talktyperera

Here’s something I’ve been thinking about lately how everyone is out here trying to say the right thing instead of the real thing. It’s like we all accidentally enrolled in this invisible PR school where every sentence needs to be market tested, audience appropriate, and pleasantly beige. And the minute someone shows up speaking unfiltered or voicing up an inconvenient truth,they get treated like they walked into a quiet library with a boombox blasting. You ever notice this? The world claims it loves authenticity, but only the kind that comes in recyclable packaging with a soft aesthetic and a caption about self-care. The real real? The kind that shows people the things they try so hard not to admit? Oh, no. That gets exiled like it said something obscene at a dinner party. We’ve built a culture where people apologize for things they don’t even feel sorry for, agree with opinions they don’t believe, and pretend neutrality when their whole soul is yelling. It’s social gymnastics. We’ve ...

 There are days when the sky feels like it’s been borrowed from another lifetime, one where you already died and came back just to remember how light feels against your eyelids. Death, then, is not an ending, but a flavor, sharp, metallic, inevitable. We are all sipping it, drop by drop, through every birthday candle we blow out and every mirror that forgets our younger faces. And yet, what makes it both cruel and divine is how quietly it arrives. It doesn’t knock. It doesn’t send a letter or mark a date on your calendar. It just appears one day, like an uninvited guest slipping into the room while you’re still mid-laugh, or mid sentence, or mid dream. There’s no schedule for endings. No rehearsal for the last breath. Sometimes it’s a whisper. Sometimes it’s a crash. Sometimes it’s a stillness so sudden that even time holds its breath. You never really see it coming, and maybe that’s its secret mercy or its cruelest trick. A curse or a blessing, depending on the day and the heart y...

 Some people chase peace like it’s a prize,others just build it inside their silence and guard it like a dragon. The world’s obsessed with being seen, but the funny thing is, the ones who actually do something worth seeing are usually too busy to wave their arms for attention. Funny how the loudest ones usually have the least to say, right? See, hard work isn’t romantic. It’s not a montage. It’s messy, ugly, repetitive. It’s the sound of you talking yourself out of quitting at 2 a.m. when your dreams look more like delusions. The people who make it aren’t magical, they’re just the ones who didn’t fold when the world got loud. Spoiler alert,there’s no background music when you’re dying inside but still grinding. Focus is rebellion. In an age where everyone’s screaming, choosing silence is almost violent. You stop feeding the noise, and the noise starts panicking. It’s hilarious. Everyone wants to know why you’re so calm, why you’re not reacting, why you’re not explaining yourself to...

Take this as one of those Barney Stinson blogs from  How I Met Your Mother.  No one actually reads it, but if you do,you’d end up becoming,legendary. Life sometimes feels like one long tracking shot you’re walking, minding your own business, not even in anyone’s frame and suddenly someone lobs their emotional garbage right onto you. No warning. No music change. Just the scene ruined. And for a second, you think,  great, must be me.  Spoiler: it’s not. That moment? That’s their storm. Their unresolved plotline bleeding into your script. People love to throw their shadows around when they can’t deal with their own light. And you? You’re just standing there, looking like collateral damage. We do this thing,victimizing ourselves because we weren’t invited, weren’t noticed, weren’t “included.” But what if the camera just wasn’t supposed to be on you in  that  scene? Not every shot is yours. Sometimes the universe edits you out so you can show up later with th...

 Everyone hears the girl in Apartment 3C. She talks fast, laughs louder, trips over her own feet and laughs again. She’s the one who greets the mailman like an old friend, waves to every dog like it’s a celebrity, and knocks over something in the hallway at least once a week. Ira Kashyap is all elbows and opinions, the kind of person who shows up overdressed to a casual thing and underprepared for the serious ones. She loses her keys twice a day and finds them in her hand. She’s chaos in motion, always saying the quiet parts out loud. She’s really funny,the quick, unfiltered kind that catches people off guard. And even when she doesn’t have it all together, she’s the first to step up when someone else needs help. But even with all the noise she carries, something often went quiet in her. It never stopped her from anything. She’s not quiet about who she is. She never has been. She walks like she doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, like she dares you to misunderstand her. People talk....

 Okay, let's just dive straight into it. You can’t keep ordering chaos off the menu and then cry when peace doesn’t show up on your plate. You can't keep texting your ex and expect emotional stability to magically materialize like you're some heartbreak wizard. Nah. That’s not how it works, boo. We all want different. A different vibe. A different friend group. A different life. A different version of ourselves that doesn’t break down mentally just because someone took five hours to reply. (Real talk.) But here’s where it gets spicy: we want different, yet we keep choosing the same. The same patterns. The same excuses. The same half-baked habits. It's like yelling "I want out!" while voluntarily locking the door from the inside. It’s giving... self-sabotage, but make it cute. Now before you roll your eyes and say “it’s not that simple,” let me stop you right there. I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m saying it’s possible. There's a difference. This isn’t about p...