To My 3 AM Musings

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The saga of groom hunting

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Every year, my landlord conveys his dire wish to my parents to receive my wedding card. Every year, I convey my dire wish to him to renew my rent agreement as well as my "singlehood." I wonder if I have disappointed other Gods as much as Cupid. He must be whining from above at my destiny, "This woman, what a waste!" more so because he must have manifested himself in hundreds of forms through hundreds of friends or random strangers, but each time, each time I have miserably failed him. While my Gods have given up on me, my parents have not. They have everything I lack- an undeterred vision, determination, and dedication to steer me through this ride of groom hunting. You see, the only thing consistent throughout the 28 years of my existence is that I am an average, plain Jane in all aspects alike. So, I get intimidated and overwhelmed by flowery adjectives and fancy titles used in the bio and preference section of the prospects that show up on the matrimonial apps....
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From DINK to... Diapers? A Journey

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Almost a year ago, though it feels like a lifetime now, my husband and I were debating why we actually wanted children. Life as a DINK (Double Income, No Kids) couple was pretty peaceful, predictable, and perfectly curated. Why on earth were we inviting a hurricane into our sanctuary? To be honest, the sight of children didn’t exactly spark joy for me. Public meltdowns were usually just a headache, and I’d often catch myself unintentionally rolling my eyes at embarrassed parents struggling to contain screaming toddlers. I never wanted to be "that person." Between being a chronically light sleeper and prone to migraines at the drop of a hat, the "baby lifestyle" felt like a direct threat to my sanity. Fast forward to a few months ago, and the irony was not lost on me. I found myself in my ninth month, groaning with pelvic pain every time I rolled over in bed and frantically buying newborn essentials online. This wasn't an accident; it was a deliberate, fully plan...
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Tales of my SPECT-acular escapades

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Third grade. That's when the blurry blackboard finally drove me to the eye doctor. My notebooks, a masterpiece of miscopied gibberish, were a source of constant frustration for my teachers. But honestly, I was secretly thrilled at the prospect of glasses. My wish came true, and I made my grand entrance home, the proud owner of negative 0.5 and negative 0.25 diopter, oval, silver-framed spectacles, complete with spectacle straps ensuring a secure placement (thanks to Baba!). Instantly, I resembled every strict grandmother I'd ever known and, predictably, became the school's prime source of amusement for the next few days. As a teenager, I really wanted trendy eyewear, which were sometimes hard on my father's wallet. I'd strategically complain about 'eyesight problems' and even managed to manipulate him a few times into getting me new glasses instead of just lenses. This trick also let me sit closer to my crush whenever the teacher put me in the back of the cl...
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