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The Hierarchy in Victimhood: The European Tragedy vs. Non-European Collateral

The logic of the empire runs as follows. Canada recognizes Palestine as a state on September 21st, 2025, 715 days after Israel initially launched its ethnic cleansing campaign in Gaza, all the while not recognizing it as a genocide. Per contra, Canada identified the Russian invasion of Ukraine on February 24th, 2022, less than 24 hours after Russia's initial attack. The G7 nations along with Canada framed the genocide of Palestinians as "Israel's right to defend itself" and labeled the Russian invasion as a "war of aggression." Western media recycled the same language in its reporting, framing the war in Ukraine as "Russia's invasion of Ukraine" and painted Israel's barbaric war on Palestine as "Israel's right to defend itself" or at best a "complex matter." The plan of action to support Ukrainians was to launch immediate sanctions on Russia and send military aid to stop further invasion, whereas Palestinians received no military aid. In fact, Israel received no sanctions for its blatant war crimes and continued receiving arms supplies from its Western allies, perhaps on the grounds of a promise made 3000 years ago. What screams as hypocrisy is merely empire working as intended, as the sole standard empire maintains is double standards. Utilizing the frameworks of transnational feminism and feminist anti-imperialism, in this essay I will argue that Canada and the Global North's inconsistent responses to the war in Ukraine and the genocide in Palestine reveal the consistent logic of imperialism; a hierarchy of victims engineered by colonial narratives that constructs European suffering as tragedy and non-European pain as collateral!

The hierarchical outrage that defines Western responses to violence extends beyond government policies and penetrates into feminist movements. Afaf Jabiri uses the concept of "coloniality-toxified feminism" (Jabiri et al., 2025, 227) to describe how decolonial and postcolonial feminist frameworks have failed to adequately address Palestine (Jabiri et al., 2025, 231). She identifies that feminists have accepted a global order that is built on the dispossession of Palestinians, noting that “the ethos of human rights, equality, and democracy, as celebrated in many Western feminist movements, has been constructed on the exclusion and erasure of Palestinian lives” (Jabiri et al., 2025, 231). The Global North's acceptance of the post WWII world order showcases a troubling gap between feminist theory and action. Although Western feminists have quickly condemned violence in other aspects such as the case of Ukraine, their reluctance to have a decisive stance on Palestine or their complicity showcases that colonial attitudes remain among many feminists (Jabiri et al., 2025, 231). Coloniality-toxified feminism operates due to the hierarchy that distinguishes European and non-European suffering. Ukrainian women are presented as deserving of solidarity while Palestinian women remain either invisible or viewed through the lens of orientalist tropes that blame their culture for their oppression. Coloniality-toxified feminism does not lack compassion entirely; it simply recognizes whose suffering counts, one selective tear at a time.

Maryam Aldossari addresses this phenomenon through the lens of "imperial feminism," a term she borrows from Valerie Amos and Pratibha Parmar. Aldossari argues that Western feminist frameworks “frequently align with imperialist and colonialist agendas,” which creates selective support that “reveals a brand of feminism that, while vocal on certain issues of violence, remains silent – or even complicit – in others, particularly when the perpetrators are Western-aligned powers” (Aldossari et al., 2025, 238). Drawing a parallel to the US invasion of Afghanistan where feminists proudly supported campaigns framed around "saving" Afghan women from the Taliban, she notes that this framing disregarded “the historical role of Western powers in destabilizing the region, as well as the complex socio-political realities faced by Afghan women” (Aldossari et al., 2025, 239). This very dynamic exists today where feminists who would never hesitate to condemn Hamas's allegations of sexual violence have remained noticeably quiet about “the well documented instances of sexual violence committed by Israeli forces against Palestinian detainees” (Aldossari et al., 2025, 239). Aldossari recognizes this as the “racialized bias within imperial feminism, whereby the suffering of non-Western women receive attention primarily when it aligns with Western political agendas” (Aldossari et al., 2025, 240). The violence faced by Ukrainian women is always a tragedy while the terror Afghan or Palestinian women face remains a footnote.

Sara Koopman, in her analysis of solidarity activism within the School of Americas movement, a U.S. army training camp, breaks down the selective compassion that operates through what she names the "good helper role" (Koopman, 2008, p.283). She notes that "white middle class women have historically gotten out of the home and gained more of a Self by being good helpers, classically as teachers and missionaries," and that "in this role they consolidated empire's power, often unintentionally" (Koopman, 2008, p.283). This exact dynamic described by Koopman is widely apparent in the Western feminist responses to both Ukraine and Palestine. Supporting Ukrainian women easily allows Western feminists to occupy the noble position of the "helper," as the dialogue around the support would suggest solidarity for Ukrainian women from Russian aggression, which is a comfortable role that reinforces rather than challenges imperial power structures. However, solidarity for Palestine refuses this script. The support for Palestinian women would make confronting the "complicity of solidarity in the on-going production of relations of oppression" compulsory (Koopman, 2008, p.289). Solidarity for Palestine alone would demand Western feminists to see themselves not as "saviors" but as oppressors. Hence why Ashjan Ajour states that "western feminism is often hesitant to confront the realities of Palestine due to geopolitical tensions and political alliances or the fear of being accused of antisemitism" (Ajour et al., 2025, p.233). The "good helper" cannot help the Palestinian woman as it destabilizes the Western innocence complex that shapes them.

