✨ One day, his phone buzzed again. "Hey bro, need your help. My girlfriend is mad at me, what do I do?" Raj sighed. Another SOS call. He cracked his knuckles and typed out, "Say sorry and send her chocolates. Also, stop being dumb." 💌🍫 After hitting send, he thought, Why do I never get texts like, 'Hey, how are you?' or 'Want to grab some chai?'" ☕ But deep down, Raj knew the truth—if he stopped replying, his social life would be deader than his gym membership. 🏋️‍♂️❌ So, when another friend called to ask for free coding help, Raj grinned and said, "Of course, bro!" 😎 But this time, he added a twist. After helping, he cheekily asked, ...

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...

  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...

 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 ...