Bimql chhetry.

A month ago I got fired from an executive leadership position. And honestly, it may have been the healthiest thing that’s happened to me in years. At the time, naturally, I thought my life was over. Because that’s what we do. We catastrophize professionally. You spend enough time answering urgent calls on your phone and responding to emails at 11:14 PM and eventually your brain convinces you that if you stop moving for even a moment, civilization collapses. Meanwhile civilization continues completely unaffected while you stand in your kitchen eating shredded cheese directly out of the bag at midnight. Executive leadership is an amazing scam when you think about it. People give you a title, endless responsibility, and access to meetings that should have been emails, and in return your body slowly converts itself into acid reflux. I had headaches constantly. I slept terribly. My eye twitched for like eight consecutive months. Every phone notification felt like death from a thousand cuts...

So I recently started posting and I started getting lots of messages asking for pictures in return for money... i ignored these messages but a few days ago a guy offered me 150 dollars upfront in exchange for just some normal pictures of mine... 150 dollars is a good amount of money to me and i didn't think of it as something wrong so I decided to do it... few minutes after I sent him the pictures, he asked for more in exchange for 50 dollars again... i did it again... then he asked me to remove my tshirt and send him a picture and he told me he'd pay me 150 dollars for it... 150 dollars is a lot of money for me and I couldn't think clearly about what I was doing and I decided to do it... he sent me the money through telegram and I sent him the picture... soon after I did it, i wanted to make more money cuz I had lots of money related problems while growing up and I wanted to make money on my own. So I did the same thing with 2 more people for lesser money... I'm not h...

Not long ago. I had a first date with someone I met on a dating app. Texting was fine before the meet. Not great but normal enough that I thought it would be okay in person. We met at a coffee shop and the first few minutes were fine. Basic introductions, small talk, nothing unusual. But then something weird started happening. Every time one of us said something, it just died there. Like I would ask a question, she would answer. Then silence. She would ask something, I would answer. Then silence again. No natural flow, no follow up, no “building” on anything. Just question, answer, pause. We both just kinda laughed awkwardly at one point cause we obviously noticed it. We tried to get it going but it felt like we were forcing every sentence Total 30-40 minutes but felt much longer. Nothing bad happened, no argument, no weird moment. Just two people who couldn’t find anything to connect on. We both said it was nice meeting each other and left. And that was all. It was not the worst date...

Commercial longline fishing is a miserable way to make a living. You live in a state of constant, grinding exhaustion. The boat smells permanently of rotting bait, and frozen brine. You work twenty-hour shifts, pulling miles of heavy monofilament line out of the freezing water, unhooking the catch, rebaiting the hooks, and stacking them back in the holds. It breaks your back and ruins your hands. I was the new guy. The crew consisted of just three of us: the captain, an older, heavily scarred deckhand who had been fishing for thirty years, and me. We were working a very deep, isolated stretch of the ocean. We had been out for ten days, and our luck was terrible. The holds were mostly empty, and we had caught a few small swordfish and some low-grade tuna, but nowhere near enough to cover the cost of the fuel and the bait, let alone make a profit. The tension on the boat was thick. The captain was pacing the deck, chain-smoking, glaring at the dark water. The older deckhand worked in gr...

​ I drove the same bus route for nine years. Route 12. Forty-one stops. One hour and eight minutes end to end if the lights cooperate, which they don't. You see the same people every day on a bus route. They don't know you notice but you notice everything. The woman who does her makeup between stops 4 and 9. The teenager who falls asleep and always wakes up exactly one stop before his. The man in the yellow tie who gets on at stop 17 and gets off at stop 23 and always looks like he's already late. And then there was the old man at stop 31. Every morning at 6:47. Never a minute early, never a minute late. Small guy, big coat regardless of the weather, always carrying a paper bag from the bakery two blocks away. He'd get on, pay cash — always exact change, always ready — and ride to stop 38. Seven stops. Maybe twelve minutes. He'd get off and walk toward the park. Every single day for six years I watched him do this. We had an understanding. I'd open the doors an...

​ I'm a waitress at a mid-range Italian place. Nothing fancy. The kind of restaurant where businessmen take clients when they want to impress them but not too much. Last Tuesday, a man sat alone at table 9 for three hours. He ordered the cheapest pasta on the menu and a glass of tap water, and then he just... stayed. My manager kept giving me looks. I kept pretending not to see them. Around the second hour, I sat down across from him. I don't know why. I just did. "You waiting on someone?" I asked. He smiled, kind of embarrassed. "My daughter," he said. "It's her birthday." I looked at the empty chair. The bread I'd brought had gone cold. "How old is she?" "Twenty-six today." He straightened his fork. "We haven't spoken in four years. I sent her a letter last month. Asked if she'd meet me here." He glanced at the door. "She didn't reply. But I thought — maybe." I didn't say anything. ...