The Amateur Writer

If you are someone who knows me well, you probably know how delusional I can get sometimes when it comes to love. My idea of love for the longest time has been something like this: Someday there will be a man who sees me smiling, laughing, or dancing, and in that one moment he will just know. He will fall in love with me, and the rest will be history. Yes, yes. I know what you are thinking. Honestly even I am thinking the same :P PRACHIIIIII, YE SAB REAL LIFE ME NAHI HOTA. And I do agree!!!! I would, however, like to blame Bollywood for at least part of this delusion. Our heroes have spent decades falling helplessly in love because someone's dupatta got stuck in their watch, because she turned around in slow motion, or because the wind conveniently decided to cooperate at exactly the right moment. Real life, unfortunately, appears to have significantly worse production design (Oops!) But if you strip away all the dramatic background music and flying dupattas, I think there is somet...

                                                                   Hello! Long time no see folks  :') I thought I was coming to Lisbon for two months (Well 56 days to be precise). I didn’t expect it to change how I leave it. Before coming to Lisbon, I wrote about stepping out of my comfort zone. I wrote about trembling steps, unfamiliar streets, new rooms that had not learned my name yet, and the strange fear of walking into a life that could reshape me. At the time, I was standing on the edge of change. Now, somehow, I am standing on the edge again. Except this time, the fear feels different. Just two weeks left for me to fly back to Singapore and honestly, I don’t know what to feel. When I first came here, I thought this part would be simple. I imagined that as the days passed, I wou...

The horizon shifts, and suddenly you’re staring at the unknown again. We’ve all heard it: “Step out of your comfort zone.” Sounds so simple, right? Except it isn’t. Because leaving your comfort zone isn’t a single leap. It’s a thousand small, trembling steps, each heavier than the last, each one asking you to trust yourself when the ground feels uncertain. And the truth is, you never really arrive. Every time you think you’ve reached solid ground, the horizon shifts, and suddenly you’re staring at the unknown again. Your heart pounds, your palms sweat, your stomach twists into knots, and you wonder if you even have what it takes. The person standing on the edge of change is often the one they once longed to become. And yet, even when that version finally arrives, leaving behind the familiar is never easy. There is a quiet pride in how far the journey has gone, but also a subtle grief for the version left behind. The cracks that once held old fears, the places that once felt too tight ...

Baby Prachi says Hi! Present-day Prachi says Hi but with swag!                                                      When I was younger, Women’s Day barely registered. It was just another date on the calendar. No excitement, no reflection. Honestly, I didn’t think it would ever matter to me. Maybe that’s because I didn’t see myself as part of the story yet. I wasn’t really a woman, just someone who would grow into one someday. Now, in my mid-twenties (well, technically I’m 24, so one more year to go, ahahahaha), the day feels different. It’s not about celebration, flowers, or hashtags. It’s about reflection. About taking a moment to think about how much I’ve changed, and how my idea of what it means to be a woman has shifted over time. Growing up, being a “good woman” seemed simple. Polite, responsible, respectful, never rocking the boat, never disappoint...

When I was a kid, I was in a relentless hurry to grow up. I would often bug my parents, and how can I forget my elder brother? Hahaha. He is eight years older than me, and I remember wishing I were older, just like him. I’m sure many of you felt the same way back then. Baby Prachi says Hi! To me, growing up was a glamorous heist. It meant the "Big Bag"... a leather vessel of secrets and power. It meant earning money so I could finally walk into a store and buy the largest chocolate bar without looking at my mom for a nod of approval. Adulthood was the promised land of "Yes." But now, that now i am about to enter in my mid-twenties, the "Big Bag" is on my shoulder, and it’s heavier than I ever imagined. Not because of what’s inside it, but because of what I had to leave behind to carry it. The "Grey" Reality I often ask myself: “Is this the version of life I was sprinting toward?” The answer isn't a simple "no," but it’s a complicat...

It’s been two years since I landed in Singapore, and trust me when I say that the Prachi who boarded that flight from Delhi on July 24, 2023, isn’t the same Prachi writing this today, on August 18, 2025. This isn’t just about change, it’s about choice. Every step, every struggle, every leap outside my comfort zone has shaped the Prachi I chose to be . It’s been a while since I last wrote here, and a lot has happened in the past year. These experiences have molded me into the woman I am today. Now that I finally have a few days to relax before my new job begins, I thought it was the perfect time to share my journey. Maybe some of you will see a bit of your own story in mine. Settling In: Home Comforts Vs Independence When I first came to Singapore, I had never truly left home before (yes, I was a day scholar during undergrad, #sedlyf). Moving out for the first time, to a different country with a different culture, education system, and even a new subject, was daunting. For someone w...

Ever since I can remember, whenever travel dreams came up, the usual suspects popped into everyone's heads: Agra, Jaipur, exotic destinations abroad. But my answer, met with raised eyebrows and playful jabs, was always, "Bihar!" Maybe it wasn't the most glamorous choice. I hadn't even lived there for more than short childhood visits. My family, like many others, had moved on for better opportunities. Yet, a powerful yearning tugged at my heart. It wasn't about famous landmarks, but a connection I couldn't quite grasp. My yearly ten-day vacations were precious. While my parents, a little weary of nostalgia, might have rolled their eyes at my pleas, Bihar held a magic they couldn't understand. It wasn't just the familiar Chhath Puja celebrations or the comfort of Maithili, my mother tongue. It was the warmth of the people. In Delhi, where I have been brought up, everyone spoke in a clipped "mai" (I). But in Bihar, it softened to a welcoming...