Every Grey Hair Has a Backstory… and I’m Pretty Sure None of Mine Appeared Because I “Aged Gracefully.” 🤭
The first grey hair didn’t politely knock on my door.
It simply appeared one morning, caught the bathroom light at just the right angle, and stood there looking ridiculously proud of itself.
People say grey hair is a sign of wisdom.
Really?
I’m convinced it’s mostly a sign that life keeps handing us surprise assignments without checking whether we’re already working overtime. 😂
One grey hair probably arrived after hearing, “Can I ask you a quick question?” …and discovering that “quick” meant the next forty-five minutes.
Another showed up after a sleepless night spent overthinking a conversation that ended three days ago.
A few settled in after years of pretending, “I’m fine.” Meanwhile, my brain had twenty-seven tabs open, one was playing music, three were buffering, and I couldn’t figure out where the stress was coming from.
Then there are the grey hairs gifted by family gatherings.
Those deserve medals.
And let’s not forget the ones that appeared after someone casually said, “Don’t stress so much.”
Oh, thank you!
I had absolutely no idea I could simply switch stress off. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? 😄
Every Grey Hair Has Earned Its Place
The funny thing is…
People often see grey hair as proof that we’re getting older.
I see it differently.
Each silver strand is a tiny receipt.
A receipt for every difficult decision. Every responsibility carried. Every unexpected detour. Every lesson learned the hard way. Every laugh that somehow made everything bearable.
Maybe that’s why they don’t bother me anymore.
They’re not stealing my youth.
They’re quietly reminding me that I’ve lived… really lived.
Grey Hair Doesn’t Tell Your Age. It Tells Your Story.
So, whether you’re a woman, a man, or someone who’s still proudly counting “just two grey hairs”… tell me—
If they could gossip about you, what story would they tell? 🤭
Now It’s Your Turn…
Now it’s your turn. Confess! Which grey hair has the funniest backstory? Mine are refusing to sign a non-disclosure agreement. 😄
What’s a song lyric that has stuck with you forever?
What’s a song lyric that has stuck with you forever? 🎶
Is there a song lyric that has stayed with you forever? I know I have one… actually, I have hundreds. 🎶
Some people have a mind full of thoughts.
Mine has a full-time radio station.
No breaks.
No advertisements.
No “Are you still listening?” pop-up.
Just music… all day, every day.
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t humming something. If you ever catch me looking lost in thought, there’s a very good chance I’m not overthinking life…
I’m simply trying to remember the next line of a song.
Now, before you picture me as someone with the voice of an angel…
Let’s lower our expectations.
Quite a bit.
My love for music is extraordinary.
My singing 🎤…
Well, let’s just say a few innocent birds have probably considered relocating because of me. The sparrows deserve compensation. The pigeons have learned to keep a safe distance. Even the crows seem to exchange worried glances as if to say,
“Should… should we call for backup?” 😂
But here’s the thing…
Music has never cared whether I can sing.
It has only ever asked me to feel.
And I’ve always answered with my whole heart.
The Playlist in My Head🎶
My brain is the most unpredictable playlist you’ll ever come across.
An old Bollywood classic while making tea…
A 90s melody while folding laundry…
A heartbreak song despite having absolutely no reason to be heartbroken…
A dance number while searching for my phone… which, of course, is already in my hand.
Then suddenly an English song.
A Tamil melody.
A Telugu favourite.
Marathi.
Bengali.
Punjabi.
A bhajan.
At this point, even Spotify would probably knock on my door and ask,
“Excuse me… would you mind sharing whatever is going on inside your head?”
And then comes my favourite part.
Sometimes I completely forget the lyrics.
Does that stop me?
Absolutely not.
I confidently manufacture brand-new lyrics on the spot.
With the confidence of someone who personally wrote the song.
If people don’t know the original version, there’s a fair chance they’ll believe mine.
That’s the level of confidence we’re dealing with here.
More Than Just Music 🤍
For me, music has never been background noise.
It has been my travel companion.
My therapist.
My cheerleader.
My comfort after difficult days.
My celebration on beautiful ones.
Some songs remind me of people I’ve loved.
Some remind me of places I’ve left behind.
Some carry the scent of childhood.
Some sound like home.
I think everyone has a song lyric that has stayed with them forever, even if they haven’t heard the song in years.
And then there are those rare lyrics…
The ones that quietly understand you before you even understand yourself.
Maybe that’s why I don’t simply listen to music.
I live inside it.
