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It is OK not to blog.



The times when you stare at the empty pages of the journal and pray that it magically fills up. Those days when your passion towards writing is tested by a mind that feels more empty than a classroom after school hours. “Why am I getting this right?” “I’m a writer. I’m not supposed to feel empty” “Shouldn’t I have topics to write about all the time?” and then you take out that journal and force a word into it and then stare it like it’s going to fill up the rest by itself.

I don’t know what you call this. Some say it’s the writer’s block. Some say it’s a phase. Some say so many things. Honestly, I don’t know what it is. One minute your brain has a million things to pen about and the next it’s as blank as a newly bought A4 sheet paper. There are days when your libido for writing is so high that you write almost about anything. The moist chocolate cake that was served during last night dinner. The creepy spider crawling up your kitchen window pane. The guy ogling that you at work place. The guy you are ogling at during your waiting time at the queue in KFC. The weather that showed some mercy by showering upon. The mundane coffee that starts your day. Almost everything and anything that is no little or no significance.

Then there are days when the world is going through cathartic changes and you see it but don’t feel a thing. There is a mass shootout on an entire community. There are pseudo feminists claiming equality. A woman raped and thrown to the gutter. Trump is the new orange. Issues that are of a larger magnitude. You see it happening. You know you have something to say. You quickly open the laptop, go to MS word and then nothing! Your friends expect that you write something but you are usually the one who has something to write about. You are almost made to feel it’s your responsibility to pen down your thoughts on issues that are happening around you.

But in reality, that’s not how it works, does it? There are days and at times weeks that go by and your subscribers do not receive a new blog notification from you. “Will they unfollow me?” “What is the good frequency to blog to be called a good blogger?” “Maybe I’ll take an old post, change few things and repost” “But no, what if that makes me a stale blogger” “maybe I should try other forms of blogging” “Should I write about the outfit I wore last night at dinner?” “Yes, that’s awesome let me do it” You frantically open your blog page and start off “Last night was great. I wore this…” and you are stuck. You go through your fellow fashion bloggers page but you don’t quite get that flow and style of writing and realise you aren’t cut out for it and go back to staring into infinity for some inspiration.

As bloggers, we are made to think and feel we need to write about something or the other all the time. Each of us have our strengths. We play on it. Work on it. Experiment on it. Some bloggers are great in writing on finance and numbers. Some write on beauty and fashion. Some write mindless things to call it a blog or maybe it is a blog. I don’t know. Some write emotionally. We are all different. WE aren’t connected by thoughts because we are bloggers. If I sit with someone who blogs on economy, he/she wouldn’t engage in a conversation with me for more than a minute but would find greater interest in talking to a non blogger with a similar interest. At times, it so happens that, connect of thoughts with a non blogger is far more intense than someone who blogs. Bloggers as a community is more on the love of writing and how blogging can help you financially and help better your writing.

I think it’s perfectly ok to go through days or weeks that have gone by without a word written on paper but infinite pages written in the mind. At times, it’s okay to not publish your thoughts as blog. All your writings need not be a blog. Some can be too precious to stay in your journal. When there is a rough day, its way nicer to flip pages in your notebook and read them instead of opening up WordPress or Write for yourself at times. The world need not know. Let it be your little secret that you have written for yourself to read. The precious rare thoughts that are priceless to be become a blog post in your community group. Let it stay with you. This isn’t a writer’s block. It is a bloggers block. You are still sub consciously writing all the time. Some find their way to a blog and some stay in your mind but the ones that find space in your personal journal to stay there are the most precious ones. They are who you are. They are your ugly mirrors. They are what you call yourself to be. At times, they are the ones you are afraid to call yourself to the world.

Start writing….! Its okay not to blog about it 🙂




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Horse riding.

I have fancied horse riding since my times in the cradle .
The feeling of spreading the legs between the rustic saddle.

The soft velvet that brushes my innermost core.
As my knees find the soft spot, I bend them well until my soul gets sore.

Like an eagle with its wings touching the infinity sky.
I look at you with hunger as my lips below start to cry.

Don’t be shy. Don’t ask me why, coz baby I hate to pry.
My shiny tall stallion, brace yourself for the ride is going to leave you with a scar.

