Why You Should Really Stop Asking Us To Make You A Sandwich.

There was a post I saw, on Facebook, that went:

“Why do girls get all bent out of shape when a man asks for a sandwich. When my girlfriend says, “Fix my car” or “Fix my computer”, I don’t claim it’s sexist. I fix her shit cuz I’m good at it. You’re good at making sandwiches. Next time a girl asks me to fix her shit, I’m just going to get offended and go, “Fix your own shit”. Let’s see who gets hurt more, me without a sandwich or you without a car.”

Tbh, I SNORTED OUT LAUGHING after I read…whatever this is.

Let me put some things into perspective for you:

  • If I, a woman, am a mechanic myself, I could “fix my own shit”. Maybe most of us do. But for some of us who can’t, when we ask you, it’s obviously because we cannot fix it and YOU, a man, happen to be a mechanic, thereby asking you to help us out.
  • The reason we claim, “Shut up and make me a sandwich” as sexist is obvious. As women, we ARE NOT ENTITLED TO MAKE YOU A FUCKING SANDWICH when you say stuff like, “You’re a woman. You can’t be doing this. Go make a sandwich.” like you’re telling me my place is in the kitchen.

It’s so funny, how you can blow this out of proportion without any sort of context, like. Wow. Your fragile egos baffle me.

The most profound lines of that mess of a post:

“You’re good at making sandwiches.”

Listen, dude. EVERYONE knows how to make themselves a sandwich. It’s literally just bread with cheese and veggies. HOW HARD IS IT FOR YOU TO DO THAT.

“Let’s see who gets hurt more, me without a sandwich or you without a car.”

I’d walk or take the public transport services available, thank you very much, and you can be hurt and starve, because you clearly don’t know how to make yourself a sandwich.

This feeling feels like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff – but I’m going home, now.

I am tired. So damn tired. Of everything. Of everyone. I’ve been dealing with this bad habit of not crying when things get to me, because I feel like if I do, I’m giving the other person the signal that, ‘yes. what you said/did just hurt me’. I know, it’s okay to cry sometimes, to feel awful, to feel terrible, because that helps us know and understand that we are human beings, and not robots, after all.

But, sometimes? Yeah, I don’t feel like crying. I don’t feel like curling up with my back against the wall, and letting it out. Not just for the reason mentioned above. But also because I AM tired. Tired of feeling this way. Tired of imagining scenarios that won’t happen — now, or in a million years. I’m so tired to actually let my tears out. I am so tired to be sad.

Instead, I feel like the weight of the whole world is on my chest. My heart feels very, very heavy and it’s also getting incredibly hard to breathe. It’s probably just that feeling people have when you’re over someone — the post episodes of ‘wow why did I actually’ and ‘wow we could’ve been amazing!’

It’s like, I feel like I am past all of this — like none of those feelings matter to me anymore, because good gods, that emotional baggage was too much for me to handle.

But, sometimes, when I sit alone, it really does get to me. Like, I start questioning my whole decision of letting go — which in turn, leads me to feel even more like crap, because hey, hey, hey! Guess what! He doesn’t like you anymore! He probably never did, and he definitely never will.

And that hurts. Like, genuinely, sometimes just thinking about it hurts you so much. Because in your head it’s all, “Was moving on the right option? Are you sure you let go? Was letting go the correct thing to do?”

But, hey, here’s the probable bright-side to this: I could meet someone better.

But here’s also the better outcome of this whole thing: I know letting go was the correct thing to do, I know moving on was the right option, and I know that I have let go.

And here’s the thing:

I am not the reflection of those who cannot love me.

This feeling will pass. I will be happy again, and I will smile when someone takes his name — not so that I can fake being happy all this doesn’t matter anymore, but genuinely knowing anything he does will have no effect on me, and I will literally not care. I will give that smile, and that day isn’t too far. 🙂

Untitled poem #1.

