Category: My Stories

Part 228 – How to Successfully Fail at Wastrelmaxxing

Rovija Khapre 0 Comment General Topics, My Stories, School Life, Social Responsibilities
Part 228 – How to Successfully Fail at Wastrelmaxxing

I’d like to think this whole ordeal started by teaching my parents what a ‘lazy bum’ was. 

The term grew on them so much that it’s been my unofficial nickname for the summer–jokingly, of course. This led to a discussion of a blog and how one such lazy bum, and many in my similar situation, spend this particular summer. Like any writer, I spent a lot of time brainstorming the serious unseriousness of a catchy title to gain motivation and a general outline. This led to the idea of ‘wastrel summer’ and from there ‘How to Successfully Wastrelmaxx’. 

As I began typing up my first draft, I had a dilemma; everything I talked about was the opposite of being a wastrel!

You see, the best time of your life will not be in your twenties, being young, wild, and free, or as a kid with childhood innocence, but rather the summer before you head off to college. A solid three-ish months of having very few demands before the harsh reality of corporate demands and adulthood hits you as you take on college. 

With this, you’ll take it upon yourself to do everything but stay home and do nothing. The only wastrel part of this is spending money and gas on going places and doing things with your friends, especially if you’re like me and have no job. (Ultimate bum behavior I know.) 

This is the summer of bittersweet memories and ultimate freedom as you try to cram in dozens of hangouts with your friends every day and hour. After 9 months of counting down the days towards graduation, you’ve got nothing to do. Absolutely nothing. There’s no annoying inner voice in your ear nudging you to wake up and prepare for an APUSH LEQ or finish the Biomed research paper haunting your computer.

There’s an unlimited number of opportunities awaiting. Grad party hopping bleeds into summer party hopping; late-evening poolside hangouts complete with pasta bowl runs; karaoke sprees at the Asian Plaza while grabbing KBBQ; binging the latest movie releases post-Six Flags; the agenda is packed. With no fear of a surprise test on Monday or even an early curfew–and as we are now big kids with licenses and jobs–the hours can stretch from late afternoon to early night. 

The only time you’re pulled from this stupor is when you have orientation; notably, it is the most serious thing you truly need to prepare for or even be nervous about all summer. For weeks before your visit, your inbox is absolutely swamped with emails and a multitude of links about registration and campus resources. And if you’re an unlucky STEM major like myself, you’ll have the pleasure of facing the dreaded math or science assessment. 

Apart from the great hell that is registration, as everyone battles for choosing courses in no more than five minutes or so, you find yourself coming home with burnt orange coursing through your veins (if you’re a Longhorn!), very pleased with your future four years and possibly slightly peeved at your academic advisor. 

After that, you truly have no other worries, as you can continue dilly-dallying for the rest of the summer as before!

Okay, I lied. 

There is a singular, looming threat to our ‘wastrel’ summer that you can’t ignore forever. With the prospect of spending most of your time–and gas money–on outings, you actually need a job. If still unemployed, at least you’re still productive in searching for local and even future on- and near-campus jobs. 

So truly, how can it be a wastrel summer when you spend it doing everything but being idle and unachieving? 

After twelve tedious years of working tirelessly, what harm is there in basking in the sweet success of labor we have finally achieved? Yes, to your parents it can be a ‘wastrel’ summer of doing nothing productive as opposed to the previous years, but this is the summer of pure relaxation, regeneration, and reconnaissance! 

And that is exactly why I had to scrap my original title. This isn’t a guide on how to be a lazy bum; it’s a testament– this is ‘How to Successfully Fail at Wastrelmaxxing.” 

Part 224 – The College Essay Saga: Rooming with Rovija 101

Rovija Khapre 0 Comment General Topics, My Stories
Part 224 – The College Essay Saga: Rooming with Rovija 101

In honor of me currently roommate hunting, I’d like to share the roommate essays I wrote for Stanford and Harvard. (No, we didn’t get accepted, but I find that my humor is top tier and hopefully the admissions committee at least got a chuckle from it as well.)

Stanford & Harvard

Hey Roomie!

I’m super excited to get to know you, but since you’re stuck with me for some time now, I just wanted to give you a heads up about myself. Apologies in advance, you may find your beauty sleep disrupted by my annoying alarms–13 and counting to be precise. I have a habit of waking up early to study, so you may hear my ringtone go off multiple times. Another thing is that I am an only child, so I’m not used to sharing space, but I am ready and willing to change that! Lastly, I’m not a super picky eater, but whether I’m a vegetarian or not kinda depends on whether it’s a Tuesday, new moon, or full moon, and the usual Hindu holidays. Not that it’ll affect your eating habits, but on those days, beware of my jealous glances across the room at what you’re eating. 

Can’t wait to meet you, 

Rovija 

From a rough draft, I also said, “Feel free to chuck your pillow at me to turn the alarms off.”

Part 223 – The College Essay Saga: Personal Statement

Rovija Khapre 0 Comment General Topics, Ideas, My Stories
Part 223 – The College Essay Saga: Personal Statement

Now that college decisions have been made and I am no longer in the process of applying to college, I wanted to start publishing my college essays.