In her conversation with Afghan activist Malalai Joya, Devaleena Das breaks down what a true transnational feminist approach, one that refuses and condemns the hierarchy of victims, manifests as. Joya chooses complexity over clarity, damns the logic that positions Western military intervention as "liberation," and condemns both the Taliban and the US NATO occupation. She states that "history has proven that no nation can grant liberation to another nation; the civilians themselves must achieve it" (Das & Joya, 2022, p.112). Solidarity is not a rescue mission; a crucial lesson Western feminists refuse to learn! Das insists that "transnational feminisms addresses a critical inquiry into how empire intersects with patriarchy, capitalism, neoliberal hegemonic militancy, and US nationalist exceptionalism" (Das & Joya, 2022, p.107). A de facto transnational feminist approach to global violence rejects any distinction between Ukrainian and Palestinian suffering as it would recognize both wars as the offspring of the same imperial logic, holding all the oppressors, whether they are Russian imperialists, Israeli settlers, or American warmongers, accountable. Jabiri argues that "Palestine becomes not only a feminist issue but a defining issue for feminism" (Jabiri et al., 2025, p.228). Hence, the selective compassion strategy that elevates Ukrainian victimhood and erases Palestinian dispossession is the antithesis of true feminism; in fact, it is imperial feminism in drag.

From the perspective of Indigenous feminism, Tracey Lindberg offers crucial criticism of the notion of "sisterhood" that Western feminist's function under. She writes that "when a feminist includes me in her understanding of sisterhood, she asserts that her gynocracy has primacy over my history, culture, race, language, and traditions" (Lindberg, 2004, p. 342). The hypothesis that shared identity solely based on gender erases the substantial differences in experience between settler and Indigenous women. Similarly, the thesis of the "universal woman" or "shared womanhood" between Ukrainian and Palestinian women blots out the vastly different ways empire treats European versus non-European bodies. Lindberg refuses to claim false sisterhood status by questioning her "sisters." She asks them, "how can you call me sister when you do not take care of my brothers? How are we kin when you do not participate in the education of our nephews, cousins, sons (including the un-learning of racism, classism, ageism, and sexism)?" (Lindberg, 2004, p. 347) These questions must be extended to Western feminists who claim solidarity with all women all the while refusing to address the genocide of Palestinian women, men, and children. Katie Boudreau Morris presents a framework to decolonize solidarity and states that true solidarity mandates "nurturing a habit of discomfort" (Boudreau Morris, 2017, p.456) as opposed to seeking comfort in savior narratives. Western feminists have the obligation to sit with the discomfort of their own complicity instead of lunging for the comfort of rescuing Ukrainian women while simultaneously ignoring Palestinian women. As false sisterhood composes elegies for few and lets others fade without an echo, for it is not kinship but empire!

Koopman uses a powerful warning by Audre Lorde, "the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house," in her analysis. She identifies that solidarity activists or "good helpers" possibly with good intentions "may appear to take tiles off the master's house, but it reinforces the systems of domination that prop up empire" (Koopman, 2008, p.283). The selective outrage portrayed by Western feminists and their conscious or perhaps unconscious bias in picking "worthy" victims is unerringly the "master's tool" that Lorde describes, an approach that fuels savior complexes and fails to dismantle the systematic structures that make "saving" a choice in the first place, leaving the empire intact. Koopman argues the solution is in no way abandoning solidarity altogether but transforming it. She suggests moving from "being a voice for" (Koopman, 2008, p.289) to "being a voice with" (Koopman, 2008, p.290), from "being innocent” (Koopman, 2008, p.289) to "being accountable" (Koopman, 2008, p.290). True transnational and anti-imperial feminism do not distinguish between Palestinian and Ukrainian suffering. Rather, it recognizes that the imperial logic that invades Ukraine also arms Israel to ethnically cleanse Palestinians, that colonial narratives dehumanize Palestinians and leave Indigenous women invisible, and that capitalist structures which profit from wars profit from all wars equally. The most effective tool of empire is the hierarchy of victims, and to dismantle the master's house we must "modify the master's tool and ever become more accountable true compass" (Koopman, 2008, p.301) by being companions in struggle "instead of 'being' helpers in a way that makes us more of a person, and those helped less of one" (Koopman, 2008, p.294). In summation, unless and until Western feminism understands and utilizes this lesson and modifies the master's tool, it will remain poisoned by the very empire it claims to oppose, or as Jabiri describes it, colonially toxified, by virtue of the fact that colonial narratives rank the dead instead of counting them. And until the ranking falls, the master's house stands!

