iam-inara

[iam-inara]

Generational curse

I want to breathe.

Like really breathe,

Not this shallow shit I’ve been doing since I learned that love comes with conditions and freedom is a fairytale.

I wanna run,

But my legs are tied to responsibilities I didn’t volunteer for.

Tension thick in the air,

like walking through smoke every damn day.

You breathe it in,

choke a little, smile anyway.

Living under the same roof

You're not allowed to leave,

feels like drowning in a house with no water.

but God forbid you ask for space.

You're ungrateful. You're rude. You're selfish

They say “we did everything for you”

But forget to mention the emotional debt they handed me like a fucking inheritance.

I didn't ask to be born in their idea of sacrifice and control.

And their audacity to say “Beta, sab tumhare liye hi toh kar rahe hain.”

But who’s doing it for me?

Who carries me when I’m breaking?

Who even notices?

It's a mindfuck—loving the people who hurt you,

craving their approval while resenting their control.

And the worst part?

You still feel guilty for thinking any of this.

It’s fucking heavy.

Carrying the guilt like a second skin

peeled off, but it always grows back.

That's the trap.

That’s the goddamn generational curse

we’re too tired to break,

but too aware to ignore.

[iam-inara]

𝗪𝗵𝘆 𝗖𝗮𝗻'𝘁 𝗜 𝗕𝗲 𝗛𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺?

I fucking hate this feeling. This ugly, twisted knot in my stomach that tightens every time someone else is happy, every time someone else achieves something.

I smile, I say all the right things—“I’m so happy for you!” —but inside?

Inside, I feel like a bitter piece of shit. Because the truth is, I’m not happy for them. I’m envious. I’m jealous. And I hate myself for it.

What kind of person can’t be happy for the people they care about? What kind of friend, family member, or partner feels a sting every time someone else wins? It’s messed up, right? It’s pathetic. But I can’t help it. I see them living their best lives, accomplishing their goals, and instead of celebrating with them, I’m stuck thinking,

“Why can’t that be me?”

“Why am I always the one left behind?”

It’s like every success they have is just another reminder of how much I’m failing. Another reminder of all the things I 'haven’t' done, all the places I thought I’d be by now but I’m not. Their joy, their achievements... it’s like it shines a spotlight on everything that’s wrong with me.

And I hate it. I fucking hate it, because I should be better than this. I should be supportive. I should be grateful for the people in my life. But instead, I’m sitting here wallowing in my own self-pity, feeling like a worthless piece of shit because I can’t seem to be genuinely happy for anyone. And it’s not even their fault. They didn’t do anything wrong. They’re just living their lives, doing what they’re supposed to do.

It’s 'me' I’m the problem. I’m the one with this disgusting jealousy eating me alive from the inside out.

I try to tell myself to stop, to just be happy for them like a normal fucking person. But every time, that resentment creeps in. It whispers in my ear, telling me that I’ll never have what they have. That I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not lucky enough. And I hate it. I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I’m so focused on my own bullshit that I can’t just let them have their moment without making it about me. The guilt is suffocating.

It clings to me, choking me, reminding me that I’m selfish, that I’m a bad person for feeling this way.

I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be the kind of person who resents their friends for finding happiness, who feels bitter when someone else succeeds.

But here I am. Stuck in this cycle of jealousy and guilt, jealousy and guilt, over and over again. And the worst part? I can’t talk about it. I can’t tell anyone how I really feel, because

what kind of monster says, “I’m jealous of your happiness”? What kind of friend admits that they secretly wish they had what you have?

So I just bottle it up. I plaster on that fake smile and pretend like I’m okay, like I’m genuinely thrilled for them. But inside, it’s killing me. It’s eating away at me. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to be happy for them without comparing myself, without feeling like their success is somehow a reflection of my failure. I wish I could just be happy for them. I wish I didn’t feel like this. But the truth is

I’m struggling. I’m drowning in my own envy, and it’s turning me into someone I don’t want to be.

Why can’t I be happy for them?

I don’t know. I really don’t.

Maybe I’m just broken inside. Maybe I’ll always be chasing something I’ll never have. And maybe, deep down, I’m scared that I’ll never be enough to deserve that kind of happiness for myself.

