mental-health
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Reflections on awareness, connection, and the strange tenderness of being alive. Quite honestly, I would feel better writing as if I were talking to a very small group of people who actually want to change their lives, or people who are more aware of themselves than others. This almost feels like a diary to myself.
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I’ve always felt like I listened to people way too much, but I never fully realized how much until I finally stopped. Not everyone—just most people. Why? Because most people don’t have what I want, so why would I continue taking advice from them? Sounds harsh, I know. But think about it. Over the years,
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San Francisco’s famous summer fog rolled in, covering the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, like a final curtain coming to veil the city’s weirdos and rejects. From where we were sitting, it was the perfect view for the end of our strange day. We were bored kids from the Central Valley, fleeing the summer
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Growing up in an Indian household, I witnessed firsthand the emphasis placed on academic achievement. In my own house, and in the homes of fellow Indians. Walk into any doctor’s office, or ask Google for help on a math problem and you’ll likely find an Indian face. We’re the highest earning ethnic group in the
Sumit's Inkwell 