I first wanted to post my personal statement essay primarily because this is probably one of my favorite pieces I’ve written. I had written it as a college essay assignment back in my AP Lang class, but since I was a sophomore at the time, it really didn’t come in handy until much later, and I didn’t feel the need to work on it too much. Surprisingly, though, it became the starting point for my final personal statement, and I’ve really liked how it’s been shaped over time to reflect who I am. Here’s Writing: A Moment to Live.

The rapid click of keys starts to slow; the spark of thought flickers out. A beat of silence; a quiet exhale of relief passes by. I click the blue button and watch as the words dance across the screen, finally putting an end to the marathon of ideas in my head.

“Your post is now live.” 

The image burns into the back of my mind.  A signal that hours of writing, editing, and reflection have taken shape—and now, they belong to the world. It’s a familiar routine, yet it brings a thrill of excitement each time, reminding me that words don’t tell stories… They start them. 

Writing has always been a constant throughout my life, beginning as a simple task to keep an ecstatic child at bay. Given a new app and shown how to hit publish, seven-year-old-me was instructed to write something—anything. At first, it was just random sentences about some fascinating event or flashy new toy. Over time, those three-sentence posts evolved into paragraphs, then essays with tones of color, and eventually into lengthy pages upon pages of discovery. Slowly, what first felt like a chore—an obstacle that stood between my playtime and I— soon became a prominent aspect of my life. 

Entering middle school, serious issues— law, geopolitics, history, and so on—took hold of me like a spark catching fire, spreading faster than I could contain it. It interested me how specific actions and words could change the fate of the world for literal centuries to come. Unfortunately, many other twelve-year-olds didn’t seem to agree, often turning away when I brought it up or feigning interest in the subject to satisfy me in the moment. While others rolled their eyes at my ramblings, I sat at my desk furiously typing, keying down every thought into permanence. No interruptions. No forced smiles. Just the words on screen and thoughts in my head. Every post began a different conversation with myself. Be it the implications of European conflicts, my opinions about the up-and-coming band I was starting to enjoy, or even my perspective on the ensuing teenage drama. Writing began to give me a way to breathe—a way to freely express myself and pour out everything in my head without hesitation. Eventually, it became a decade’s worth of records of ideas and growth captured through an ordinary blogging site. Together, the brief research papers, vantages on ongoing wars, and poll-based posts, became my own personal archive of growth and beliefs.  

Writing evolved from a regular weekly activity to a lifeline. The idea of being able to take something, mull it over, and regurgitate it out into a fluid sequence of words was exhilarating. I found myself greedily consuming more news articles, research papers, discoveries, and evolutionary concepts that were spreading like wildfire to recapture the feeling. Ready to share my passion with the world,  I applied to both an op-ed column in our local newspaper and a global news network. Although unsuccessful, I kept posting, practicing different ways to share my thoughts and understanding. I took on an internship at a law firm, where simple case analysis assignments were praised and reviewed by the firm for sharing with clients—a simple task that has now given me the responsibility of writing reports providing an overview of the important legal documents needed for cases.  

Over time, writing no longer became a way to reflect, but instead to push myself forward.  It was an exploration—a dive into discovering what I believed in, who I was, and where I stood. More than that, it was a way of documenting how my voice evolved—experimental and unwavering, and yet still growing. The blue publish button has become more than just an end—it’s an invitation to countless possibilities yet to happen.

Part 220 – An Ode to Writing: 2026 Goals and Stories Galore

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Part 220 – An Ode to Writing: 2026 Goals and Stories Galore

I said a few months and then proceeded to return with the New Year. Surprise! I wanted to start this off a little differently and discuss a goal I have for myself in terms of writing for this upcoming year. Except, I wrote this at like 12:30 in the morning a few days ago, and wrote it in a hurry in my journal app because I was overwhelmed with the idea at the moment. I’ve only edited a few things for basic grammar and context, but here are my 2026 writing goals, presented in the form of an ode to writing. Except it’s not technically an ode because I did not spew out a poem, but rather a long and winding story about my heart and desire to write that slightly goes off track. Please bear with me, it’ll all make sense at the end.

Happy New Year, I say on January 2nd, 2026, at 12:26 AM. I don’t stay up this late, but I’ve been overcome with a newfound energy. This idea was sparked after reading 31k words about a road trip. Don’t ask how or why I got to that point, but I ended up posting an Instagram note saying ‘who tf writes 31k about a road trip’, and my friend said I would. It sounded ridiculous, but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t help but be amused. This person really liked to write. Or, more so, they enjoyed telling the story so much that they drew it out to 31k words of a stupid road trip AU that I still haven’t finished reading because it was so long. In retrospect, I’ve only ever written 14-16k of something, and even then, I ended up cutting it down to 7k. But it was inspiring; even more so when my friend herself wholly believed I would write something like that. And so there’s that itch again, that desire to write.