[iam-inara]

कहानी abhi baaki hai, likh rahi hoon apne alfazon se.

[iam-inara]

Sab ko sab nahi milta

There are moments when life feels like a puzzle. Each piece has its place, but somehow, I can’t seem to find where mine fits. We all search for something — love, success, or just peace — but how often do we get everything we want?

I remember sitting quietly one evening, the sky was fading from a warm orange to a deep blue. I thought to myself: why is it that some people seem to have everything, while others wait endlessly for even the smallest joys? It’s as if life has its favorites, and I’m left on the sidelines, wondering when my turn will come. I’ve met people who have everything I dream of—love that doesn’t falter, careers that blossom, smiles that aren’t just masks for their pain. Yet here I am, caught between wanting more and convincing myself that this is enough. But is it really? Is it wrong to want what seems just out of reach?

People tell me to be patient, to trust the process. But patience has its limits, doesn’t it? Sometimes, the waiting becomes too much. Sometimes, it feels like the heart can’t bear another day of disappointment. And so, I sit with this ache, pretending it doesn’t hurt, but knowing deep down that it always will.

There are nights when the silence is too loud, and my thoughts—those endless, nagging thoughts—remind me of everything I don’t have. I want to believe that life has more for me, that the things I want will eventually come. But as time passes, that hope fades, replaced by a sinking feeling that some things are just never meant to be. And I tell myself that I don’t need everything to be happy. That it’s okay to have gaps in my life. But then, in those quiet moments when I’m alone, the truth hits hard: "Sab ko sab nahi milta," and maybe, just maybe, I’m one of them.

And perhaps, that’s the hardest truth of all.

[iam-inara]

Anklet or dream?

I opened my eyes suddenly, feeling something cold against my ankle. Confused and still half-asleep, I glanced down and heard the soft jingle of anklet bells. There he was, sitting at my feet, holding an anklet. He was so focused on fastening it that he didn’t realize I had woken up. The way he worked on the tiny clasp, it was like he was trying to solve a puzzle much bigger than that little anklet. When his knuckles brushed my skin, a spark shot through me, and I instinctively pulled my foot back.

Our eyes met. In that moment, I felt like I could get lost in his brown eyes forever. He raised his brow, a questioning look on his face, “Why did you move?” How could I possibly tell him that his touch was making my heart race in ways I didn’t understand? “Tum is tarah mere pairon mein achhe nahi lagte,” I mumbled, still too flustered to say more.

Without saying a word, he gently took my foot, placing it back on his lap, and carefully fastened the anklet. As he clasped it, I heard the soft chime of the bells again, making my heart skip. Then, he reached for the second one. But just as I thought he was done, he did something unexpected—he kissed my ankle, sending a wave of heat through my body.

Before I could react, he cupped my face and leaned in. His breath mixed with mine, and I could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat as it matched the racing of my own. We were so close that our noses touched, and if either of us moved even a little, we would kiss. And then it happened—I felt his lips on mine. Soft, yet demanding. I didn’t respond at first, too stunned to move, but then he bit my lip gently, and I gasped. He took that moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting mine. I melted into him, the pleasure of his touch making me forget everything else. I closed my eyes, wanting to stay in this moment forever.

But then it was gone. His warmth, his touch, his lips on mine, his heavy breathe everything disappeared. I opened my eyes, and my room was dark and empty. No trace of him, no anklets on my feet, no jingling bells. I was back in my bed, wide awake now, realizing that it had all been a fucking dream. He was a dream!

[iam-inara]

Am I okay? From my journal

No, I’m not.

I keep trying to be happy, but deep down, I don’t want to feel anything. I’m exhausted from pretending that everything’s fine when it’s really not. Even when things seem okay, there’s this constant feeling that something’s off, like something’s missing, but I don’t know what.

Am I bipolar? I don’t know. Some days, I feel so disconnected from myself, like I’m just going through the motions, not really living.

I’m not okay with these unresolved feelings I’m still holding for that person and I’m definitely not okay with things not going the way I planned.

No matter how hard I try, I feel stuck in this loop of frustration disappointment. I keep saying I’m okay because it’s easier than explaining all this, but…

am I really?

