In the last five years of writing this blog, I’ve become a full time writer, changed profoundly as a person and while I documented some of it, much of it remained undocumented for the fear of my parents laying their hands on any of it and having to explain everything I hadn’t told them about myself.

We’ve all been there – the pretentious virtual life that aligns with our parents’ ideals and expectations. Painting a story of our lives, leaving out the bits they would disapprove of and telling them only things they want to hear. I lived it for 25 years. Not because they wanted me to. They’re wonderful people with enough problems of their own to bother me too much. My parents give me space and a home and they raised me to create whatever life I want for my self.

It’s because as a person I’m not someone who bothers people with the beautiful mess that my life can sometimes be. I deal. It helps me grow and understand things. It’s how I’ve chosen to be. You can’t hide it though from the people you live with and the harder you try, the harder it gets.

My mom is a hindi teacher and we talk about some really high level shit in glorious poetic hindi sometimes. It’s one of my most favorite things to do. I cherish the no fuss relationship I have with my parents and have no complaints but we’re not that family who hugs all the time and laughs and cries together. We like to chill the fuck out, basically.

Mom and I have the most surreal conversations about marriage and life and gays and parenting and literature. She brings the perspective of an old fashioned liberal – passively romanticising traditional values and I’d like to think that I bring some modern day reason and scientific logic to the table. They are riveting and deep but I never discuss my personal life with her.

One day, shortly after turning 25, the proverbial quarter life crisis began to hit me as advertised and my life began to quickly fall apart, for no fault of mine. It was tough; I met with an accident, got dumped a few days later, and even though I tried really hard to keep it together, I was in so much pain and my mom did not know any of it. Or so I thought.

But they always know. She came to my room one morning after I hadn’t eaten anything the day before and asked me calmly why I’m pushing her away. That she just wants to know, that’s all. I started off resisting her as usual but then something really amazing happened.

I told her about the break up. And the one before that too. Not in great detail but sincerely. She listened, without doing or saying anything I was afraid she might do. In that moment, I realised that I’m an adult now and I do not fear my parents in the slightest. I respect them and love them and they know that. I overcame what is possibly my single greatest fear in life – disappointing the people who raised me because of the choices I made in life. I felt invincible.

So now I’ve decided to make this a real blog. Where I bore you with silly anecdotes like these and deal with my shit. If you read this and liked it, you don’t know what you’re signing up for.