References

Readings

1. Lindberg, Tracey. 2004. "Not My Sister: What Feminists Can Learn about Sisterhood from Indigenous Women." Canadian Journal of Women & the Law 16 (2): 342-352.

2. Das, Devaleena and Malalai Joya. 2022. “A Transnational Feminist Perspective on the US-NATO Military Withdrawal from Afghanistan: In Conversation with Malalai Joya.” Feminist Formations 34 (3): 106–26.

3. Pratt (she/her), Nicola, Afaf Jabiri (she/her), Ashjan Ajour (she/her), Hala Shoman (she/her), Maryam Aldossari (she/her), and Sara Ababneh (she/her). 2025. “Why Palestine Is a Feminist Issue: A Reckoning with Western Feminism in a Time of Genocide.” International Feminist Journal of Politics 27 (1): 226–50.

4. Koopman, Sara. 2008. "Imperialism Within: Can the Master’s Tools Bring Down Empire?” " ACME: An International E-Journal for Critical Geographies 7 (2). http://www.acme-journal.org/vol7/SKo.pdf

5. Boudreau Morris, Katie. 2017. “Decolonizing Solidarity: Cultivating Relationships of Discomfort.” Settler Colonial Studies 7 (4): 456–73.F

Additional Research

6. Carney, M., & Stubb, A. (2026, April 14). “Joint statement by the Prime Minister of Canada, Mark Carney, and the President of the Republic of Finland, Alexander Stubb. Prime Minister of Canada.”

https://www.pm.gc.ca/en/news/statements/2026/04/14/joint-statement-prime-minister-canada-mark-carney-and-president-republic

7. Carney, M. (2025, July 30). “Statement by Prime Minister Carney on Canada's recognition of a Palestinian state. Prime Minister of Canada.” https://www.pm.gc.ca/en/news/statements/2025/07/30/statement-prime-minister-carney-canadas-recognition-palestinian-state

“You Don’t Know How It Is”: The Exhaustion of Performing “Fine”

There is a viral audio that has circulated on TikTok for many years from the TLC show "1000-lb Sisters" where Tammy tells her sister, "Try being my size, Amy. You don't know how it is, and you keep pushing me like you are, and it's not helping... IT'S NOT HELPING." Although the context of the audio pertains to the struggles Tammy faces in comparison to her sister Amy due to her weight, as many things on the internet go, her conversation has been memefied and watered down for people to explain their own struggles that those around them fail to grasp the full magnitude of. Again, as many things on the internet, especially TikTok, go, the extent of Tammy's struggles has been cut down to a five second sound bite for people to trauma dump on strangers on the internet.

As a Gen Z woman and a card carrying member of the brain rot community who sees the poetry in the internet's trivialization yet resonance to Tammy's plea, I assumed if I were to write an essay about my personal struggles navigating neurodivergence, specifically high functioning ADHD and autistic masking or camouflaging, it seems fitting to introduce my struggles the only way my generation knows how; deliberately veiled beneath viral sound bites. Given that I choose to write about my struggles being neurodivergent and share the insights I have developed through this course about my own brain, I assumed it is appropriate to display the stream of consciousness that is the backseat driver to every fully formed thought, I feel the pressure to summarize in a socially acceptable package to not waste anyone's time and to introduce my struggles in an unserious fashion, for if I do not make jokes and laugh, I will cry!

This is my long-winded way of saying you do not know how it is! You do not know how it is; to have a brain that works a mile a minute that requires one to chase constant stimulation. You do not know how it is; hyper aware of your own potential and not be able to fully attain it because of systems and your own brain simultaneously working against you and constantly feeling like a failure, which leads to dopamine deficits, which leads to the type of depression that outwardly makes you look lazy and internalizing the perception on paper that leads to feeling misunderstood and isolated. You do not know how it is; not understand confusing social cues such as "be yourself" or "be honest" and offend those around you after almost every social interaction and walk away feeling like a terrible person because you were being yourself and being honest; directions unclear! You do not know how it is; constantly over explaining every thought you choose to say aloud in fear of being deemed immoral or wicked.

In the extension of the sound bite, Tammy says, "Yes, you have problems too, but they are not the same as my problems. I wish I could get up and do more for myself," and I relate to her sentiment. In a capitalist society where your value and social standing is determined through your achievements and hard work, I constantly wonder how to truly showcase my potential when the system is set up to fail those such as myself who have the brain capacity to secure accolades but not enough brain capacity to leave my bed every morning to chase those accolades. As I too wish I could get up and do more for myself. In this essay, I will draw from Seers and Hogg's concept of masking as gendered performance, Craddock's notion of epistemic injustice, and Hunter College and Simalchik's framework of medicalization and social determinants, to argue that my struggles with task paralysis, time management, and depression are systematic flaws not individual. I will also highlight new tools the readings have provided to better understand myself, such as naming my autistic masking or camouflaging as survival and reframing my "laziness" through a feminist lens to navigate my mental health with self-compassion rather than self-blame.