I’m actually really emotional as I write this. (How embarrassing) I’m rawdogging this like everything else I do in the heat of the moment, but I think I’d like to pronounce it to the world again. I like writing. Moreover, I love it. It’s a part of me. My heart and soul, all merged into one: an indescribable bond and attachment to it. I love the way words can pour out, how I can say everything in my head at once. It’s sooo cliche, I know, but it’s just so perfect for me. I found myself itching to write during my winter break. I have a terrible attention span, unfortunately, and I’m such a try-hard that I needed to do something so I could feel good about not doing anything. So while I binged Stranger Things and cycled between that and watching Hermitcraft and doomscrolling on X, I wrote. What I wrote is a secret- a personal thing for myself to keep myself happy- but I wrote. And by god did I love it. In that, I didn’t write pieces as I do now, but stories as I did as a kid. When I was still a child, and I still had the time and the enthusiasm for books that I wanted to write my own. It was delightful–truly. But in that, I realized that I couldn’t write it as fluidly as I wrote pieces. I always claim that writing is easier and flows naturally, but I was stuck. The issue was dialogue: I couldn’t frame it right. On X, I engage with and follow other artists and writers. (Of fanned fiction and general writing, amongst many other things.) Each person is so wholly different and true to themselves in how they write and create, it’s remarkable. One of the writers, when asked about her favorite part of the writing process, said she loved dialogue and “fleshing the characters out.” I felt the opposite. Me myself I came to hate it. Why, I asked myself, and I figured it’s because I do little talking in real life. I’m not a quiet kid. I was an introvert when younger, but as time passed and experiences and interactions occurred, I grew into an extrovert. I can converse far more easily than before, and I am louder, but I’m still quiet. I don’t usually talk unless it’s needed, or I don’t generally feel the need to. While I generally prefer to observe rather than converse, it was more for reasons of uncertainty and self-consciousness, but also in a desire not to mess up. I somehow grew into a person who didn’t talk as much simply because I feared saying the wrong thing. And yet I don’t hesitate to say what I think when I write. Was it different because this was for myself? I’m not sure. Maybe it was that feeling that transversed into my writing, that I grew less comfortable with dialogue. But continuing, I found myself more drawn to explanations. I can feel it in my pieces as well. I love to explain–I overexplain, really. I love details. Even as a kid, I’d spend hours detailing every small thing in my story. The patterns on the dragon, the medicine techniques, the storage system; everything. I loved creating that world, building things from words alone. I couldn’t create people well, but I could structure the story and the world around them. I just love to describe, and that’s why pieces have become easier than stories for me now. Simply because I can describe. My heart and soul are in words and sentences better than I could if I talked. It’s just a hunch, though. I’m still not sure. But one thing I can guarantee is this.

This is no ordinary post. I do realize that now my posts will be observed by universities and colleges alike since I’ve submitted this as part of my application. I’m proud of what I have, of what is reflected here: ten years of hard work and growth through writing. But now I want to take the next step forward, and that’s this. For 2026 and onwards, I want to become a more sincere writer. I talked so much about ideas and events around me before I went on hiatus for college apps, but now, I want to talk about myself more. Going back to the story of talking less, I want to be more comfortable about talking about myself. No longer being vague and trying to deflect things, but rather being more open with myself and in my writing. I don’t want to be held back by a fear of coming off wrong or by my own limitations to a point where I end up not fully saying what I want to. Especially when I find writing the most comfortable way to converse and fully express myself. I want to become more sincere in what I say, and I’d like to try and be more of myself as I write. Really showcase how much I love to write by putting more of myself in my words. I want to show off, to overexplain, and talk about myself to a point where you’d have to tell me to shut up, and I want to do it sincerely.

This is a big year for me. I graduate- something I’ve been looking forward to since my sophomore year. I’m going to college. I’m going to turn eighteen. I’m going to travel. (I already do that one, but I like traveling, so this year holds the prospect of new adventures.) There’s so much this year has to offer, and I want to make the most of it. I want to document it all. Like those vloggers and influencers online, I want to do the same, through my words, and I guess through my own stories. So that’s what I’d like to do for 2026. Consider that my New Year’s resolution. So, as a start to my return to writing, this is me, signing off for the first time in 2026. I’ll see you in the next post. 

Part 218 – RovaDova: 10 years in the making

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Part 218 – RovaDova: 10 years in the making

There’s not a lot you can think of at the moment when you hit a milestone. There’s shock, relief, a sense of accomplishment and pride all in one. There’s also a little fear. I suppose that’s how I feel, and why I’ve come to post about this a little late.

June 10th 2025 has become a very special day for me; it is my 10th anniversary of officially establishing RovaDova. My blog, my brand, and really, myself. I would never have imagined that the simple homework task I was randomly given by my dad my first day in Texas would soon spiral to something bigger, and much more personal. It’s now become a part of me, my identity.

Going through the archives you can not only find a recollection of history and random facts about general topics or even myself, but also a testimony and transformation of who I am. 

In many ways I still am that bright smiled kid that really liked Teen Titans Go, but I’m also not. My aspirations have changed; so have my personality and thoughts, feelings and ideas and tastes. Everything reflected over 10 years, in over 500 posts. 

I can see myself grow as a writer- even grow into becoming a writer. I never would have found myself liking writing or even found out I  was good at it if I hadn’t started this. Even writing five sentences about my favorite toy seemed like such tedious work. Imagine how I would’ve felt then, knowing now I can write essays on topics such as politics and medicine and global events easily. Even more than that, imagine me telling my 12 year old self they aren’t researched pieces anymore, but opinion posts. Pure 5-7k words of my own detailed thoughts and ideas, critical and sympathetic in what I believe. 