“We keep this love in a photograph. We made these memories for ourselves..” – Photograph, Ed Sheeran.

And it’s funny, how one photograph opens the gates to

a million memories, that I kept so deep within me.

I remember, when the days used to spin slow, we would sit

for hours, talk endlessly, like lovers.

 I can’t seem to picture now, what we’d be like,

because a part of me still holds on to what we were, maybe two years ago.

All that I have left of us are just bits and pieces of the happy we created, a run-down home,

songs that remind me of the days we danced in the rain.

And I’m trying so hard not to break down, in front of everybody

because the odds of things going back to the way were is so unfathomable.

I’m okay, but sometimes it gets a little too much to know we could’ve been

what we always thought we’d be.

So, if this is the last time I’m seeing you,

can you hold me in your arms, so I can have something to use?

(so I can remember what it’s like to feel at home?)

Something to create the something so profound, and beautiful

that I once lost, because, what if I never love another the same


“But if by chance you’re here alone, can I have a moment before I go? ‘Cause I’ve been by myself all night long, hoping you’re someone I used to know.” – When We Were Young, Adele.

Of fresh air and clean lungs.

I am more than what you think of me-

i may lose my balance once in a while, i

may lose the interest to fall in love all over

again, because i will admit, i am afraid,

afraid of being hurt, afraid of being walked

over, afraid of being left in the shadows, in the cold.

but, i will learn to light a fire and keep myself warm,

i will learn to fall in love again, maybe not with someone,

but with myself first, because i’ve learnt that you cannot love someone if you don’t love

yourself first.

i will not subject

myself to your unwarranted comments about me, i will not

pressurise myself into forced closure of the worst kind of

existential crises, that make me wonder why i even thought

you were, in any way, better than I am,

because i am the million

stars that guide me home to my heart,

i am the moon that still shines bright,

i am the sun that burns ferociously with a grace only few will


because i refuse to breathe in the pungent air

that reeks of things you and everybody else think of me,

and i refuse to let that corrode

my lungs, and taint the laughter that it

squeezes out with your ever-present negativity;

because I am more than what you think of me.

Time flies when you’re dealing with existential crises, eh?

So, uh. Heheh, the school is deciding on our last official day, and from Friday onwards it’s going to be back-to-back exams till like, the end of January.

It’s been pretty mixed emotions for me, these last few weeks, because I was sure that this final week of school or whatever was going to be a lot farther than I expected. Turns out, in the blink of an eye, we’re here, and now I don’t know what to do.

I’m happy, yes, that I’m out of this hellhole, and maybe college will just be less shittier. But, it’s hard having to stand in front of something so intimidating and overwhelming like college, with open arms. For so many years, I have thrown myself into the glorious void of doom a.k.a what is simply, just a lot of existential crises put together, where I have made myself comfortable and probably home. There is always that strong sense of inefficacious purpose of putting on that blasted, ugly, jailhouse uniform and wake up at 5:40 in the morning. In their own rights, they’re quite comforting, to the least.

Having conclusively resigning myself into whatever these last few months were going to be, I’ve landed myself in some pretty dark places, that involved bucket-loads of self-deprecation. (Prior and post-exams.) I’m not really sentimental, or the kind that romanticises my last day of school so much it becomes such a sob story, even an emotional person couldn’t bear. I have no qualms when it comes to declaring my lack of affection for my class, for my school in general and maybe, Accounts.

I get that everyone’s just on about missing their friends, teachers and other stuff like that. But the problem is, the people I actually will miss have either left the school, or are not graduating with me because they’re juniors, or are in different sections of the same grade, it’s hard to keep contact, or the handful of classmates who take their time out to be nice to me, and we don’t use the restroom that says, “Be gone or be dead” or something like that, anymore in white or red paint, so I think I’m allowed to be intentionally rude to anyone romanticising their last day of school.