Every memory in my life seems to have found its own soundtrack.
So today’s prompt feels incredibly close to my heart.
Before you leave…
Tell me about the lyric that never really left you.
The one that still lives rent-free in your heart.
The one you find yourself humming without even realizing it.
The one that has quietly held your hand through joy, heartbreak, hope, or healing.
I’d love to know which song lyric has stayed with you forever.
Leave it in the comments.
I’m not just looking for a lyric.
I’m looking for the little story that lives behind it.
If you could rewrite any book’s ending, which one would you choose?
If I could rewrite any book’s ending? Some endings should never be rewritten. Honestly… none.
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Every book carries a piece of its author’s heart. The ending isn’t just a few final pages; it’s the destination of a journey the writer carefully chose. Some authors spend months, even years, finding the ending that feels right. Who am I to rewrite something they created with so much love, thought, and emotion?
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I believe change is the only constant in life. But I also believe some things shouldn’t be changed.
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A story’s ending is one of them.
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To me, some endings should never be rewritten because changing the ending changes the meaning of every chapter before it.
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It reminds me of our own lives.
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If we were given the chance, many of us would rewrite a few chapters erase the painful ones, hold on to the happiest ones a little longer, or choose different paths altogether. But life doesn’t work that way. Every joy, every heartbreak, every mistake, and every triumph becomes a part of who we are. They shape us, make us unique, and become the very reason our story could never belong to anyone else.
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Perhaps that’s why I don’t want to rewrite a book’s ending either.
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Some endings make us smile. Some leave us in tears. Some stay with us for years. But they all belong exactly where they are.
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Once they’re written, they become part of the story’s destiny.
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And maybe that’s true for our lives as well.
Not every chapter is easy to read, but every chapter has a purpose.
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Some stories are simply meant to end the way they do.
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So no… I wouldn’t rewrite a single ending. Because the moment you change the destination, you don’t just change where the story ends… you change why it was ever told.
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Some Endings Should Never Be Rewritten… What Do You Think?
So tell me…
If you could rewrite the ending of any book, would you? Or would you leave it exactly as it is?
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Leave your answer in the comments below.
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Who knows? Your perspective might just become someone else’s favourite chapter. 🤍🦋✨
और हम सब, एक-दूसरे की राहों में बस यूँ ही नहीं आते।
कोई मिलता है तो हमारे अंदर बंद पड़ी किसी खिड़की को खोल देता है।
कोई चला जाता है, और जाते-जाते हमें हमारी ही ताक़त से मिलवा जाता है।
कुछ लोग मुट्ठी भर वक़्त लेकर आते हैं, मगर यादों की उम्र पूरी ज़िंदगी जितनी दे जाते हैं।
कुछ लोग हर सुबह की तरह होते हैं— चुपचाप आते हैं, और बिना कुछ कहे जीने की वजह बन जाते हैं।
शायद इसलिए अब मैं किसी से मिलने को इत्तफ़ाक़ नहीं मानती।
क्योंकि किस्मत रिश्ते नहीं भेजता, वह सबक भेजता है… मरहम भेजता है… आईना भेजता है… और कभी-कभी, अपना कोई अंश भेज देता है।
इसलिए, जो ठहर गए, उनका शुक्रिया।
जो बिछड़ गए, उनका भी…
क्योंकि हर मुसाफ़िर अपनी मंज़िल से पहले, किसी और की कहानी में एक वजह बनकर ही आता है।
Every Soul Leaves Something Behind
Life is a long journey…
And perhaps none of us crosses another’s path by accident.
Some people arrive only to open a window within us that we never knew had been closed.
Some leave, yet in their leaving, they introduce us to a strength we never knew we had.
There are those who stay for only a handful of moments, yet leave behind memories that outlive years.
And then there are those who are like the morning light— they quietly become a part of our days, asking for nothing, yet giving us countless reasons to keep going.
Maybe that’s why I no longer believe that meeting someone is mere coincidence.
Because fate doesn’t just send people.
It sends lessons. It sends healing. It sends mirrors that help us see ourselves more clearly.
And every once in a while, it sends someone who quietly changes the way we see life.
So, to those who stayed… thank you.
And to those who had to leave… thank you, too.
Because every traveller becomes a part of someone else’s story before continuing on their own journey.
And perhaps, that was the reason they were meant to cross our path.
“Travel the world.” “Own a beach house.” “Retire early.”