In this time I’ve dabbled and experimented with posts and ideas. I’ve done a live election blog for two different elections, and even a poll-based post using responses and opinions of my friends and teachers. I’ve made brief research papers about given topics.  I’ve analyzed different wars and given my vantage on them in reports. I’ve tried so much, and have yet to do more. 

But even more than that, it’s allowed me to develop the ability to express myself. Some find it in music or sports or other hobbies, but for me it has been writing. I can pour my heart out about anything I need or want to, no matter how big or small. Whether personal or professional, in any scenario or purpose. And while I still do have much to learn and grow from as a writer, seeing the progress in these 10 years, and the fact that I’ve grown to love it, is enough for me right now.

It once killed me to have to write a post everyday, but now it kills me that I don’t  have time to write more than once a week. I yearn to write these days, even if it’s about the most random topics. I want to put my thoughts down, say something, post something. That’s how I’ve become in these 10 years, and I really do owe it all to my blog. 

10 years ago I never would have thought I would still be here, writing under my nickname turned pseudonym to a small unknown audience, and yet here I am.

That’s why I’d like to take this as a celebration; a celebration for myself, to myself, for what I have done in this decade. I’d like to celebrate myself for never giving up, even when people told me it was lame, or none of my friends had to do it, or when I got busy in school and was stressed. I’d like to celebrate my growth as a writer, as someone who can and wants to continually express their ideas and is still yearning to grow.
And lastly, to thank my 7 year old self on June 10, 2015, for taking that first initiative- in that small furniture-less Irving apartment in a new state- no matter how difficult, to write and post something to officially establish RovaDova. Cheers to that. 

Happy 10th Anniversary Rova. 

Part 217 – Anatomy of a 32 hour day: Rebirth and Change

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Part 217 – Anatomy of a 32 hour day: Rebirth and Change

This is part 2 of ‘Memoir of a wanna-be insomniac’. 

As much as I had feared junior year, it became my absolute favorite year of highschool so far. Deep down, it was more of a subconscious decision to enjoy this year and prevent myself from falling into a pit of wallow as I did last time. 

With the 32 hour day I ended up convincing myself I wasn’t allowed to enjoy my time; I was meant to focus solely on pulling myself back together, working hard, and getting good grades. It mostly consumed me, and made me feel worse about myself, essentially making the situation worse to a point I just wanted everything to end. I wanted to run away from my problems and start over, thinking my life would return to normal afterwards. 

The closest I had to running away was traveling, and pretty much just being constantly away from my house over the summer. I went to Korea, Japan, and Australia, and shortly afterwards went to Ohio for an internship. It was a refreshing change of pace, and really a much needed one. I didn’t have to worry about tests or grades or even worry about impressions. I was free to really be myself. I think that’s when I started to truly smile again. The change of environment made me realize that I needed to change. Rather, I couldn’t let myself fall into such a spiral again. 

I quit Orchestra. A difficult decision, but it was either stressing over excessive rehearsal schedules or using that regained time to get other things done. The answer was the latter, so I dropped Orchestra. I knew with the upcoming year I would be put in advanced classes again, with peers I didn’t know. With the loss of Orchestra, that also became one more class I wouldn’t know anyone in. So I made a decision to prevent that from pulling me down. 

I made new friends. I met two wonderful freshmen in my Compsci class and we became a pretty close trio really quick. I started following people I saw common in my AP classes on Instagram as an initiative to get close to them. I started making the first move, reaching out to join groups with them, talking more, all of that to stop myself from feeling lonely. I started warming up to my teachers; talking to them freely and whenever I could to get closer to them and feel more welcome in class. I hung out with people I knew but didn’t talk to as frequently, getting close and creating closer bonds with them than I had the chance to in my previous years. In all, I made sure I didn’t spiral again by making myself more established within my classes. I continually felt like I couldn’t reach out or talk to people I knew because of my own silly restrictions and perceptions. I shook those off and took a step forward, out of my comfort zone. But even more than socializing, I changed how I studied. I felt looped up in the same cycle of pushing myself to spend more time reviewing and revising, caught in the same strategies and techniques. I wanted to change that, and looked into other ways to study. 

Physics was an eye opener for me. I knew it was a hard subject, and AP Physics C Mechanics is especially a difficult course in general. BUt the struggle I faced in class was beholden to what I had experienced before. It took a few too many 70s and a 63 to make me realize whatever I was doing was inevitable and I had to look for different strategies. That’s how I gained a tutor. Slowly but surely, my grades improved. They weren’t up to par with my expectations and how well I usually do in classes, but I was happy to be improving, and rather, actually understand a little more about the subject I was learning. What’s more is that I got a second whiteboard. It’s a little silly, but I really wanted a second, slightly larger whiteboard than the one I already have. I had found that teaching topics to myself and using the whiteboard method really helped with certain subjects, so I wanted to buy a larger whiteboard so I can write more. Another thing I started doing was making flashcards. Although the idea came to me in the second semester just before my first macroeconomics test, they became really helpful when preparing for the rest of my tests that semester, as well as a really good quick review just before my AP exams. 

