Then, 25.

They say you don’t forget to ride a bike once you’ve lived through the many falls experienced while learning it in that first go. Whether I can deconstruct this age-old wisdom into convincing myself to believe that I can’t have forgotten how to write even after numerous days without any writing, is yet to be seen — I pin my hopes on you, Reader, to be the judge of this predicament.

Would you believe it? After 21, 22, 23, 24 — I get to talk to you about turning 25. That’s five years of capturing history. Each year, before I write this entry, I go through re-reading all past entries. Fast-forwarding through what made me happy, what kept me worried, and everything else in between. Every time, I feel like I’m only touching the surface in processing the world left frozen in each entry; playing, all together, the role of a narrator, witness, and, stranger.

The last year had its moments.

I marched on in what kind of a career I wanted for myself despite the challenges. Mind you, this took shape not through any particular, grandeur triumph, but rather, through carving out my time and attention onto the little things that helped evade feeling stationary. Perhaps, it is spontaneity that we trade away for stability in this playground of decisions with consequences that age us?

The gap created by the lack of regular, Tech events in Nottingham mixed in with a lingering boredom and disconnection with the “sameness” in the Tech Industry ended up being the catalyst to attend an amateur, softball women’s club cricket team’s practice session. This resulted in a renewed obsession with all-things-cricket (including working on a related app), transforming my mindset from spectator to a player. Blending this newfound attachment to cricket, with my existing fondness for poetry × design × code, is definitely something I am eager to explore.

On the flip side, observing the collapse of Twitter (as we knew it) following the debacle of newer leadership was rough to experience. The ramifications of severed online connections remain even as you alter between logging out entirely or signing up to the newest alternative. From Web3 to AI, I’ve wondered if I really was an optimist through all these years who tragically willed my own half-empty glass into existence.

Mastoo, deservedly, rose to become the main character of my household.
Such is the allure of a life tethered to life.

Until next time,