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Meanwhile, I’m over here dreaming about finding my phone on the first try, remembering why I walked into the kitchen, and drinking one cup of hot chai before it turns into iced tea. The bar is surprisingly low these days. 😄
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But jokes aside…
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My biggest dream isn’t to become famous or collect followers like Pokémon cards.
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It’s to build a life where my family feels safe, my heart feels light, and my creativity never packs its bags and leaves without notice.
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I want to keep writing words that make someone smile on a difficult day, feel understood in a lonely moment, or simply pause and think, “Wait… did she just read my mind?”
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Because if one stranger, somewhere in the world, finds comfort in something I wrote, that’s a far better reward than any trophy, trend, or algorithm.
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After all, algorithms can be a lot like some relationships in life—they’ll put you on a pedestal when they need you, and the moment they don’t, they’ll quietly set you aside as if they never knew you at all.
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I’ve also reached that age where my dream includes things that once sounded terribly boring:
A peaceful home. Good health. Laughter that comes easily. Plants that refuse to die. Wi-Fi that doesn’t buffer. And knees that don’t negotiate every staircase.
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Turns out adulthood has a very strange way of editing our bucket list.
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So no…
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My biggest dream isn’t to be known by everyone.
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It’s to leave behind words that quietly stay with someone long after they’ve forgotten my name.
What’s a promise you made to yourself that you’ve actually kept?
The promise to myself I never broke wasn’t about waking up at 5 a.m., sticking to every New Year’s resolution, or finally resisting the urge to buy “just one more” plant.
We make promises all the time.
“I’ll start on Monday.”
“I’ll sleep early.”
“I’ll stop buying plants because there’s no space left on the balcony.”
That last one? Let’s not discuss it.
But the promise to myself I never broke wasn’t about waking up at 5 a.m., drinking more water, or finally resisting the temptation to bring home “just one more” plant.
The truth is, the hardest promises aren’t the ones we make to other people. They’re the quiet little promises we whisper to ourselves when nobody is listening.
I’ve broken my fair share of them. Some lasted a week. Some didn’t even survive until lunch.
But a few… somehow stayed.
Not because I have extraordinary willpower. (I don’t.)
But because they quietly became a part of who I am.
Looking back, I realized the promise to myself I never broke wasn’t really one promise at all. It became a collection of little promises that slowly shaped the person I wanted to be.
The Promise to Myself I Never Broke Began with Curiosity
Age has tried very hard to convince me that I should now be an “expert.”
Curiosity had other plans.
I still Google random things at midnight.
I still wonder how flowers know exactly when they bloom.
I still fall into rabbit holes that begin with “I’ll just check one thing” and somehow end with ancient civilizations, octopuses, or why toast always lands butter-side down.
Grey hair may arrive without permission.
A curious mind, however, is entirely optional.
And I’d like to keep mine.
I Promised Myself I’d Keep Making Things
Not everything needs to become a masterpiece.
Sometimes a few written words are enough.
Sometimes it’s a sketch.
Sometimes it’s crochet.
Sometimes it’s watering a plant that stubbornly pretends it’s on vacation.
Creating reminds me that I exist for more than ticking boxes on a to-do list.
The world celebrates finished products.
I secretly celebrate beginnings.
I Promised Myself I’d Never Let Age Decide My Joy
Apparently, growing older comes with an invisible instruction manual.
“Act your age.”
Wear sensible shoes.
Don’t laugh too loudly.
Don’t dance in the kitchen.
Who wrote these rules?
Because I’d like a word.
If something makes me smile, I’m keeping it.
My knees occasionally file complaints.
My heart hasn’t submitted any.
I Promised Myself I’d Collect Memories, Not Perfect Moments
Perfect days are suspicious.
Real life spills tea.
People arrive late.
Photos blur.
Rain ruins plans.
Cake collapses.
Someone always blinks.
And years later…
Those are exactly the stories everyone laughs about.
Perfection is forgettable.
Memories never are.
I Promised Myself I’d Keep Showing Up
Not every day feels magical.
Some mornings, motivation doesn’t even bother sending a text.
Still…
You get up.
You write one paragraph.
Water one plant.
Read one page.
Smile once.
Tiny victories are terribly underrated.
Life isn’t won in giant dramatic scenes.
It’s quietly built in ordinary Tuesdays.
I Promised Myself I’d Keep a Little Corner of Childhood Alive
I still get excited over the first rain.
I still smile when I hear an old song.
I still stop to admire an unusually shaped cloud.
And don’t even get me started on books that smell like childhood.