Sadly, the amount of happy experiences I have gathered these last two years is just a handful compared to the ultra-mega-shitty experiences I have gathered. It’s quite annoying how the awful memories outnumber the happy ones. But in a way, they’ve been fun lessons to learn and a good way of reminding me to seriously just shut up about what he said or she said. Frankly, I couldn’t care less. You may now proceed to suck a bag of dicks, peasants, imbeciles, classmates or can also be tagged as the “Bane of my existence”.

I don’t know how things will pan out in the future. I don’t know where I’ll be. But I hope that, whatever I’m doing, wherever I am, I’m happy. Because I’ve made shitty choices in the past, and there are many more to make, but I just want to be happy doing what I’m doing.



Instructions of putting up a safety pin. 

With the cloth in front me,

My shaky hands reach forward

To hold that precious cloth

Before I put it together with a few

More pieces of the same kind

With only one pin I had.

And every bit of this reminded

Me of my heart, how I took

Bits and pieces of my hope,

Of my last shreds of dignity

And brought out of the pulpy

Mess, a heart so brand new.

So, when you’re putting the pieces

Together, when all you have is one

Pin, remember to slowly prick it

Through; not too hard and not

Too lightly, for it is fragile, because

Of the wear and tear, because of

Being worn out from all that

Loving, all that giving, and it’s

Exhausted because people are

Never gentle; and you only wished

They were.

So, take that pin and put together

Something beautiful and

Something so profound that will

Make you love harder,  make you

give more and make you

Believe that;

You can be put together, no matter

How many times someone pulls

You apart. 

A home for myself. 

I don’t feel like making myself home

Within people, 

I want to make myself home, in me

Where I can walk in and walk out 

Anytime I like, where I can find my 

Solace without having to worry about 

Isolating the other, where I can heal 

Myself without being asked why, 

Where I can fix my broken heart, 

And teach it how to love again. 

I want to be a home for myself.  

Letters to you #5

14 November 2016

Dear ______,

I’m so sorry that I haven’t written to you in so long. For a moment, I thought you didn’t want me to.

Hi. I miss you. Missing you has felt like placing the weight of the world on my chest. It’s been mad without you, and I only seem to take warmth in our memories when things get hard. Nostalgia hits me from nowhere sometimes, and I lose my balance temporarily. I miss talking to you on some days. On the other days, I just don’t seem to care. The usual consequence of your absence is just blankly staring at the walls, and losing the ability to breathe properly. But, it’s okay. People tell me it’s okay to miss you, that it’s okay to feel this way, because I’m human at the end of the day. But it gets hard sometimes, you know? knowing I can’t fully see you or properly talk to you or knowing you’re not around.

If I land up anywhere you are, in the coming months, I don’t know why, I think I’d walk the other way.

I’ve been torn apart by the mixed signals for far too long. I think it’s time you finally see she’s there, and I’m only in your hindsight. 

See you there, I guess?

Sincerely not yours anymore,


Deep talks with the penguin. (It is I, btw.)


We’re constantly only basing our happiness on positive happenings, and that’s just bad, because so much happens in our lives. And, I don’t know what it is about finding satisfaction and happiness in the chaos. I’ve always known grey was never an ordinary color.


How odd is it, that we’re almost always never doing things for ourselves? Everything is what he said, or she said. When have we ever stopped to think that,”I want to do this for myself”? I can’t say I haven’t done this myself, but at the end of the day, you are your only companion, and only you can pick yourself up.


When you find that you are your own best company, being so lonely isn’t really all that bad. It sounds so unlikely that you’d find company with your own self, but there’s never been a better companion than you, for you. It’s so underrated having to enjoy one’s own company.


I read somewhere that, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return.”


One of the things I’ve discovered of myself is that, sometimes it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to let it out, because feelings bottled in is so toxic and painful in its own ways. It’s alright to let the floodgates open. Fuck what people think.


Sometimes, it’s also okay to react just as much as a brick wall. It’s alright if the emotions just don’t come to you. Live and let live.