There is a specific type of exhaustion one experiences while performing "fine" when internally you are nothing but. I have spent a decade internalizing my struggles with task paralysis, time management, and depression as my personal failings, as evidence that I was lazy, undisciplined, or not trying hard enough. Tammy's plea, "You don't know how it is," captures an essential part of my neurodivergent experience; invisibility and isolation. Everyone has problems, but as Tammy insists, "they are not the same as my problems." Making this distinction is in no way an effort to rank suffering but rather to recognize that the architects of my suffering are systems and not me as an individual.

Seers and Hogg's research on late diagnosed autistic women validates my framing as they document that self-loathing or a negative concept of oneself are not fundamental personal failings but a product of a lifetime of navigating environments that punish difference. The participants in their study described internalizing the same beliefs I have carried; "broken, worthless, a failure" (Seers & Hogg, 2023, p. 32). One participant, Jane, captured the sentiment perfectly when she stated, "My sense of self, self-worth, confidence, and self-esteem were eroded over years of not feeling like I was good enough. I am still trying to overcome the belief in my brokenness and unworthiness to be loved" (Seers & Hogg, 2023, p. 33). This is the exact exhaustion I touched on, the type of fatigue that penetrates its way into every nerve ending of my body from performing "fine" while believing you are everything but.

Seers and Hogg introduce the concept of "masking" or "camouflaging" to describe strategies used by autistic women to appear neurotypical, such as rehearsing phrases, suppressing non normative behaviours such as repetitive noises, and mimicking social gestures (Seers & Hogg, 2023, p. 29). They suggest that masking is not a quirk but a gendered survival strategy, suggesting that "the social monitoring and policing of gendered behaviour through dominant social norms, relational bullying, and shaming is a strong motivator to maintain the appearance of 'normal'" (Seers & Hogg, 2023, p. 25). This reframing gained me a new tool; naming my masking as survival and not deception. When I over explain almost if not all of my thoughts in fear of being deemed immoral or wicked, when I rehearse every conversation before having them, when I leave most social interactions feeling like a terrible person for acting exactly how I was told to act, "myself and honest," I am not being manipulative or calculated. I am simply using the strategies I have learned to protect myself from a world that was never designed for my brain.

Craddock's study on late-diagnosed AuDHD (Autism and ADHD) strengthens this analysis by introducing "epistemic injustice," which she describes as the "lack of access to knowledge they need for understanding themselves, with others having more power to interpret one's experiences than the experiencer does" (Craddock, 2024, p.1446). Before my diagnosis at the age of 23, I did not have the vocabulary or language to understand why my brain worked a mile a minute, why I chased constant stimulation yet lacked the brain power to leave my bed, why my potential spanned oceans but my execution barely filled a cup. The participants of Craddock's study stated they "knew that they were 'different' from a young age" but "did not have an explanation for their difference which led to the internalization of negative judgements about themselves, damaging their self-esteem and self-concept" (Craddock, 2024, p.1449). Margaret, a participant in Craddock's study, stated something I felt in my bones, "I thought that I was lazy but recognized that I barely sat down and I couldn't rest" (Craddock, 2024, p.1449).

The most important tool that Craddock's analysis offered me was understanding that my depression, anxiety and self-blame are not inevitable but predictable consequences, as she recognizes that the "struggles to maintain routines produced feelings of shame and a negative self-concept which resulted in depression and anxiety" (Craddock, 2024, p.1451). She suggests that diagnosis enables women to "reauthor their lives and make sense of their past experiences" (Craddock, 2024, p.1450). The access to diagnostic language does not eliminate my exhaustion. My exhaustion remains intact; however, I now view it as survival and not worthlessness.

Hunter College and Simalchik's chapter on "Women's Health" ties the insights I have attained to a structural lens. They make an argument that "health is viewed as not just the absence of disease" but "a state of emotional, social, cultural, spiritual and physical well-being, determined by social, political and economic context of women's lives, as well as biology" (Hunter College and Simalchik, 2017, p.184). This is the "social determinants of health model" which "analyzes the impact of social factors such as race, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, educational attainment, and socio-economic status on health" (Hunter College and Simalchik, 2017, p.184). Applying the broader framework to my individual experience, my struggles with task paralysis and time management were not simply neurological but the result of capitalist systems that measure worth by productivity and gendered expectations that punish me by deeming me "rude" or labeling me as a "bitch" for failing to properly perform femininity. The tool I retrieved from this chapter was the permission to stop situating the problem only within myself and to understand how systems such as healthcare, capitalism, and patriarchy have failed me and many others.

In summation, Tammy wished she could get up and do more for herself, as do I. However, the insight the readings provided me is that wishing alone was never the issue. The issue was that no one gave me the map to navigate the world, taught me the language to explain myself, or provided me the accommodation to understand why getting up felt impossible in the first place. So no, you do not know how it is, but I do!

References

1. Craddock, Emma. 2024. “Being a Woman Is 100% Significant to My Experiences of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder and Autism: Exploring the Gendered Implications of an Adulthood Combined Autism and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder Diagnosis.” Qualitative Health Research 34 (14): 1422–55.