The snow clad peaks give way as I embrace myself to worship the Thor.
Look at the road ahead as I ride on you like a warrior who has won the war.

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Jaw dropped

With warm amber finding it’s way through the window panes.
I lay like an old rugged picker who sleeps on the lonely lanes.
Clothes torn and shades of crimson oozing from my lower lip.
Who’s going to win this battle of the sexes below my hip.

Your fingers made of fine molten copper and drops of ambered tody.
I lay still as they find their way through the Everest escapades of my body.
The night is young unlike me for ill take my own time to cum.
As you devour every inch of me, it feels like Christmas and me, a cake made of rum and plum.

The bottles on the table is empty and I sense that you’re thirsty.
I have something better to serve as the spread got  better when I turned thirty.
I push you down like a hammer hitting the nail of a broken chair.
As the curtains to my show opens, the smell of something old fills the air.

I was taught to feed the hungry but this is just an act of parody.
I start to see stars on the ceiling, the moans awakened the their innermost feeling.
As I watch you go back to your teething days, you chew in so many different ways.
Like a well made dessert that hits the spot, oh shut up for a while now when I serve you something hot.

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Battling mid-life crisis.

The constant pressure of having to cope up with middle-aged crisis, the “Oh you’re approaching mid thirties, how has life treated you?” from a supposedly younger by age friend, the “Madam, the anti-aging rack is on the far left” by the sales woman in Health and Glow, the “If not now, then when?” question regarding marriage from the parents. The “Women lose all the good eggs by 30, you must plan a baby” from a mother of two. The “You’re becoming old, you need to think about buying a house” from a colleague who is spending 70% of his salary in EMI and the rest in trying to live a life, the “What are you doing in life? You need to aim that AVP position by next year” from a cousin sitting in a far away land trying to cope up with dollars and pounds.

All of the above sounds familiar no? Probably you’ve been put through much worse. This Mid-life crisis suddenly looks too scary. The term that sounded all swag and cool to approach has now become phobic. Whenever you need to tell people “I’m in my thirties” sounds more like sixties. From nowhere, you see too many young people around you. People who you think are far cooler and livelier than you. You try so hard to fit in every way. You enter a clothing store and the young brands do not attract you anymore. Mind drags you to the long kurtas and midnight PJ’s but the heart keeps mumbling “try that ginger outfit” “Fuchsia is your color. Go for it”

The uncontrollable need to look young is more than ever. Even more than when you thought you was young. The times during you mid twenties when you thought its cooler to say you’re thirty and now with thirty looking like a long lost friend who dropped you years ago, you are left up in the air like a hot air balloon wandering without a sense of direction. You are expected to dress in a certain way, talk in a certain way and behave in a certain way. A way that would make you look and feel like the older person in a group or family. “You should be the responsible one. Your sister looks up to you” the mother says. “You should have a check on your cholesterol and BP. Go for regular checkups” says the colleague who did all of that with the free master checkup from work when he turned 35.

The times when you comb your hair in front of the mirror and more worried about finding a silver or two than worrying in getting the fishtail right. The times when we restlessly surf for anti wrinkle creams just to be sure that we do not reach to a point of being suggested the use of one. The times when we are supposed to be the responsible adult by advising the younger gen on being well mannered and career oriented. The times when we have to get our act together and look poised as a mother to the well behaved child. The times when having to reach forty becomes the biggest hindrance in getting to forty one. Times when you need to try so hard to not look who you are. The times when our favourite formal brand trousers do not fit our greedy hip anymore and we are in a dilemma whether to buy the next size or to go back home and start running for life.

In between all this, we also need to take time once a while to check if we are doing okay. If life is supposed to be this way. If we are traveling in the same path that we devised for ourselves a decade ago. Wondering where we lost all of it. Looking at the long gone crush and thinking if life would have been the same if he/she was around. If the marriage is going as planned. Should I continue being married. If the kids are doing good. If being single is going to be okay and not considered that you aren’t worthy for a relationship. If the promotion will happen this year. If buying a house is going to help in reducing my tax numbers. If having an alone lunch is creepy. If having lesser people to deal with makes you non-socializable. If saying NO will be considered rude.  If you are still a desirable catch for a twenty something guy. If having an affair will make you feel low on yourself. If being aimless at this age would be considered a loser.