It’s really the small things that can make a big difference. Of course, there still were days that I would find myself sleeping at 10:30 and waking up at 3, sometimes even 2:30 just to study for a test, but it didn’t feel like a daily requirement to do so. It  was sometimes just a feeling of dread for a test given I didn’t study that well the night before, and I wanted to review the material to solidify it in my mind. As rough as it was, it was worth it. 
In all, what really happened in junior year was that I was able to control the 32 hour day. It’s like one of those cliche fictional movies where a brilliant scientist creates a piece of technology that is revolutionizing, but instead consumes them and makes them a villain. That’s essentially how my life became, but instead the 32 hour day consumed me to become my own enemy, pushing myself down in an attempt to pull myself up. 

Upon entering junior year, I made sure to prevent that, regaining control of the 32 hour day. I spent time with my friends and family, balancing both my academic and social life rather than giving one up for the other. I crossed my own boundaries, and took a step outside my comfort zone to explore and try different things. I made small changes to my daily life and routine, and really, that was all that I needed to pull myself back up. And really, more than that, I took advantage of the 32 hour day to live every second as much as I could, without feeling regretful it was gone. It’s cliche, really, but sometimes the most cliche things are what work the best. 

Part 216- Caring and Imperfections

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Part 216- Caring and Imperfections

I wrote this essay exactly a year ago today in one go. What started as just a concept that popped in my head when getting ready, became a reflection and breakdown of my metal state and mindset at that point in my life. This essay is very dear to me for many reasons, but mainly because writing it finally let me express all the things I wanted to say that I could not for months. It is a raw reflection of who I am. I wanted to share it now, seeing how much I’ve grown since then, and relating it to the dark side of the 32 hour day. So I now present to you, “Caring and Imperfections.”

Discuss an accomplishment, event, or realization that sparked a period of personal growth and a new understanding of yourself or others.

Caring and imperfections: how you don’t see something until you do see it

Sometimes you spend your whole life looking for something, only to realize that it’s right in front of you. Sounds a little cliche, and it is. My whole life has revolved around others. I rarely liked to be selfish or believed myself to be, and I often spent my time focusing on the benefit of others. In a way, it was beneficial. I allowed myself to meet new people and grow., But I also got trampled on easily. This is not the story of either of those events. This is the story of now. Who I am now; not the past but the present. 

Recently I’ve been struggling. Struggling with myself, my internal thoughts and emotions, and my external presentation and demeanor. My biggest enemy is my mind. The same mind that I felt to be on my side throughout suddenly turned itself against me. Where did the cracks begin? Where did I start to feel like I was falling- slipping even? Beyond my sense of willpower, by my help, by my desire to get back up?

I felt insecure; I wasn’t good enough—classic teenage burnout; classic teenage meeting with reality. I told myself it was fine. We’ll get better. We never did. It started a spiral: another event, a loss. I couldn’t change myself or become the person I wanted to be. I let myself down, and those who expected the bare minimum from me. I promised myself I would do better. I haven’t. I try to talk and feel left out. Subtle details that should be glossed over get over-analyzed. Response timings, response length, reactions, and conversations. I have to keep myself alert, I shouldn’t let myself get too comfortable. I’m sixteen, I don’t need to participate in old childish traditions anymore. You’re right, I need to learn how to be an adult now. Why should I expect so much when I shouldn’t be. Maybe we’ve spoiled you too much. The fears become reality with every word you say. You don’t deserve half the praise you get. You don’t deserve to act all high and mighty with a simple perfect score when you can’t even achieve the important things. Stop thinking of yourself as good; you’re not even half as good. You don’t do enough to be considered good or to the level of others. You act like you can do so much but you can’t; pathetic. That rings. It echoes in my mind often, a little stronger on some days than others. I sometimes feel helpless, I can’t do anything about it and maybe I should quit. Just give up. 

What’s interesting is that I saw two things about myself; one, all my imperfections, and two, how much I care. I said my life revolved around others, and it still does. I still care so much about other people, maybe more than myself. I care about whether they have a bad day or not. Whether they achieved that thing they’ve been excited about. Whether they could do their best and if they were happy. I wanted them to be happy and to help them I started to crumble. I cared too much about others and making them feel good, I started to feel bad when I didn’t get anything back. I thought too much about it. I felt that no one cared when I did. I wondered why. I felt that it was all my fault and that I ended up caring about them more than myself to make it better. It did not. In this, I could see myself cracking more and more. Everything came out, flooding out. Every mistake every thought every idea. But what came out of it? 

It’s a terrible way, but it allowed me to see all the sides of myself I never would have considered. I could see everything. All my flaws, all my faults, all my insecurities, all my imperfections. I took it the wrong way. I embraced them willingly but with the wrong intentions. It’s because I cared too much that I allowed myself to see who I truly was. The opposite of everything I thought. And yet, I still don’t see it. Because, even if I cared too much to see everything that I was, I was still and still am caring too much to let myself forget about it. 

I was and still am the same person who cares so much they can’t stand their friend’s suffering. I am a person who cares so much that I feel something bitter within myself when someone else gains the attention I believe to have gotten. I’m a person who cares so much they find that giving gifts is the best way to express their feelings. I’m the person who cares so much that they give away cupcakes on their birthday. I’m the person who cares so much that they decide to give up in an attempt to stop themselves from caring too much. I’m the person who cared so much, they didn’t want to ruin something so beautiful for a simple thought. I’m that person who cared. 