2. Seers, Kate, and Rachel Hogg. 2023. “Fake It 'till You Make It’: Authenticity and Wellbeing in Late Diagnosed Autistic Women.” Feminism & Psychology 33 (1): 23–41.

3. Hunter College Women’s and Gender Studies Collective, and Joan Simalchik. 2017. “Women’s Health.” In Women’s Realities, Women’s Choices: An Introduction to Women’s and Gender Studies, Canadian Edition., 182–212. Don Mills, ON: Oxford University Press.

#ilookhot

Maggots for Brain

I've felt rude, harsh, and justified in all my actions. I cut people out of my life without an ounce of care for what they've done for me. I wonder if that has anything to do with the lack of productiveness I feel in my day to day life.

I've heard this notion from many, many great writers; to be a great writer, you must read other people's thoughts, emotions, and perspectives. I believe this to be true. There's only so much insight one can gain from their own life, because believe it or not, I cannot be everything and everyone all at once. People read to uncover what the world has to offer beyond their immediate capacity. If this is true, I've gained very little perspective in the last few months.

Am I creating issues and dissecting every relationship in my life for writing prompts? See, I understand that this might seem like an overreach, but I am so painfully aware of my capacity for insanity that this hypothesis feels far from a "reach."

Am I so addicted to being right and having the capability to prove a point that I often overlook my expertise in painting people, including myself, the way I want them to look, which often does not match reality?

Am I creating issues to balance out the lack of fiction and grandiose in my life, in order to reread my words and remain elated with the sentence structures, so that I end up believing my perspective to be the god's honest truth and nothing but the truth?

M.L. Rio said, "If we dress our transgressions in metaphor, even the harshest realities can masquerade as beautiful necessities."

Do I, Pooja Nair, turn "grief, triumph and dark intention into rhythmic grace" to mesmerize myself?

Could you justify anything if you did it poetically enough?

Could I??

Does the fact that I articulate myself better than most negate the realities of perspectives I remain unaware of, simply because others cannot craft their point of view the same way I can?

Just because you have a good lawyer doesn't make the perpetrator any less guilty of the crime. And if this is true, does my awareness that my words shoot to kill and doing it anyway mean I am justified in the slightest??

Uhhh, why does everything I write end in grandiose narcissism or self loathing??

How did I go from the voice of my generation to a self-righteous bitch??

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKK

All adventurous women do.

The constant state of nullity I found myself in has been nothing short of miserable and dreadful. As much as I enjoy comfort, I enjoy understanding my potential, knowing my worth, acquiring new interests, and being multifaceted a lot more.

Here is my insight on adult relationships: it isn't as sunshine and rainbows and riding off into the sunset as I assumed it to be. It is fun and comforting until you lose sight of who you are in the name of love.

It is extremely easy to morph into your partner, especially if you're glued to the hip 24/7. And as much as I love my partner, companionship, security and orgasms, I came to the epiphany that fortunately I will always love myself far more than anything and everything that could possibly encompass my whole being.

I wonder if this notion stems from growing up witnessing unstable relationship dynamics and watching a paternal figure stretch themselves too thin for the benefit of others and ultimately lose sight of who they are. I do not know if that is the catalyst for my precautions when it comes to my current relationship; however, there are precautions, nonetheless.

I am conscious of losing my individuality.

I am conscious of morphing into someone else simply because I love them.

I am conscious of losing my perspective.

And ultimately, I am conscious of losing my hard-earned voice that took me 24 years to raise!

As much as what I have is picture and textbook perfect, it will never be good enough unless I feel a sense of content within myself and my being. Which as much as I thought for it to be true love; it is not.

Although I am content in my relationship, I was miserable because I lost sight of who I am in it. Only to realize that as great as the honeymoon stage of a relationship is, the true testament of great love is giving yourself and your partner the capability to grow outside the relationship as individuals while not growing apart. Furthermore, my perspective on the matter is, if I cannot grow up, find stimulants, learn perspectives, and understand the nature of being outside of my relationship, then it is not a relationship that is worth having.

I know very little about you or the average human experience, however I know I am made for greatness. I am cut from the same cloth as my heroes that may have died alone but made a difference, had a point of view, a perspective and vision of what the world could be, and contributed in their own unique way to change the lives of those who came across their eccentricity.

As the great Lena Dunham once said, "I might be the voice of my generation. Or a voice of a generation." And to fulfill my purpose, I need to prioritize myself before I prioritize anyone. Not in a selfish way where only my needs are met and not anyone else's, but in a way where I am not going to stunt my development or compromise my needs in the name of love. Maybe I'm not a "true romantic" as I once believed myself to be, however I am truly a great mind as I've always known, and losing that sense of self is of far heavier consequence to me than losing anything, anyone, everyone or everything. As all adventurous women do, I am in pursuit of greatness.

