I Just have Copied Dreams....

I didn’t plan to write today.
Actually, I planned to overthink, scroll, feel weirdly inferior about someone else’s “soft life” story on Instagram, and sleep.

But then I read Abhishek Singh’s post-

Is everything planned? Lol, No!

the kind that feels like a voice note you didn’t know you needed and something in me cracked open.
Like a Coke bottle someone shook too hard.

So here I am. Writing.
At 11:15 am

between office hours , yes i dont have off today and i refuse to not use my random shot of motivation,
With no outline, no clear point, and a brain full of tabs I forgot to close.

When I was a kid and someone asked
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
I said “Doctor.”
Not because I had a calling. Not because I was good at science.
But because my sister said it first.
And because I was a professional dream-copier.

But plot twist:
She didn’t want to be a doctor either.

She wanted to be a writer. Like Kareena Kapoor’s brother in 3 Idiots.
Full of feelings, rebellion, and metaphors.
But my dad did what most Indian parents do when faced with a creative child:
He said, “Coaching le lo.”
And now she’s a doctor.
And also a writer.
And me?

I’m... some weird mosaic of half-done talents and “maybe-I-could-have-beens.”

I can dance. But I never trained.
I could’ve modeled. But I wasn’t “allowed.”
I loved the stage, but life kept handing me grocery bags of responsibility.

I thought okay, maybe MBA. That’s respectable.

Life threw responisbilities.
Now I’m a brand strategist an expert in helping other people find their voice.
But mine?
Mine’s like a sketch in the corner of a notebook. Faint. Half-erased. Not sure if it’s a face or a flower.

Sometimes I feel like my whole identity is a collage made from other people’s Pinterest boards.
My sister’s dreams.
My friends’ ideas.
My father’s practicality.
And society’s checklist.

In India, one person becomes a doctor and Miss World.
Another becomes an engineer because their dad said so and ends up a standup comic.
And then there’s me.
A shape-shifting, existentially exhausted, multitalented maybe.

No fixed dream. Just rotating hobbies and short-lived hyperfixations.

And yeah, there’s that one author who said something like,
“It’s a shame to know what you want to be too early. You stop exploring.”

But here’s the plot twist no one talks about:
Exploring is exhausting.
It’s not always fun and aesthetic.
Sometimes it’s crying at 3AM because you’re 27 and still asking, “What if I’m meant for something I haven’t even tried yet?”

Sometimes it’s knowing you’re good at many things but still feeling like a master of none.
Sometimes it’s staring at your Substack, your Instagram bio, your LinkedIn headline like it’s a puzzle in another language.

Sometimes it’s wondering,
"Am I just lazy… or lost?"

I don’t know what I’m becoming.
Maybe a writer. Maybe a performer. Maybe a healer of emotions in PowerPoint format.
Maybe I’ll keep shape-shifting until something finally clicks.

Or maybe, just maybe,
we’re not meant to become one thing.
Maybe our stories aren’t linear maybe they’re playlists.
Of chaotic songs, deep instrumentals, and guilty-pleasure bangers.

Maybe I’m not “behind” in life.
Maybe I’m just between verses.

If you’re also in your “what am I doing with my life?” era
welcome. There’s chai and crisis.
There’s overthinking and random inspiration at midnight.
There’s healing in memes and therapy in Instagram captions.

We’ll figure it out. Or not.
But either way, at least we’ll have stories to tell.