Where do all the misfits go?

  May your home always feel like home, so that you never need to take shelter in the cracks— and when you do, may you grow like a wallflower, quiet and intentional, not like a weed fighting for a place that was never meant for you. May you never confuse noise for belonging, or attention for love. May you never sit in a bus with teary eyes, watching familiar streets blur into something distant, wishing you didn’t have to leave at all. May a completely new and strange path never feel kinder than the road that leads you home. And when things grow heavier than your hands can hold, may you always have somewhere to set them down— a place, a person, a pause that does not ask you to be strong all the time. May you never have to carry storms alone, and if you ever find yourself drenched in one, may there be a shelter that opens without hesitation, without conditions, without making you feel like you owe your survival to it. May you never have to choose escape over return, never find comfort...

 Why Me? “Why me?”   It’s a quiet question at first. A whisper we throw into the universe when things don’t make sense. Lately, though, it has stopped being a whisper for me. It has become a question that visits too often. In fact, it was the only thought running through my mind a few days ago while I was lying on the cold floor of my hostel room—almost unconscious—for nearly two hours. The ceiling above me looked strangely still, like time had paused just to watch me figure something out. Before I go any further, let me tell you a small, ironic detail about me. I am a final-year MBBS student. Someone who is expected to stand calmly in front of blood, needles, procedures, emergencies—the things most people look away from. And yet, I am still terrified of blood and needles. A medical student who almost faints at the sight of them. Life has a strange sense of humour. Because lately, I’ve had to undergo a few procedures myself. And every time a needle comes closer, every time I s...