"Everything's Gonna Be Alright"

- Bob Marley & the Wailers

Borderline, drug induced, vain, and self-indulgent are the words I chose to describe myself. If I were to do a postmortem on my existence, the sheer capacity of my insanity would wipe out my physical flaws, which is saying a lot if you knew me well.

Speaking of; I am not well!

I've been thinking about this recently. I do not think I would have been any saner had life been easy. Let me decipher this. The driving force of my insanity for the longest time was the harshness and brutality of life itself. However, things have changed. The wind has moved. I've sailed toward calmer waters, and I am going crazy because life is not throwing a real issue at ME!. Everything is understandable, everything is fixable, everything, it kills me to admit, is gonna be alright! And I am going coocoo bananas over the fact that life might just turn out a lot better than I had hoped.

This was the plan all along, and now that I've understood I am capable of creating a life for myself that I want and deserve, I am actively petrified of my powers, which is making me miserable. There, that was my issue all along. That's it. Diagnosed myself yet again! FUCK YA

Everything is gonna be alright!

I’m so girl

I like sitting on my bedroom floor, free bleeding and writing. I'm so girl

I like yellow daisies in a Lorelei Gilmore way and reading about the world ending. I'm so girl

I like purple. I listen to Prince and cleanse myself with amethysts. I'm so girl

I love my boyfriend. I love smelling him and he's a feminist. I'm so girl

I feel anxious when the wind hits me. I take Prozac and Concerta to keep me calm. I’m so girl

I study politics and journalism. I read Sylvia Plath and the Brontë sisters to romanticize agony. I'm so girl

I like feathers, fringe and leather. I wear Isabel Marant and cheetah print. I'm so girl

I like socialism, freedom, liberty and sovereignty. I’m so girl

I love Audre Lorde and bell hooks. I respect Eve Babitz’s decision to write to Joan Diddion. I’m so girl

I love my friends. They’re smart, funny and entertaining. They’re so girl

I like Taylor Swift, Alexa Chung and Lana Del Rey. I weep to cowboy like me. I'm so girl

I wore knee socks to sixth grade, reblogged the lyrics to Summertime Sadness on Tumblr, and hand-hearted during fearless. I'm so girl

I smell like caramel syrup and vanilla. I do voice exercises on empty streets. I'm so girl

I love hanging out with my boyfriend, he’s charming and smart. He makes me laugh. I’m so girl

I love Blackout by Britney Spears. I only listened to Born to Die for all of grade 7. I’m so girl

I love Lena Dunham. I’m a Sosh Sun, Jessa Moon and Hannah Rising. I’m so girls

I’m always miserable. I hate IUD cramps. I’m so girl

I love Diet Coke with pickle juice and Brisk Ice Tea. I like Marlboro fulls and double mint vape juice. I’m so girl

I feel the constant need to scream. I love my perky tits. I'm so girl

✨WAWAWEEWA✨

*In the voice of Lucinda Stranfford*

You know I'm hitting a weird spot in my self-development where days just seem to breeze by as I spend my time people-watching. I watch people structure their days and get tasks done, whereas I feel as significant as a fly on the wall watching those around me exist.

I wouldn't necessarily say I'm depressed, but I would say I see my cascade of ocean wave blues approaching, and I don't like it!

It is immensely frustrating to someone such as myself, who seeks serotonin hits from knowing and understanding things, to not name what exactly it is I am feeling.

I think the calm is making me ill.

I've been calm since January. I get everything done, I'm excited about leaving my house, I'm accomplished on paper. However, I feel fucking nuts for admitting this. I want to kill myself because peace feels congestive. In fact, so congestive that it's suffocating the misery off me, and I'm in a perpetual state of only sensing the moments where misery tries to take its last breaths. Again, feels fucking nuts to admit this, but I romanticize my misery. Misery made me interesting, misery accompanied me to kindergarten, misery made life expansive, misery made me understand my worth.

Who am I if not miserable?

Calm, peaceful and happy??

YUCK!

Not that it is a bad trade-off on paper. For someone such as myself who is constantly shocked by the sheer capacity of my insanity, I often wonder: is it a lame ending to my story??

The hero's arc feels,

*in Ted Mosby's voice*

✨Unfinished✨

Honestly, I know the lesson!

*The universe*

"We are giving you a leg up from the perpetual state of drowning you find comfort in. You do not have excuses to not go after what you've been asking for."

Duhhhh

Great lesson. Pop off.

Again, hate to do this, however, I mourn the death of my miserable self with all the dramatics of a black widow.

That's it! Thanks for reading!!

I feel happy again!!!

YAYYYYYYYYYYY

Regarding My Feelings? Regardless of Feelings!

- Pooja Nair

If someone asked me how I'm feeling right now, I would say "I feel numb." Yeah, that's how I feel numb. I guess that's not really feeling anything. The absence of feeling is what I feel.

I feel like a freshly painted wall with nothing hanging on it in the corner of the house that no one minds much and wouldn't pay much attention to anyway. It is shiny and revamped, but they only really painted me because they were painting the entire house. They would not have thought of painting me if the other walls that they find much more interesting didn’t need to be painted.