So much pressure from the society to “live it”, Right? So much pressure to accept the fact that we are aging. Enough said on this on advertisements, media, blogs, and what more? So much said that, it feels like we are aging faster than the normal rate at which it should be heading at. The younger ones telling us that “you the older gen. Trends are changing” and the older ones telling us “You are the next gen and our lives were different” making you hang somewhere in the middle and wondering which ‘gen’ are we really in. It’s the neither here nor there sort of a thing.

But what is it that ‘we’, the mid-life crisis actually go through? Ever wondered? Between the chaotic next gen that is trying so hard to just there and the over analyzing older gen that is pulling us faster than a magnet, where do we belong? Or should we really belong anywhere? When the ‘trending now’ does not seem to resonate with what is trending in our mind. When the mid forties seem like the last level of temple run, we want to get there but then we are struggling so hard to survive the current level. The need for finding our foot in the one square foot mad mad world.

Be known this, if mid thirties is mid life than we are happy about having another thirty five to go. The fact that we are only half there is exciting and the adrenaline rush that there is another half that is waiting for us is even more exciting. We are finding our way. We aren’t there quite yet. No we aren’t. To those twenty something reading this, please don’t believe when people say mid-life crisis is scary. It is not. It sounds old. Throw it away through the window. When we say ‘we have been there’ we literally mean it.

We have grown in and out of relationships, its okay if you’re struggling hard to pay your bills, but please know that we are on the same page. The bills never change, the struggle never changes. It’s only the amount on the bill that is different. When you get where I’m now, I’ll leave notes for you to know that your journey will be different. You may handle this better than what I did or you may fall into pieces like I did. Either way, we have been there. Our view points on many things will differ from you, but it does not make us old, it only makes us slightly more experienced and bruised.

We still like vodka with chilly. We still party until four am. We still wear faded jeans. We still love showing off the new clothes. We still love all that you love. But, we like bigger things in life. We know what’s needed and what’s wanted and we know the difference between the both. We know all men ultimately want sex and women want it more. We know that there are some silvers peeping in to say hi but we will choose to show it off coz’ baby that’s the in thing at our age. We know we aren’t trending as much as you are, but we will watch what you are going to do.

We will watch you with hope and love.

We will watch you grow into being who we are.

We will watch you like a freshly seeded plant finding its roots to stay grounded.

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After being months in the making, it’s finally here! Every month, I will feature one book and its author on this page. If you have suggestions, please do comment below and I’ll be happy…

Source: Spotlight

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Hello sperm !


This is probably a first that a mother is talking to the yet to take a human form sperm. Well I thought let’s begin early. I want to tell you few things before I let you occupy my body. Because once you do, you sort of become my responsibility. You know the world that I live in, I’ll be called your mother. Your biological mother. The one who let you grow inside her only to unleash you to the cruel ugly world. I’m pretty sure you’re going to curse me later about that bit. You were happily swimming in your pool of life and thud, you need to make defisions between sky blue shirts and pink socks.

So here is the deal, I’m a working professional. I have crazy work schedules that fries my brain and dims my soul. I write. Most of the times. That’s all I do. During the day, i write to feed my stomach and during the night, I write to feed my heart. I’m going to be 36 and I haven’t met you yet. You must know the world is judging and mocking me already. Your sneaky grand aunts and uncles are asking if you are a healthy sperm and if I have a healthy pool to let you swim. Most of the times I ward the questions away. But sometimes it gets to me. It gets to me so much that I cringe and cry and shout. Not having a great uterus does not make me any less of a human. But hey, welcome to the real world. I’m having crazy mood swings than I used to. I like fewer people than I used to. I’m sorry but you gotta make peace with the fact that you won’t be having too many cousins to play with. Tada, may I introduce called dogs.

You should make peace with many things once you get out. Firstly with the society. You know the place I live in, there is a sect called people. A sect that you may not be aware of. These are are the people who have a laundry list of how I should be as a mother.

I must put you ahead of me. I must forego things I like to do. I must ensure that I’am around you 24×7 or at least think of you all the time. You must become the centre of my world. I need to plan my weekends based on how you want it to be. I need to compromise on sleep and sex. I need to make peace with being put into the ‘MILF’ category by a certain sect of people. These people are the ones who mock me for being fat but also stare at my big breasts. These people are the ones who will tell you what is wrong with you even before you figure out what the word wrong means.