[iam-inara]

ᴀᴘᴘʟʏɪɴɢ ɴᴀɪʟ ᴘᴏʟɪsʜ ɪs ᴄᴏᴏʟ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ʜᴇɴɴᴀ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀɪʟs?

[iam-inara]

I feel like doing nothing— just lying down, crying, and sleeping ♡

But another part of me wants to lose weight, dress up, do my makeup, and live like a main character. I want to dance, sing, delete all my social media, disappear, and never return. And yet, I also feel like doing nothing at all!!

[iam-inara]

Do I?? From my journal

Last year, I visited my grandma's place—a beautiful small town with sprawling farms, endless greenery, and scenery that took my breath away. I truly cherished my time there. I've always been an admirer of the sky, the moon, and the embrace of nature.

It was the end of the July, and the monsoons were approaching their peak. I was sitting on our terrace as the sun began to set. Birds were flying back to their nests, and the air was filled with a calmness that felt like a warm hug. I looked up at the sky; it was changing colors—red, orange, blue, pink, and a bit of purple. I wondered why these colors only showed up during the rainy season or at sunset.

I went downstairs and sat beside my grandma, who was playing with my little cousin. I asked her, "Dadi, yeh aasmaan apna rang kyun badalta hai?" (Grandma, why does the sky change its color?)

A sweet smile spread across her face, but her attention was still on my cousin, who was nibbling on some chocolate. "So you notice?" she replied, now fully looking at me.

"Yes, I notice the changing colors, and I wonder why. Is there any reason behind it? A story, perhaps?" I asked eagerly.

She chuckled softly and said, "It's said that in the rainy season, these colors hint to the farmers that rain is near, so they can prepare to sow their seeds." She stood up from the charpai and continued, "And these colors are like the seeds of rain themselves."

"But Dadi, I don't see any scientific reason in that story. How am I supposed to believe it?" I questioned.

"Not everything needs science, my dear. Sometimes, believing in stories is what makes us happy, and you don’t need proof to be happy" she replied.

I shrugged it off playfully and helped her close our small shop. I took my cousin into my arms as we walked outside.

"Let's go home; it looks like it might rain," Grandma observed, glancing at the sky.

"It's okay, Dadi; it won’t rain. We can sit beneath this tree for a while. It’s so beautiful," I insisted.

We sat on the rocks in our courtyard, feeling the calm of the evening settle around us.

"Do you know there's another story about this?" Grandma asked, her voice teasingly soft.

"About what?" I asked, curious.

"The sky changing its colors," she said with a knowing smile.

"Really? Are you going to tell me?" I leaned in, eager for more.

"But you always want a scientific reason for everything," she teased.

I smiled, raising my hands in surrender. "Okay, I promise I won't question it. Can you tell me now?"

She took a deep breath, her eyes searching the sky. "It's said that the sun and the sky are lovers, and when they meet at the horizon at sunset, they express their love through these different colors. The colors show how beautifully the sky welcomes the sun."

"So, it's a love story?" I whispered, my heart fluttering at the thought.

She looked at me, her eyes warm. "Do you believe it?"

"I—" I started to reply, but then I felt a cool drop on my hand, and another on my face. It was raining.

"See, I told you it would rain," Grandma laughed softly, taking my cousin by the hand. "Come inside before you catch a cold."

As I stood there, looking up at the sky, I wondered,

"Do I believe? In love? In stories? Do I?"

[iam-inara]

I don't want him, if he can't adore me as I adore the moon and the sky✨🌙

[iam-inara]

Khandar ban chuke hain woh ghar, jinme kabhi sapne saje the. Aur rishte... woh ab bhi zinda hain, bas dheere dheere waqt ki gard tale dab rahe hain.

Purane ghar aur purane rishte, shayad ek jaise hi hote hain – dono ko sambhal ke rakhna padta hai, warna waqt unhe khandar bana deta hai.

[iam-inara]

Fuck you the number of times you broke my 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 ♡

[iam-inara]

Sometimes

I wish to vanish even from myself

[iam-inara]

What blog are u seeing around here of rich kids?? Mostly everyone is middle class here

Let's not discuss that rn, can we?

[iam-inara]

Just fuck off —

[iam-inara]

Living my life the way I want ♡ ✨🌸🪐

28.08.2024

[iam-inara]