Just Writing Stuff Down

Mirror Mirror on the wall, Who is the me-est of them all? Today I had an interesting discussion with Mumma about social media. About jealousy. About this constant one upping as if life has quietly turned into some never ending scoreboard where everyone is refreshing to check who is ahead. I agree that money matters. Fame can open doors. Influence can create opportunities that talent alone sometimes cannot. I am not pretending none of that counts. It does. We live in a world where visibility can change your life. But the real question is how much of it is enough before it slowly starts owning you instead of you owning it. This race we are all running, sometimes willingly and sometimes without even realizing it, does not end at fame. It does not end at money. It does not end at a blue tick or a brand collaboration or a story view count. After the fame comes comparison. After the comparison comes insecurity. After insecurity comes the desperate need to show that you are still winning. And...

Helloooo! It’s been nearly 1.5 months since I last wrote. Today, like most days, I have nothing to write about. And yet—because this blog has somehow made its way onto Facebook—there is  clearly  something written below. I genuinely don’t know what to talk about. So let’s talk Bridgerton. If you haven’t already watched it, I hope this post convinces you to do so. You know how there are some shows that mean absolutely nothing—pure drama, mindless romance—and yet they’re wildly addictive? Bridgerton is exactly that. An elegant orchestral piece blending classical Regency-era styles with modern sensibilities, dominated by violins and harp. The theme perfectly sets the tone for Netflix’s romantic, dramatic, contemporary, and scandalous take on London high society. It’s based on the Bridgerton books, but honestly, it’s one of those rare cases where watching is far better than reading. When the show first came out, I was younger and couldn’t care less about what happened to that one ...