Oh wait. Did I tell you about your father? He is a biker and a tourer. The coolest dad one could ask for. I have never seen a man who is as good hearted as him. If you turn out to be half as good as he is, I’d be glad. Did you know you have a big brother and sister? They are called Ritchie and Kalki. Unlike you, they have four legs that are full of fur and love. I may probably always put them ahead of you. I’m pretty sure they will love you more than anyone else.

I was also told that I must put all my life savings to make sure you get everything you want. If only your mother knew what savings even meant. *insert rolling eyes smiley*. I need to put you in a school which is the most competitive and makes sure children are classified based on grades. Also, do you know how bloody expensive, cheap education in India is? I wish you come with some pre paid card dude. I must also decide what graduation course you should study and pay for you to attend extra classes from grade 7 to top the school and get into the best universities. I must also make sure you are well taken care financially <heavy laughs> before you decide to start earning. And then I must tell you to marry and give me grandchildren.

But let me tell you, I ain’t all this. I’m not going to teach you any of this. What I will teach you is to differentiate jerks from the good ones. I will teach you how you should never take pride of your caste. You should understand what sexism and feminism means. You should respect people of all castes and communities. I will not raise you saying you’re a man so you can be how you want to be. I’ll teach you how to make a good morning coffee and you shall do so going forward. I’ll want to have some nights with my husband and you shall leave the room. I will have vacations to take and you will be taken care by someone trust worthy. I don’t want you to worship me. Don’t treat me like God. Don’t over do your love for me. Treat me with respect like how will treat a fellow human.

I will make sure you are comfortable. If you aren’t happy going to school, I will help you learn something else to keep you occupied. I will not tell you what to do and what not to do. I will not raise you like how I was raised. My mother’s world revolves around me and she has done nothing for hetslef. I’m not doing all that to you honey. I’ll be around you. I’ll tell you what clothes you look good in. If you like someone of the same sex, I’ll say yes. If u like someone of the opposite sex, I’ll say yes too. Your choice completely. Let’s not make one another a baggage or I must say, a dependency. Let’s live independently and happily. Let’s learn to live without one another.

I’ll be a kickass mom. Probably not the kind of mother defined by the society. But I’ll be what I need to be with you. I’ll be your mother and I’ll a be other things. It’s just another role I play in life. Just like how I love my writings, I will love you because you are my a piece of my work too. A piece that I will love, adore, cherish and let go at the right time.

Fly away son, I will not give you the wings but I will cut the branch you’re sitting on. That’s how you’ll grow and I’ll watch you grow from a distance. The distance between the waves and the shore.

I will keep rewriting this letter until I see you. I’m growing old and so are you. I may never be able to see you or maybe I will. I don’t know. But whatever the case maybe, please be known that your father and I love you.

For now, happy swimming.

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I refuse.

Apples 200/- a kilo, he said at the supermarket. Little did I know, mine was on display too.
As the merciless wind blew my golden glazed saree for my bosom to show, he had forgotten they were the same place that quenched his infant thirst. The ones his mother shared with him with a hope that he would look at them with respect, not objects on sale.

I’am not a phoenix. I’am not a parrot.

I’am not the moon. I’am not the sun.

I’am not the sita. I’am not the dhasi.

Lipsticks, cheek stains and pretty pearls. With my hair bouncing in its new curls. Malls are a great place to shop, or so I thought.
Until you snapped me, pressed my core and the stains touched my lips and soul.

I’am not an angel. I’am not the devil.

I’am not a barbie. I’am not a catwoman.

I’am not spilled paint on the floor. I’am not the graffiti on the wall.

Red embroidered dress. Hair plaited prettily with eyes twinkling divinity.
As I look up to my counterpart with pride. With my hands held in complete meditation, you grab my hips for your minor erection.
I stand there watching hope take a U turn. Oh woman, don’t you see what’s happening to me? Stone hearted, are you? Oh well, I see.

I’am not a goddess. I’m not a gothika.

I’am not your poison. I’am not your elixir.

I’am not the wild orchid. I’am not a pile of trash.