Part 215- Anatomy of a 32 hour day: Memoir of a wanna-be insomniac

Rovija Khapre 0 Comment My Stories, School Life
Part 215- Anatomy of a 32 hour day: Memoir of a wanna-be insomniac

“Anatomy of the 32 hour day: a memoir by a wanna-be insomniac”’ is a post reflecting on my experiences as a current highschool junior and the lifestyle and struggles I personally experienced during this period. Every highschool student is different, and while my experiences may vary differently from another, several parts are shared collectively within most. This will be broken into two parts: This post detailing my struggles, and the next as how I overcame them within my junior year.

The biggest problem for anyone, especially high schoolers, is a lack of time. There’s never time to do anything anymore. Despite waking up early and sleeping late I don’t have time to do anything. I’m still busy, still behind, still needing more time to do stuff. If I had enough time I could be invincible; I would be on top of the world, and could do so much. Someone asked me that actually. If I had any power in the world what would  I do; I easily answered that I would have more time. They then took that ability away, and I was at a loss of words. All  I really could ask for or wish for was the ability to have more time on my hands. (I don’t consider time travelling as a possibility, given I’d think too much about the paradoxes and the stress it would give me to not be seen, manage the logistics, etc. etc.) So that’s why I was at a loss. 

Time becomes an essential at this time in our lives. At this time, I’ve lost both my maternal grandparents and I didn’t have enough time with them. I’m a junior entering my senior year, and I feel like I don’t have enough time to boost my GPA, nor do I have time to redo some things I’ve done. I feel like I’ve lost time with my friends, making memories. It’s gotten to a point where I try to make more time for myself, thus creating my own 32 hour day. 

The 32 hour day is purely metaphorical, just to refer to my desire to create a longer day for myself, while ending up being exhausted by it altogether, maintaining the 32 hour day 7 days a week.  The way to create a 32 hour week starts with sleep. Or rather, the lack of sleep. 

Circadian clocks

My mother studied circadian rhythms when she was doing her doctorate. I was very young at the time, but she would come home showing me Western Blots of her experiments, teaching me advanced biology I could hardly grasp, and presenting her defense to me and my father. It’s only today that I have a better understanding of the subject. Circadian rhythm is a natural, 24 hour cycle that regulates the body’s physiological and behavioral processes. It’s essentially your internal body clock that controls your sleep-wake patterns, body temperature, and hormone release. I’ve always had a weird body clock. I wake up early and sleep early, up and out before others would. I was always known to be asleep by 8:30;  no matter where I was, I would be ready for bed and fast asleep once it was 8:30. Even today, even though I don’t sleep at 8:30, I tend to get tired around 9-9:30 and turn in before 10. While it is a blessing that I have such a manageable sleep schedule, it becomes my biggest curse. 

Taking advantage of circadian rhythms

I take advantage of my body clock, and force myself to wake up earlier to make more time for myself. As a kid I used to wake up at 5, sometimes 5:30, getting the perfect 8-9 hours of sleep. In middle school, I changed that to 4 am in the morning. At 4 am I’d promptly wake up and start studying before it was time for me to start getting ready. At that time, my schedule was still pretty normal. I ended up going to bed before 10, allowing me to get a good amount of sleep even while waking up early. That stayed the same throughout my freshman year. But then sophomore year hit, and things got problematic. 

Sophomore year was my junior year. I was already taking advanced classes, but this year it was a level where I was in junior or senior heavy classes the majority of the day. The jump from a partially lenient freshman year to a junior year-like sophomore year was daunting, especially when I had to start accommodating rehearsal times into my busy schedule as a member of my school’s varsity Orchestra. 2 hour rehearsals on Mondays, 1 hour rehearsals on Tuesdays, 7am Friday morning rehearsals took over, followed by an extracurricular or errand I had after that, and so much schoolwork. I found myself having less time to get assignments done or to study for tests, much unlike my less hectic middle school and freshman years. Especially with my circadian clock, I found myself getting in barely an hour of work before feeling drowsy and needing to sleep. Even with waking up in the morning at 4, I only got 2 extra hours to complete what I needed to do. To say I was stressed is an understatement. 

I was anxious every other day. I dreaded my AP classes because I was often the only sophomore in them. I had no friends in most of my classes, and felt like I was burdening others by telling them of my struggles. There were so many new things to me I didn’t know how to succeed at everything, evidently seen in my first quarter grades. It was a major blow to my pride, not knowing or doing well in most of my classes, and I knew I had to change something. 

I started waking up earlier. 4 am mornings slowly changed to 3:30 and later 3 am mornings. I woke up at 3 on Fridays to make up for the hour I lost for morning rehearsals, and set alarms for myself at 2:45 so I would wake up on time. On weekdays I slept late, sometimes going until 10:45, once 11 with the hope of getting some sleep for an early morning. My circadian rhythm suffered, and I’d be subjected to this irregular pattern even on weekends. I’d be up naturally by 6:30, regardless of sleeping early or not. I’d be working as early as I can, limiting myself to lying around in bed until 8 before I got ready and sat down to finish my work. And yet, it sometimes was never enough. I’d always end up with a lack of time. Regardless of how many early mornings and late nights I’d pull, of time on the weekends and denying myself time to relax, it was often never enough. 