The people you’ve loved in the past are never mistakes. You loved them once. You might never love them again, you might never want to ignite that spark again. But, never count them as mistakes. They’re all memories, and most importantly, lessons you’d never forget in a life time. Lessons that tell us of our stories, of laughter, of sadness, of everything in between. It was once beautiful, and now just because that magic isn’t there anymore, it doesn’t reduce the rush, or the beauty, or the madness, or the chaos or the magic that was put in to make it what it was.

Rant number…..okay, fuck this.

From the ages of 8-12, I was undeniably yet arguably the most loud, brash and unapologetically annoying person anyone would have ever met. 

Since I turned 13, I resorted to becoming the reserved kind. But I still lashed out when necessary. 

I was 15 when I thought my whole life went down the drain. It turned out to be the exact opposite. Life was good. I just didn’t see it. 

I was 16 when things actually went down the drain. Right in front of my eyes. Piece by piece. Falling into an endless abyss of misery, I was flailing my arms to stay afloat. I had my heart broken in the worst possible way. I mingled with the wrong set of people. (Of course. *cue eye-roll*.) You know how incredibly frustrating it is, when a person acts like a nice person to cover their actual demeanour of the douchey-asshole they always were? I should’ve acknowledged the red-flags when they were blaring in a full and bright manner, in front of my face. I wouldn’t use the quote, ‘it’s better late than never’ in this situation, because realising how much of an asshole this piece of shit is, at this stage, was just a bad idea. 

And, since I can’t really do anything, the maximum I can do is blame myself for getting enamoured over their niceness, when really, this person is just a pathetic excuse for a human being. 

I’m 17 now, and a lot wiser than I apparently was. I’m an irritated, filled with rage 24/7, ready to punch people, full of angst, teenager. (Who can also be nice. I think. At least, that’s what my friends tell me.) (Just kidding. I’m nice. I like people. Well, some of them who are genuinely nice to me.) 

I’m stuck with classmates who think that standing up for myself against said person I’m so pissed at, is WRONG. 

Yes. You’re reading it right. People actually don’t like me, because I take a stand for myself everytime he passes a degrading comment at me. A little over a week ago, I had lost my shit completely, and decided that if the only way to talk to this person was through a Facebook status, I might as well make my point loud and very fucking clear. 

And I did just that. 

I posted a status that called the person out for behaving like an over enthusiastic and absolutely unnecessary entertainment website that made a big deal out of everything, and how it would be incredibly nice if he came and addressed his problem with ME personally, instead of blabbering utter trash from his mouth, with a lot of lies coated upon his ‘problem’ with me, to everyone in my grade. 

He saw it. (Someone had sent him a screenshot of my status) And the first thing I heard when I got to school was, 

“She used to be so nice. Now she’s posting statuses like that.” 

Just a protip, I am nice to everyone I see. I am nice when people are nice to me. So if I’m genuinely not talking to you, it’s one of the two; I’m lazy with this whole socialising thingammy or I genuinely don’t like talking to you, that I can’t be bothered.

It’s in my basic tendencies (or everybody’s, rather) to constantly want to prove myself right. There’s only upto a certain extent you can keep doing that, and I did. I reached that saturation point where it hit me that, those who mind this so called problem, don’t matter and those who don’t mind this so called problem, matter. 

In a way, what he’s doing does account to bullying and what my batchmates/classmates do, account to victim-shaming. And that is wrong. Absolutely wrong. I refuse to be blamed for being the target of bullshit. I refuse to apologise for things I’ve never done. I know, I’m nice, a bomb-ass unicorn, but, I will NEVER take the blame for your crap.

In conclusion, I will fight to death to get my point across. And I will do that by barely reacting to what his stupid ass is up to. You know? Just keep going on like this thing doesn’t bother me at all.

As for the rest of the easily mouldable ones, I hope you know I could really care less about what you think of me. I never gave a shit, and I still don’t give a shit.