As the clock struck nine, just like the hardworking bee, I flap my wings to conquer the world.
As dreams and desires like a well painted canvas, I walk with success sitting on my shoulder. Only to be known the other touched by you. A part of me died, with it hope too.
I’am not the light. I’am not the darkness.

I’am not good. I’am not evil.

I’am not a doormat. I’am not the temple bell.

I’am not your mother. I’am not your sister.

I don’t need to be.

I refuse to be in the hierarchy of this patriarchy. I refuse to be held responsible for being who I need to be. I refuse to be a goddess. I refuse having to confess.
I refuse to walk in fear. I refuse to shed another tear.
I refuse to be the mannequin by the window. I refuse to be your shadow.
I refuse to slavery.
I refuse to lead the way. I refuse to be the role model of your dreams.

I refuse to play any other role other than being ME.

I refuse.

I refuse.

I refuse to submit.
I refuse to succumb.
I refuse the silence.
I refuse to go back to my creator without a soul.

All I ask for you is to treat me like human.
Treat me like you would treat yourself.
Let’s coexist. Let’s create humanity together.
Let’s. Let’s be who we were meant to be.
Let’s. Just be.

Let me just be ME.

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You baby, is not my poetry!

You love, is not my poetry that makes it to open mic. You are the crumpled piece of paper that supports my unbalanced balcony chair.

You are not my poetry that gets me applause. Honey, you are the hidden meaning that fills the gap between the sentences that lack grammar and dont rhyme.

You are not my poetry that goes up on my Facebook wall. You are the broken antique photo frame with a chipped corner that reflects my ugly broken soul. 

You are not the poetry that rhymes with thyme. You are the sound of the rain water drops that seep from my cracked ceiling.

You are not my poetry that goes well with brandy and burnt candy. You are my bar of dark bitter chocolate that soothes me during my period days. 

You sweetheart, are not my poetry that sweaters the burning soul. You are the early morning fog that covers my orange colored rusted sky.

You my darling, are not the poetry that fills my empty nights. You are the 1 am hot cuppa that puts my chaotic thoughts to sleep.

You are not the poetry that talks about the sun, the moon or the beauty around. You baby, are my poetry that heals the crack under my feet.

You sweetie is not the poetry that hangs in the store with pretty pastal laces beneath the shelf ‘pretty for petite’. You are the poetry sitting on my finger tips that journeys inside me through nights that are rough. 

You my all, is not the poetry that flows like a bottle of champagne at at fancy restaurant. You are the bottled up poetry that I leave to float through the canals of my blood flow.

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Being a TamBrahm by Sharada

We Are Tambrahm

Blog post written by Sharada Subramanian

Aathule ellarum epdi iruka…?

Well, being a Tam-Brahm, I had to start it this way no? 🙂 I dint know that being a Tam-Brahm is supposed to be so swag and ended up becoming a cult by itself.  I mean, all my friends raise eyebrows and give that smirkish wickedly smile when they know I’m a Tam-Brahm and I wonder if that’s good or bad…!

Whenever I read a name that ends with Subramanian or Narayanan, it brings a smile on my face and that’s just so silly but yet so Tam-brahmismly nice! 🙂

If you are a Tam-Brahm and you’re single, you are the most pitiful and disaster-prone soul on mother earth…!! The chances of getting killed by a maami in a social function is much more than getting killed by a raccoon or watching a power star movie. It’s better to stay put indoors…

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Friends with benefits.

I have written about infidelity, the third partner, the other woman, Live-in relationships, marriage etc…but never have I found a relationship as complex and interesting as the one of ‘friends with benefits’. The more you think about how it needs to be played upon and how it is conceived to be, the more irresistibly complex it becomes. I don’t know whether to applaud the concept of this or to cry over the consequences of this.

There are dozens of articles on the Internet that explains what ‘friends with benefits’ is all about. The Do’s and Dont’s of the relationship. The consequences of it. So much said and even more written about.

I don’t want to bore you by talking about the same old beaten up points time and again. Let’s pause for a second and retrospect this. Each of us have that one friend who means hell a lot to us and also irresistibly hot that you want a physical relationship too. True? But friends with benefits is not only about that. We meet someone, talk, come up with more similarities than differences, meet for coffee, go on movie marathons with the gang and so on.

