> 2 May – Journal Entry
Day I Stepped Out Again
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I don't know why I'm writing this. Maybe to remember. Maybe to breathe. Maybe because for the first time in a long time, something inside me moved.
Maybe it was when I cracked that dumb joke in class and no one laughed — but no one mocked either. They just… heard me. A moment passed. Real. Not perfect. But real.
Maybe it was when I found a really good hiding place in a game of hide and seek — and nobody found me. Not because I was clever, but because they simply forgot. They started a new game while I was still hidden. I stayed there, alone, waiting. Hours passed. Till evening. I wasn't found — I was left behind.
Or maybe it was when I heard her laugh — not at me, not for me, but just because she felt like laughing. And I realized I hadn't laughed like that in years.
I think I used to be… normal. Whatever that means.
I used to run. Talk. Play. Be excited about birthdays. Cry when I scraped my knee and not when I overthought my future at 2 AM. I used to be someone who didn't need fantasy worlds to escape to — because reality itself was colourful enough.
And somewhere along the way — I don't know how or when — I started drifting.
Maybe it was the day those boys laughed when I got excited about something "uncool."
Maybe it was the silence that followed whenever I entered a group.
Maybe it was when I started believing I wasn't good enough for anyone real.
So I retreated.
To anime.
To web novels.
To games where I had power, friends, purpose.
Where I was the main character.
Where no one ignored me.
Where I could be loud without being "too much."
And then… I changed.
Slowly, but surely. I became that quiet guy. That odd one. That weirdo in the corner with wild dreams but no real voice. And worse — I started being rude to the only people who actually loved me.
My parents.
God, how blind I was.
My mom, who woke up before the sun just to pack my lunch.
Who came home from work, tired to the bone, and still asked me what I wanted for dinner.
My dad, who smiled at me every morning even if I never smiled back.
Who worked extra shifts to afford my tuition.
Who asked nothing in return.
And I… I treated them like obstacles. Like noise. Like… they didn't matter.
I remember once I screamed at my mom for interrupting me during a fight in a game.
I remember once I told my dad I don't want his "advice" because he doesn't get today's world.
But I remember more than that —
How they smiled even after being hurt.
How they looked at me like I was still that child they held in their arms.
Six pounds of soft skin, wrinkled fingers, and the whole damn universe in their eyes.
They didn't want me to be a topper.
They didn't want me to be a genius.
Okay maybe that's a lie
Maybe they said they didn't care if I topped the class — that all they wanted was for me to be happy and healthy. But maybe that was only part of the truth. Because didn't they still push me to sleep early, to stay off the screens, to stop drowning in anime at 2 AM? Not to control me, but to protect the mind they knew I'd need one day.
Didn't they still remind me to brush twice a day, to wash my face, oil my hair — not for some report card, but so I could feel at ease in my own skin? Didn't they still tell me to go play outside, not because they were irritated, but because they were scared I'd become a prisoner inside my own body?
They said they didn't care if I came first. But maybe they did care — not for themselves, but for me. Because they knew how brutally unfair this world can be when you fall behind. They wanted me strong, focused, capable — not to win, but to stand tall in a world that doesn't wait.
Maybe every time they scolded me for junk food, or skipped meals, or bad posture — they weren't being harsh. They were just holding on. Watching their child quietly fall apart and trying, in every small way, to keep the pieces from scattering.
And now, when I think about it… isn't that exactly what I would want, too? If I saw my younger self wasting time, drifting through late nights while exams crept closer — wouldn't I want to shake him awake? Wouldn't I beg him to train harder, not to be the best, but to become his best?
To move, to play, to sweat — not for medals, but for confidence. To study — not for marks, but for freedom. To stop throwing away time — not because someone said so, but because he deserved better.
Maybe I wouldn't change the love I received.
I'd just try harder to live up to it.
They just… wanted me to be okay.
And I wasn't.
Not because of them.
But because I ran away.
I chased fantasies where I'd be powerful — forgetting that real power is doing one small good thing when you feel like doing nothing.
I lived in stories where people fell for me — forgetting that real love is when someone cooks for you while their legs are aching from the day.
I envied heroes who saved the world — forgetting that my world was already saved the day my parents decided to give me everything they had.
I've wasted so much time.
So many years.
Living in fake worlds because the real one had a few cracks.
I kept waiting for something big to happen.
Some twist.
Some miracle.
But today… I realized maybe the miracle is just waking up, doing five pushups, and showing up.
Maybe it's raising your hand and asking a doubt even if your voice shakes.
Maybe it's saying "hi" back.
Maybe it's listening when someone laughs.
Maybe the world won't change overnight.
Maybe I won't either.
But I'm not hiding anymore.
Not in corners.
Not in dreams.
Not in silence.
This is me.
Chinmay.
Still learning.
Still hurting.
But finally — finally — breathing.
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[To be continued in Chapter 17…]