Then I feel this weird existential dread come over me because if no one paid any attention to me even after the paint job, what am I really worth? I feel like I'm killing time in the name of counting time all the while thinking about all I could do and all I could be while I'm not being or doing those things. I feel the need to detach myself from the house and run away. Then and only then I would be able to measure up to the sum of my potential, but I do not know how to detach myself from the layers of acrylic paint and concrete. After all, isn't that where I belong? Yeah, I am tied down and unable to move. That must be where I belong, so the potential I speak of is a hoax that I created to make myself feel interesting. The potential is the stuff I would display on myself. The potential is the stuff other people would pay attention to. But ultimately, I feel beige, made out of wood stuck together with concrete and industrial glue, unable to move, unable to draw attention, unable to feel. I feel numb.

The Paradox of ADHD

The paradox of my ADHD follows a narrative structure. I have big dreams and plans for myself that I know I'm 100% capable of achieving. I mean, I know I am because I've been told that since I was a kid. Every compliment I received growing up followed the same script: "She's so smart…" "She's gonna go places…" "She's gonna do great things…" all later followed up with a "…she just needs to focus."

Look, I've never been one to listen to authority or follow structure. So for the longest time, I pacified myself with the notion that I couldn't focus on one thing simply because there are too many things in life that require my attention. To a certain capacity, I believe that's true. However, this notion is catching up to me. What comes with 24 years of revolution around the sun is this thing called brain development. And what comes with brain development is societal pressure. What comes with societal pressure is a want to prove your worth. Not the type of worth you hold for yourself, but the type that looks good on paper.

And especially for someone like me, who has all the capabilities to achieve textbook success, not having someone penetrate ink onto tree pulp and declare "she's this, that, and the other" feels rather depressing. This is the side of ADHD that doesn't get talked about. The depression that partners with not being able to meet yourself where you should be, where you belong. Trust me, it's a package deal.

And as much as I think it's important to maintain humility, I believed the words of those around me growing up to be true. Not out of hubris or gall, just self-assurance. But what happens when self-assurance meets my ADHD? When all that I'm capable of becomes a mere source of anxiety for my brain that drains all my dopamine and leaves me with no will to get out of my bed?

They call this task paralysis. And what an adequate name for my inadequacies that is. I mean, yes, that is exactly what it is. I am constantly paralyzed by the thought of tasks. I lay down and think of all that I should be doing instead of actually doing them. Because underneath what may be perceived as laziness is a fear of starting something and not being the best at it.

Look, I don't have anything profound to say. I just feel like a loser. Even though I've never played to win, I don't wanna lose. The losses are silent but apparent atleast to me. And in the wise words of a 5’10 blonde cat lady, “no one sees when you lose when you're playing solitaire.”

On Keeping a Blog

- Pooja Nair

03.03.2026

I read "On Keeping a Notebook" by Joan Didion. Well, in all honesty, I read the first three paragraphs. In it, she mentions that "keepers of notebooks are a different breed altogether, lonely and resistant rearrangers of things, anxious malcontents, children afflicted apparently at birth with some presentiment of loss." This made me wonder why I lost the habit of journaling along the way. I used to journal every day and go back to look at all that had happened to me on a random Tuesday five years ago. However, over the last five years, I lost the need to remember myself, my life, and my experiences. I thought to myself, have I become so nihilistic in five years time, from 19 to 24, that I subconsciously assumed life held no meaning, and therefore logging it in any form served no real purpose??

However, that changed this year, or at least I think it has. I realized I would like to remember the last month, at least, in extreme detail. The kind of detail that breaks down every note in the scents I smell as I go about my day. Hence, I decided on keeping a blog!

Baby Pink Feathers

by Pooja Nair

Completely unprovoked, I was reading reviews of Fearless (Taylor’s Version) and this quote from Pitchfork’s Dani Blum stood out to me: “when we could pretend that wanting could be worth more than knowing, when wanting could be everything.”

I do not know the particular reason why this caught my eye, but if I were to build something out of nothing from the random stimulation to my brain that caused me to open my journal and write, I would say it is because I need “wanting” to be everything again.

Let me try to decipher this thought. I hate, HATE the mental paralysis of the early 20s. The logic that turns every “what if?” into “no chance!” The “I can’t do it because of this, that, and the other thing” alone makes me, for a lack of better words, want to blow my brains out. Couldn’t wanting just be everything? At least for me?

I understand the socio-political dynamics that make that wish “problematic”, not to mention the extreme privilege I possess in being able to sit in my room and complain about all that is wrong with my life when all that I have is everything someone else wants. Trust me, I get it; the grass is always greener. However, I would like to describe the greener grass while acknowledging my selfishness.

The history of those who stepped foot on the pedal to chase “wanting over knowing” tells the tale of colonization, genocides and capitalism. However, what I want is far less cruel and far more human; in fact I would argue that what I want is what every human wants. I think? But amidst the rise of fascism and a red-pilled society, the quest to attain basic human needs seem rather ambitious and selfish.