Side effects and such

The 32 hour day isn’t the prettiest thing in the world, nor is it the most ideal way to get stuff done. I’m constantly stressed, working on assignment after assignment, with other extracurriculars and activities wedged in between. I’m pushing myself to spend too much time on something, not enough time on something else, and to constantly do more and be more to get the results I need and want. I’ve  got a 95% success rate, and like my built perfectionist try hard self, I’d wish for that to be a 100. I’m always working or doing something that never gives me time for myself. I rarely catch up and finish shows or get time to read a book. I’m tired and irritated, often screaming like a madman in the middle of whatever at home (to my parents off guard dismay) at random times in frustration, and sometimes lash out unwillingly, knowing I’m being stupid and a brat but just hoping for it to be let  go at that moment. It’s just a constant cycle of working and doing things without much rest in between and can be difficult to get out of. 

The 32 hour day hurts even more when I end up falling. When I put myself through so much, and try as hard as I can to juggle everything and do well in everything I make time for, I suddenly fall. Especially when it’s something I’ve greatly anticipated. A physics test I tried so hard to prepare for despite my continual struggles, or a standardized test I worked so hard to prepare for over the course of months and felt good about when finished. My parents say that the result doesn’t matter and instead your effort does. They say that if you’ve worked hard that’s all that matters, but it still hurts. It hurts the most when something you’ve worked and sacrificed so much for doesn’t end up going the way you hoped for. It hurts even more when you realize you have to put yourself through all that again, and even more because you didn’t succeed the first time. It hurts when you feel like you worked as hard as you could that first time and failed, and now don’t know what to do to pick yourself up again. That’s the vicious side of the 32 hour cycle. How you’re never always guaranteed success, no matter how hard you try or how many times you put yourself through the 32 hour day. It’s truly one of the worst feelings in the world. 

The wanna-be insomniac

One of the biggest driving factors that caught me in this cycle was fear. Simply put, I’m  afraid of many things. I’m afraid of failing. I’m afraid of failing a test, or even getting below a 90. I’m afraid of not meeting my expectations, my teachers’ expectations, or even my parents’ expectations. I’m afraid of falling behind compared to my peers, to those who are much smarter than me. I’m afraid of being overconfident, of letting success get to my head and being my achilles heel. All of these put together made me keep pushing myself further and further into this cycle unknowingly. What’s more is that I soon slowly started to be afraid of sleeping. I was afraid of giving myself the privilege of a few more hours of rest at the expense of getting 2 points higher on a test or getting a good grade on an assignment. That essentially led me to sleep less, or set multiple alarms through the morning to prevent myself from being too drowsy and unproductive in the mornings. If I wanted to wake up at 3, I’d set a 2:45 alarm. Even if I slept past 3 I’d still be restless knowing I wasn’t as sleepy as before and would force myself to get out of bed to start working.

A guilty thing I’d like to admit is that sometimes I’d sleep a little late on purpose. If I went in at 9:30 I’d sleep at 10:30, even if I was in bed by 10. I selfishly gave myself a little longer to be awake and bask in the moment of knowing the day was over, and I could relax. I knew once I closed my eyes the next time I opened them I’d have to start working, so I gave myself a little extra time to do whatever, just to enjoy that minute to myself. 

With this, one of the more unfortunate byproducts of the 32 hour day  has been the fact that I’ve stopped dreaming. As in, actual dreaming when I’m asleep. I think that primarily revolves around the whole lack of sleep part. Sleeping slowly has become a burden to me. It prevents me from doing enough things, makes me drowsy and uncoordinated, and is my nemesis. Had my body not needed sleep, I could be truly invincible. I could study for longer, really hone down key concepts and practice problems; get that one assignment from the projected 92 to maybe a 95; read more of the assigned English book I’m only 5 chapters through when I was supposed to be finished a week ago. I’d always push for more to fight off the time sleeping. Sleep now became a matter of closing my eyes for a few hours that would satisfy my parents before I could be back at it again. That’s how my life became and is. Now when I sleep, it just becomes me knowing I was able to close my eyes for some time, not having to do work, allowing me to quickly recharge. I don’t think I allow myself to indulge myself in sleeping, so I don’t dream as often anymore.

 In fact, sometimes I wish I had been an  insomniac. I wish I just would never fall asleep. I wished I could sleep in erratic patterns, so each period of rest was short. I wondered what it would be like, unable to sleep, so much time in your hands while the world rested. I already knew how it felt with early mornings- the quiet of a dark house, no one stirring for another hour at least. I wondered what it would be like to experience that for a whole period of time. I would have so much time to myself, so much peace and quiet and be successful. Or at least I thought. Insomnia can be dangerous if not treated, even fatal, and so I never wish I would unwillingly be subjected to insomnia, no matter the temptation it illusively gives. 