Growing older is compulsory.
Growing boring?
That’s entirely negotiable.
I Promised Myself I’d Never Rush Through Beautiful Moments
Life keeps telling us to hurry.
Faster.
Quicker.
What’s next?
But some things refuse to bloom on our schedule.
A sunset.
A heartfelt conversation.
The fragrance of morning coffee.
A flower that opens only for a single magical night.
The best moments in life don’t ask us to speed up.
They quietly ask us to stay.
And I’ve learned that staying is sometimes the bravest thing we can do.
The Promise to Myself I Never Broke: A Collection of Small Promises
I’ve forgotten birthdays.
Missed deadlines.
Burnt toast.
Killed a few innocent houseplants.
(They deserved better.)
But the promise to myself I never broke has survived.
To stay curious.
To keep creating.
To laugh loudly.
To notice small wonders.
To make memories.
To show up.
To protect the tiny child inside me who still believes ordinary days can suddenly become extraordinary.
Because the day I stop doing those things…
I’ll still be growing older.
But I won’t really be living.
So if someone ever asks me about the promise to myself I never broke, my answer won’t be just one sentence.
It will be this way of living.
And that’s one promise I have no intention of breaking.
If you could have dinner with any fictional character, who would it be?
If I could have dinner with any fictional characters, I wouldn’t choose a wizard, a detective, or a king.
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I would choose Nagraj and Super Commando Dhruva.
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Not because they were superheroes.
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But because they quietly became a part of my childhood.
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For children growing up in the 80s and 90s, comics weren’t just something we read. They were an emotion. A new Raj Comics release could make an ordinary week feel extraordinary. There were no online stores, no instant deliveries, and certainly no digital copies waiting on our phones.
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There was only hope… and patience.
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Every visit to the stationery shop began with the same question, “Bhaiya, nayi comic aayi kya?” Sometimes he’d smile and hand us a fresh copy. Other times came the heartbreaking reply, “Kal aana.”
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And somehow… we actually believed tomorrow would arrive faster.
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Buying every comic wasn’t an option for most of us, so we created our own little library of friendships. We borrowed comics from cousins, exchanged them with neighbours, and waited our turn like it was the most important appointment in the world. If someone got the latest Nagraj before us, we practically counted the hours until they finished reading it.
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Those comics travelled through many hands before reaching ours. The covers became soft, the corners folded, and sometimes a page carried someone’s name scribbled in blue ink. None of it mattered. The adventure inside was still as magical as ever.
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Those fictional characters didn’t simply defeat villains. They defeated boring summer afternoons, power cuts, lazy Sundays, and endless holidays. Nagraj made impossible things seem possible. Dhruva proved that intelligence, courage, and compassion could be superpowers too.
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I still remember reading under a blanket with a torch long after everyone thought I had gone to sleep. “Just one more page,” I’d promise myself. One page became ten, and before I knew it, the adventure was over… leaving me desperate for the next issue.
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We argued over who was stronger. We imagined crossovers that never happened. We became heroes in our own games, saving imaginary worlds before dinner was served.
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Looking back, I don’t miss just the comics.
I miss the waiting.
I miss the excitement of spotting a brand-new issue on the shelf.
I miss the joy of exchanging comics with friends as if we were trading priceless treasures.
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Most of all, I miss that little child who believed every story with all her heart.
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So if I could have dinner with any fictional characters, my table would have two extra chairs—one for Nagraj and one for Super Commando Dhruva.
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Not because I want to know how they saved the world.
But because I want to thank them for making mine so unforgettable.
If someone asked me ten years ago, “What’s the best purchase you’ve ever made?” I probably would have said something sensible. Maybe jewellery. Maybe a good mixer grinder. (Let’s be honest, we all go through that phase.)
Today, my answer is surprisingly simple.
My iPad Pro.
Now, before you roll your eyes and think, “Oh great, another person obsessed with gadgets,” hear me out.
I didn’t buy it because I wanted to look cool. I bought it because I wanted to draw. Little did I know that this sleek piece of technology would quietly become my therapist, my sketchbook, my entertainment system, and occasionally, the reason for family arguments.
A few years ago, I was going through a difficult phase. I was quite unwell, and there were days when I didn’t feel like doing much of anything. When you’re sick for a long time, even your favourite hobbies begin to feel distant. That’s when my iPad stepped in.
Whenever I had a little energy, I picked up my Apple Pencil and started illustrating.
Something magical happened.