The watered-down version of my intentions essentially is to attempt to leave the logistics of life behind and just dream. To be able to think to myself, “I am gonna find the type of love one day that satisfies and heals me,” without the interruption of the voices in my head that tell me: “YOU DON’T NEED A MAN/WOMAN TO SAVE YOU,” “YOU SHOULD LEARN TO LOVE YOURSELF AND JUST BE CONTENT,” “YOU’RE NOT A FEMINIST IF YOU RELY ON A MAN’S LOVE.”

This is obviously an exaggerated version of my emotions; however, I will not deny that there is truth to it. Every relationship I have entered has been an attempt to fulfill the intention mentioned above, and every time I have exited those very relationships my justification has been those voices. Look, I am not thick-headed enough to truly believe that it is someone else’s responsibility to fix something they did not break, but it is not my responsibility either to fix something I didn’t break. I did not cause the polarities and borderlines of my personality, so why am I left alone to fix it? Do you expect to self-heal when you break your arm? No, most of you go to the doctors. Then why is it that I am expected to self-heal a broken heart?

I cannot stitch myself back together just by loving myself. That is not how it works! I can only love myself enough to ask for sutures and not let anyone cut them open again. I am not capable of loving myself enough, nor do I want to be. As the saying goes “it takes a village.” I want to be able to rely on someone for the rest of my life and ride off into the sunset like in the fairy tales, and there is no way craving reliability is anti-feminist. However, the whose it and what’s it galore of the internet have somehow shamed me into believing that wanting love is naive, heartbreak is juvenile, and happily ever after is a hoax.

To their credit, each swipe on Hinge, every dreadful conversation in my DMs, and every failed relationship have proven their point.

To be VERY clear, this is not me belittling conversations such as those around “Is Having A Boyfriend Embarrassing” by Chante Joseph or the sociological and cultural approaches taken to discredit the lie, “a knight in shining armor will save you and make all your problems go away.” That is not my intention. I see the personal and societal value of these approaches and deem them extremely important.

I know self-love and saving oneself are key traits of personal development. While I do love myself and I am capable of pulling myself out very dark hole my mind wanders into, trust me, I have walked, crawled and dragged myself out of enough situations to know this to be true. I still see the value in romantic relationships.

I also know myself well enough to realize that self-love is simply not enough, at least for me, whether that is fortunate or unfortunate. What I am trying to tackle is where my personal needs fall within the cultural zeitgeist.

Am I going against the sisterhood by pointing out the void of a romantic relationship? Am I going against the sisterhood by never rejecting the possibility of love? Am I going against the sisterhood if I find no personal empowerment (again, for me, not for all, ME!) in loneliness? Am I going against the sisterhood by admitting that I am afraid of following the footsteps of my heroes; dying alone in a shoebox sized apartment in some major city, surrounded by 11 furless cats, crystals, books, take-out containers and 50mg of Prozac, and no one knowing about my passing because my cats ate me after not being fed for days?

Does my logical brain understand this is an irrational fear?

Yes.

Does my anxiety care about logic?

No!

I am simply asking for a hand while I am slowly losing my grip within society. While that hand could be of my family or friends is it wrong of me to say that’s not want I always need? I am truly TRULY grateful to have a village. I really am but the void is still apparent and I am trying to understand if having these thoughts can coexist with my values.

My educated opinion is yes, of course it can, but the values depicted in feminist literature are rarely served by my algorithm or comment sections. As someone who was raised on the internet, no matter how much I reject social media and online discourse, I ultimately care about perception. I care if what I am saying is analyzed the wrong way, and I most definitely care if my words are twisted against me to shine a light on my character that does not reflect who I am.

I know the status quo sticks to its views of what is right and wrong. A lot of good comes from that; however, if the way we view people is just black and white, I feel as if there is no place for someone like me, whose mere existence does not allow me to fit in. I am brown… duh. Just kidding.

The polarities of my personality and views of the world are what makes me, ME! I like to believe I am a good person, but what if those people who I believe to be good, deem me not good enough? Does that book me a one way ticket to the land of the wicked? Obviously there are nuances to everything; there is a right audience for all, and as you get older you will find your people, etc., etc. But my fear is, what if I am one of those unlucky souls who was cursed with eternal loneliness? What if my biggest fear is my destiny? Then what? What do I do? I am far too egotistical to actually blow my brains out. Do I just embrace loneliness until death decides to pay me a visit?

Wise men/women/they/thems (I don’t know who exactly walked around spewing these thoughts) say you will find what you are looking for when you least expect it. However, I do not know how to not have expectations. I have sought great perhapses, believed in better tomorrows, and never not been hopeful. I have been this way since my cognitive abilities kicked in. I always hope for love and happiness to come knocking on my door sooner or later. I do not know how else or who else to be. I always believe. Believe in wanting to be worth more than knowing.

#irrational fears