leninfransat

[leninfransat]

In The Bubble

The politicians in India? A joke. They sit at the top of the food chain, Dumb, retarded people running the government, pulling strings they don't even understand. Their idea of leadership is just a performance; fake smiles, hollow speeches, and promises they never keep. They've got power, sure, but it's power over puppets, not real change. And the people? We're just bugs in their maze, scurrying around, doing what we're told, thinking what they want us to think. We don't have free will; we've forgotten what it feels like. We've been trained to follow, to bow to the caste system, to worship whatever god we're born into. We can't even question it. If we do, they call it rebellion. But it's not rebellion, is it? It's just asking for a choice. And that's something we don't get.

We're stuck in a bubble-each of us, a prisoner of our circumstances. They've built walls around us, not of brick, but of belief, of fear, of control. We think we have opinions, but they're not ours. They were given to us, wrapped in religion, caste, and the same broken promises we've heard a thousand times. We're so deep in it, we don't even realize we're suffocating. We look at the world, and all we see are mirrors. No room to breathe, no space to think for ourselves. Just the bubble, closing in tighter every day.

[leninfransat]

Absurdity Of Civic Sense!

Civic sense is a joke. Everyone talks about it—teachers, parents, friends but no one follows it. It’s the shiny and bright concept that people love to preach about but never put into practice. Schools, of all places, are where it’s shoved down our throats the most. We’re supposed to learn, grow, and understand our responsibilities. Yet, the very institution meant to shape us into decent human beings is where civic sense goes to die.

Take my school, for example. You’d think a place of learning would be a sanctuary of cleanliness, respect, and basic human decency. But no. Instead, it's a madhouse. Curtains with handprints smeared all over them, as if wiping your dirty hands on fabric is somehow normal. Blood all over the girls’ washroom, and no one says a thing. How does a place meant for hygiene become a battlefield for filth? Spitting in class, as if the floor is meant to be a garbage dump. The kind of behavior that makes you question whether some people are even aware they’re human.

And then there's the act of washing your hands not in the sink, but right by the window next to your seat, as if the corner of a classroom is somehow an acceptable place to perform basic hygiene. It’s not hygiene; it’s laziness. We’ve been taught to respect our surroundings, but all people do is contaminate them. The most shocking thing? The disregard for other people's space. Putting your hands into someone else’s food is just the cherry on top. It’s like people have forgotten the most basic rules of living with others: respect, cleanliness, boundaries.

Why is it that we are the loudest when talking about what should be, but the quietest when it comes to doing what needs to be? The irony is sickening. Civic sense isn’t some lofty idea. It’s just common decency. Yet, schools, places meant to nurture the future, are the most guilty of neglecting it. Teachers and students preach, they demand, they expect. But when it comes to actions, they’re nowhere to be found.

The problem isn’t in the words; it’s in the disconnect between what we say and what we do. We can talk about cleaning all day, but until we stop treating our environment like a dump, it’s all just noise. It’s easier to ignore, easier to let it go on, easier to be part of the cycle. Because as long as we talk about civic sense, no one really has to do anything. They just pass the blame and keep the excuses flowing. The truth is, we’ve been trained to follow rules only when it suits us, not because they’re right. And that’s the biggest joke of all.

[leninfransat]

My Speech & Thought

My thoughts hate my speech, respectfully-

In my head, I’m confident. The words come out smooth, clear, and exactly how I want them to. I can explain things perfectly, like the speakers I admire. Every thought makes sense, every answer is sharp. But when it’s time to speak, everything changes. The voice in my head disappears, and I’m left with nothing but a jumble of words that won’t come out right. It feels like there’s a wall between my thoughts and the words that should follow.

I know the answer. I can feel it in my mind. But when I’m asked to say it out loud, the words play a game of who gets to go first. They all crowd up in my mouth, fighting for attention, but none of them make it out clearly. It’s like I know what I want to say, but my tongue can’t catch up. I get stuck in my head, trying to organize the words that are spinning around, but they never come out the way I want them to.

It’s frustrating because the thoughts are there, loud and clear. But when it’s time to speak, I can’t get the words to follow in the right order. It’s like there’s a disconnect between what I know and what I can say. And it’s not just about speaking in front of people it’s the small things too. I can never explain myself without feeling like I’m fighting to make sense of it all.

The more I try to speak, the worse it gets. The words get stuck. I stumble over sentences, lose track, and end up saying less than I intended. It’s like my brain is way ahead of my mouth, and they can’t catch up with each other. I wish the voice in my head would match the one that actually speaks, but it never does.

I know the answers, but the words won’t follow. Maybe one day, they’ll line up. Maybe one day, my thoughts and words will sync. But until then, I’ll keep trying, even if it doesn’t sound perfect. Because I know the thoughts are there they’re just waiting for the right moment to come out.

[leninfransat]

A House Without a Home

For the last ten years since I’ve been old enough to understand things, to feel them, to know what’s missing my parents have been strangers to me. Not in the way that comes with time or distance, but in the way that makes love feel like a language I was never taught. They gave me everything except the things that mattered. A roof, but no warmth. A name, but no belonging. Their presence, but never their hands reaching for me first.

People look at me and assume I was raised in love because my family has wealth, because my house is big, because I don’t lack the things that can be bought. But money is just a curtain, it hides the cracks, the emptiness, the years of being unseen. It hides the fact that my parents, the two people who should have made me feel safe, made me feel like an after-thought instead.

I learned early that speaking didn’t mean being heard. That crying didn’t mean being held. That needing something didn’t mean I’d get it. So, I stopped asking. I stopped waiting. I let the distance grow, let the silence settle in, let myself fade into the background of a life that never really felt like mine.

Through all this, I started having the urge to escape; escape from this hellhole, this house that never was a home. I felt confused, lost in a space that felt too big and too empty. I’d stand still, wondering if I was the one broken, but all I saw were walls closing in. I began to feel like a stranger to myself, like something didn't align, like I wasn’t even sure who I was anymore. Maybe I was strange, maybe I was just too much. But deep down, I knew I was just another complicated, unstable solution lost within the chemistry of the house; no one really caring if I ever found my way out.

I grew up in a house, but I was never at home. I had parents, but I was never someone’s child. I existed in their world, but I was never a part of it. Just a shadow moving through the halls, learning how to be alone long before I ever had a choice. They wanted me to be a part of their lives, but only in the way that served them. A piece that fit into their routine, but not a person who could question or feel. I wasn’t meant to be their child; I was just a machine to endure, to keep going, no matter what random thing happened next. I was meant to take whatever came my way, without ever needing more, without ever asking for more. I was human, yet I felt less like one. Maybe the blame goes to the conscience that I developed by the time I was nine, but whatever it was, it was never something that could make me feel like I belonged. Just a place I was meant to exist in, but never truly live.