For those few hours, I wasn’t thinking about medicines, doctor’s appointments, or how miserable I felt. I was choosing colours, drawing outfits, creating faces, and getting completely lost in my own little world. It didn’t cure me, of course, but it certainly made the difficult days much easier to live through.
Even today, if someone in my family can’t find me, they don’t bother searching the entire house.
They simply look for the glowing rectangle.
There I am.
Drawing.
Experimenting with new brushes.
Or confidently telling myself, “Just five more minutes.”
We all know how that story ends.
Three hours later, I’m still sitting in exactly the same place.
My iPad has another important responsibility too.
It hosts our family Ludo matches.
Now, if you’ve never fought with your loved ones over someone sending your token back to the starting point, have you really experienced family bonding? We laugh, we argue, we accuse each other of cheating, and then we immediately start another game.
It’s become a family tradition.
Looking back, I realise I didn’t just buy a device.
I bought countless hours of creativity, laughter, distraction, and comfort.
Some purchases lose their excitement after a few weeks.
This one somehow became more valuable with time.
If I had to choose just one thing, my iPad Pro would always be the best purchase I ever made.
Without a doubt, my iPad Pro has been the best purchase I’ve ever made.
And yes… every other thing I’ve ever bought is probably feeling a little jealous.
What’s the funniest misunderstanding you’ve ever been part of?
Why Does This Always Happen to Me?
Why does this always happen to me? I honestly ask myself this question more often than I’d like to admit.
If misunderstandings were an Olympic sport, I’d probably have a lifetime achievement award by now.
Seriously…
Why does this always happen to me?
There are people who walk into a room and instantly recognize everyone.
They know names.
They remember faces.
They somehow even remember conversations from years ago.
And then there’s me…
Living life like I’m permanently in the middle of a social quiz that I never studied for.
The Wave That Was Never Meant for Me
It usually starts with someone looking in my direction.
They’re smiling.
They’re waving.
Now, you’d think experience would have taught me not to assume anything.
But no.
Every single time, my brain confidently whispers,
“She’s smiling at you… and waving at you.”
Never mind the fact that I’ve never seen her before.
Not once.
Not at school.
Not in the neighborhood.
Not anywhere.
But the moment someone smiles or waves in my direction, my brain immediately decides,
“Yes… she definitely knows you.”
So I smile back.
I wave back.
With complete confidence.
And then…
With absolutely perfect timing…
She walks right past me to greet the person standing behind me.
For a split second, I just stand there…
Still smiling.
Still waving.
Questioning every life decision that brought me to that exact moment.
I don’t even get embarrassed anymore.
I’ve become an expert at pretending I was simply stretching my arm… or admiring a tree… or looking at literally anything except the awkwardness I just created.
You’d think I’d have learned my lesson by now.
I haven’t.
Motherhood Changed the Game
Just when I thought my accidental waving incidents couldn’t get any more embarrassing…
I became a mom.
That’s when a whole new category of misunderstandings entered my life.
Every now and then, another mom walks up to me with the warmth of an old friend.
“How have you been?”
“How are the kids?”
“I saw your post the other day.”
She remembers little details about my life.
She knows exactly who I am.
Meanwhile, my brain has already launched a full-scale investigation.
Who is she?
A school parent?
Someone from tuition?
A birthday party from years ago?
A school event?
Or have we simply spent years smiling at each other during pick-up and drop-off?
I search my memory for the tiniest clue.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Yet somehow, the conversation flows beautifully.
I smile.
I nod.
I laugh at all the right places.
I answer every question with complete confidence while silently praying she never asks,
“You do remember me… don’t you?”
Because that would be the exact moment my soul would quietly leave my body.
And that’s exactly when I find myself thinking…
Why Does This Always Happen to Me?
They seem to know everything about me…
…while I know almost nothing about them.
Maybe I’m terrible with faces.
Maybe motherhood introduces us to so many people that our brains simply run out of storage.
Or maybe this is just my life’s favorite prank.
Whatever the reason…
I still haven’t learned my lesson.
The next time someone smiles in my direction…
I’ll probably smile right back.
Because apparently, hope has a better memory than I do.
So tell me…
Why does this always happen to me?
Or am I not the only one?
Has someone ever waved at the person behind you while you happily waved back?
Or had a complete stranger walk up and start a conversation as if you’ve known each other forever… while your brain desperately searched for a clue?
Please tell me I’m not alone.
Because if this only happens to me…
I might actually start checking who’s standing behind me before I smile back.