I could go on about the 32 hour day and a more in depth explanation of its impact. (This was initially 14 pages long – about 6.1k words of me just emotionally ranting and info dumping that I decided to cut it down to the main idea.) The 32 hour cycle is vicious and probably one of the worst ways to manage the stress of school, extracurriculars, and lack of time. And yet, I’ve found it to be the best way to manage everything going around me. As I said, my circadian rhythm is a blessing and a curse. Nothing will be according to how we want it to be, such as circadian clocks and assignments, but we can always work around it so we can succeed. That’s what the 32 hour day is to me. 

Feature Image credits: https://saminasleep.com/articles/what-you-need-to-know-about-circadian-rhythm/

Part 214 – reflected and refracted: ambiguity that allows for depth

Rovija Khapre 0 Comment Ideas, My Stories
Part 214 – reflected and refracted: ambiguity that allows for depth

refraction| noun

re·​frac·​tion 

3: the action of distorting an image by viewing through a medium

The difference in reflection and refraction lies only in how they show things. Reflection shows everything the way it is while refraction gives you something distorted and bent. 

In this way, we could associate reflection with something positive. It’s the truth, it’s good- wholesome and full. There’s no fear or unnatural depiction to it. You see exactly what’s given. It’s comfortable.

But with refraction it’s negative. It’s distorted, bent, somehow portraying something differently than it even is. It’s uncomfortable, different, partial, and in many ways unusual. We may not think it, but how often do we think of refraction in our lives? The negative ideas are often shunned away in hopes of a positive mindset. So realistically, refraction isn’t highly thought of.

It’s more than just a scientific idea. Refraction can become an idea- a concept if you allow it. 

Refraction can become something beautiful. 

Reflection allows us comfort as it gives us everything we can see and expect. We see the outcome as imagined in our heads. But refraction is different and goes against what we expect. That makes it so incredibly beautiful.

Refraction takes away the known, to let us see the unknown. What should be straight and consistent is bent and irregular. We perceive this and understand this. We see more than what is given. We can understand the inconsistency and still know that what is perceived is not true. We make use of the irregular to further understand the regular. 

Sometimes to have a refracted perspective is better than simply a reflection. Go beyond to see what isn’t shown, to know the full story.

Part 213 – The First and Last Guinea Pig: The Imperfect Dynamic of Being an ABCD

Rovija Khapre 0 Comment Me and My Family, My Stories, Social Responsibilities
Part 213 – The First and Last Guinea Pig: The Imperfect Dynamic of Being an ABCD

There is a specific description used for people like me, ABCDs. American-Born Confused Desis: the South Asians of second generations of first-generation immigrant parents seen in the United States. 

American- Born:

I am the generation of cultural acculturation, bringing in new tastes, ideas, and influences to the household, our parents wouldn’t. We pick up slang effortlessly, using them seamlessly within our everyday lives. We show them a new world and introduce them to diverse ideas and perspectives. In a way, we took on their sense of style and speech, yet still get scrutinized as outsiders and are judged easily before a word is said. 

For me, being American-born means distance. Not just physically but also culturally. I’m on eggshells, unsure of what jokes or references I can make due to cultural and environmental differences. My broken Marathi serves as a link-  a weak one- but how good is a second language if you speak it in only one setting because you’re rarely able to even use it? It’s that, alongside the physical distance between my relatives and I that drove me to become more isolated. I live on the other side of the world, needing to take two-day trips to see them only for a few weeks. I am forced to observe the people I love slowly grow old and fade away, while I sit in the past thinking they’ll always be there. 

Confused:

The proper term is: stuck between two worlds. Where do we truly fit in? What part of ourselves do we like better? The American side, going off of Western influences and experiences our parents grew up against , or the Indian side, dressing up in extravagant dresses as we play garba, perform aartis, and hang lanterns in the house. We tend to lean towards the American side- where we feel free. Where we feel accepted as our own individuals , unlike at home where our parents’ stringent rules restrict us, having to put up  facades in certain aspects to make us seem more “presentable” to our relatives. I’ve always stayed in-touch with my cultural roots, always finding a way to bring out my two sides. From wearing traditional anklets with my regular “American” attire to wearing Converse under kurthas, and so much more. It makes me feel connected. As if I belong in both worlds rather than feeling like an outsider in each. 

Desi:

I’m the first and last guinea pig of my parents. In other words, the only child. My parents have grown up in entirely different environments in India. For this, kids become their parent’s guinea pigs. We crack the system they never had to follow. We grow up in a different world than they did, so we become the ones they send out to test the societal waters. In most traditional Indian families, they have a minimum 4-family structure. What doesn’t happen with one, they can always try again with the other. I’m the first and last guinea pig. Every moment in time weighs heavily on my shoulders. I fear disappointing them. After all, I’m their only child: their hope, future, and a representation of themselves. It’s the same for every desi household. We have to do as told, we have to work hard, and we have to be at the top of the class.  This pressure substantially increases when you’re the only future generation. 

ABCD is often only used as a joke; occasionally a derogatory term for South Asian Americans. It actively reflects everything I have ever felt myself to be and shows who I can be. It defines my culture, my background, and the history of people who have worked to let me be born in America. It shows my mindset, how I’ve grown as an only child to make friends with certain people or to react to certain things differently. It’s a true reflection of who I am.