In the course of time, there will always be that one friend who becomes more closer than the rest. True no? That one friend to who you would open up a bit more. That friend could be a friend introduced to you by your friend. He/she would have joined the gang through another common friend but that tiny tiny spark between the two as days go by, hits on to you. You just don’t look at him/her as a friend but a little beyond. You dress up well to get noticed. You check him/her out during a house party. But, mind you, this is not someone you fall for but have that friendship tag intact but slowly start liking them physically too. True?

He/she need not be drop dead gorgeous. Need not have a godly body. It’s more about that instant connect and the similarities of mind-set that woks along the way. That’s the major difference between this relationship and falling in love/sex partners. Because the above stated startd with the body but ‘friends with benefits” only gradually gets there. Beautiful no? 🙂

It starts off on a very nice tone. The him and her in the relationship understand the boundaries and what’s in it for them. They understand where the relationship stops. They get real and matured about it. But, do you know when it starts to get fucked up? When either of the partners begin to own the relationship. Women usually have the tendency to own anything they touch. From MAC to Men. They think it’s theirs. Men on the other hand don’t even own their mistakes. (Pun intended).  It’s this basic ethos of both the gender that sparks the beginning of many misunderstandings.

It becomes difficult for the women to hear the man say that he liked someone at work. He went on a dinner date. He kissed a girl in the pub last night. The woman gets all emotional. The “how could you do this to me” phase starts. When a married man does all the above in today’s time, expecting the man in a non commitmental relationship to display monogamy is being plain brutal unfair to him.
When was it agreed to be mutually exclusive?

Having said this, I think that women, want that sense of security in a relationship to be able to hold on to. They need those words of attachment from the other gender to reaffirm that things are fine. It’s partly because they go on the trip of guilt of having sex with a man who is neither a boy friend or a husband. They aren’t sure if this is right or wrong. They aren’t sure if they would be tagged as a slut for this. Let’s agree that this isn’t a socially acceptable relationship (yet). It’s even more difficult explaining it to someone who does not understand the concept of it. They would question you immediately ‘so he is just screwing around?’ ‘Is he using you?’ ‘I don’t think you should do this’ ‘it’s time you speak to him some serious stuff’. They make you question your belief system on the whole thing. You come out more confused than what you were.

Stop having the thought of wanting to take it to the ‘next level’. There is no level here. It’s not like Tiramisu to have layers. It’s plain good old curd rice. What you see is what you get. There is no surprises of cutting it open and having chocolate ooze from the middle. No drama of that sort. It’s actually a beautiful relationship. Don’t kill it in the name of commitment.

Don’t have that constant need to take it forward. The beauty of this is to gradually grow and yet be stagnant in terms of where it needs to be.
Don’t trivialise the relationship because it does not evolve to be legal. Don’t look down upon it because there is sex involved. We, especially women have this strong urge to link sex and commitment to be one. WRONG. Need not be. That does not make you a slut. Don’t look low at the relationship. Give it the respect it demands. Give your ‘friend’ the respect he/she deserves. This is not your 3 am friend whom you talk for hours.

Imagine the level of comfort you get to share at both an emotional level as a friend and a physical level as a lover. It’s a rare combination. Imagine the freedom of calling a friend at 3 noon and telling her/him that you are in the mood for Sex and you want him/her to help you masturbate because you need it. It’s okay to cuddle one another after a passionate love making. Don’t start to link every action or a feeling to wanting to be committed to it. It’s the level of love and comfort that one carries to be able to show it.

Imagine the same friend whom you cry to for a tiff you had with your boss. It is a fabulous relationship. Don’t complicate it. Don’t have that ever dying need to take it forward. It is not meant to. It is meant to stay where it is. Enjoy the sex. Enjoy the emotions. Enjoy the fights. Enjoy the love. Enjoy the certainty of it all. It is a relationship that allows you to be who you want to be without being judged upon. It is one which gives you the comfort that is not quite possible to find even with your legal partner. Don’t spoil it by being emotional about it. Relax. Breathe in. Enjoy it.

If your friend has fallen in love with someone else, celebrate that. Be happy. Be genuinely happy. If he/she wants to move away, wish them well. Don’t make the entire relationship a mockery by trivialising it. Treat it with respect and love that it deserves . I bet that it will turn out to be a life changing one.