Dear Blog,

How have you been? Long time no see, right? Remember those years when we met almost every single day? Those were the days. Then I grew old. Well, older, and here we are.

But I haven’t forgotten you. I refuse to. You’re basically free therapy at this point.

There’s so much to tell you, and yet I find myself at a loss for words. Growth, clearly. But let’s start with some good news, shall we? I have finally completed the Junior Diploma in Kathak. I know. Try to contain your excitement.

Well, better late than never. Though, let’s be honest, I did mess up the Kavit. Spectacularly, if we’re being honest. What can I say? These days, my energy drops mid-task like it’s on a timer, and that day was no different, just with the added thrill of exams.

But all’s well that ends well. Or at least, ends.

Moving on, M was telling me why I don’t cook as well as my mom, or rather, why I don’t like to cook at all. She apparently wishes her mom (that would be me) could cook like her grandmother. Well, she’ll have to keep wishing, because cooking is a chore I absolutely detest.

I sometimes ask my mom how she didn’t lash out at us after having to cook for years on end. I, on the other hand, find it excruciating. The only thing that makes cooking even remotely tolerable is audiobooks.

Honestly, without them, I might have lost it by now.

The other day, I went out with some of my friends from dance class and came home after 10. Me. A grown-ass woman who had never really gone out partying or even met friends at night, casually walking in after 10. It was a first.

An introvert going out to meet people is already suspicious. The fact that I have new friends is borderline lore-worthy.

I don’t open up easily. In fact, I can count on my fingers the number of people I truly open up to. So, for me to let new people in at this stage of my life, when I’m already quite set in my ways, is a big deal.

Although, disliking the same people helped.

These last few weeks have also been a lot about caregiving and responsibilities. But I’ve done so much of it since my 20s that now I just numb it out. Very efficient. Probably not very sustainable.

Well, it does help to an extent. But I suppose the onset or lack thereof of an autoimmune disease later on will tell me how well I actually coped.

Until then, pretend, pretend, pretend.

I’m also dead inside. Did you know? Who am I kidding, you obviously do.

I think I just don’t have any f***s left to give. Or it’s probably perimenopause. But then again, they might be the same thing.

I feel like I’m slowly turning into stone. Who knows what that’ll lead to?

But wouldn’t you want to know?

The last time we met, I was wrapping up my 2025. Here we are now, almost halfway into 2026. I don’t have anything tangible to show for it except, perhaps, the diploma. But I did walk out of a space that didn’t respect me, with my head still attached and mostly held high. So I’ll take that win.

Well, there you have it from your very own Lady Whistledown. The ton, I assure you, has not been that interesting, unless one counts collective mediocrity as entertainment. Or perhaps I’ve simply forgotten most of it, which feels equally plausible.

Perhaps I’ll do better next time. Or not. We’ll see what the ton manages to deliver.

Until then,

Ciao!