We were walking.
No destination in mind..just streets, evening air, and a conversation about Earth, existential crisis, adulthood and how tired everything feels without admitting it out loud.

Somewhere between crossing a road and dodging traffic noise, I told her what I’d been carrying for a while.
I sometimes feel this planet was designed by someone who ran out of imagination midway.
They gave us gravity, taxes, textbooks—and forgot the rest.

She smiled. So I kept going.

No secret schools hidden in plain sight like Hogwarts.
No ancient creatures guarding forgotten truths.
No talking forests that pause mid-sentence when humans arrive.
Just a world that keeps insisting this is all there is, and we should be grateful.

And then...

BAMM!!!

The footpath disappeared.
The air went woooosh.
And before I could scream or philosophise further, I was fallingg..neatly, dramatically into a tunnel that looked suspiciously well-lit for something illegal.

Right before panic kicked in, a tiny goblet floated toward me.

Polite. Calm. Almost smug and handed over a page
On top, clearly written:

Traveller’s Guide to Anywhere-But-Here

I read.

(Written on the page)

Welcome to a place not found on maps.

Flights are unavailable. So are return tickets. 

Entry Requirements:
– A working imagination
– A mild dissatisfaction with reality
– The ability to listen without interrupting

Flora & Fauna:
– Trees speak in half-sentences
– Animals are fluent philosophers but terrible conversationalists
– They speak only when humans stop pretending to be superior

Time:
– Moves slowly
– Not because it is lazy
– But because no one is in a hurry to grow up

Conflict:
– No wars
– Only disagreements that end in stories

Magic:
– Exists quietly
– Not as spectacle
– But as daily inconvenience (misplaced keys, sudden courage, unexpected kindness)

Tourists from Earth often complain.

They miss productivity.

They ask where the Wi-Fi is.

Some try to measure the place. They never last long. 

If you feel an unexplained ache while reading this, congratulations!!!
your application has been approved.

Please note: once you’ve been here, reality will feel poorly designed.

I was thrilled.
Finally!!!Proof. Alice wasn’t dramatic, she was accurate.

I started planning immediately.
What to pack, Whether adulthood could be left behind without guilt.

Just as I leaned forward to sign the document—

tap tap

I opened my eyes.

White ceiling, White lights, People in white staring at me.

Someone asked, “How are you feeling?”

I wanted to say, Extremely excited, I was about to migrate to Wonderland. Instead, my voice lingered somewhere inside..I looked down.My hand was wrapped. And my leg appeared to be gently suspended (what???) as if experimenting with antigravity,

Turns out, the tunnel was not a portal. It was a pit.
And I had fallen straight not in Wonderland but into reality with a broken hand, and a leg..For a moment, I was disappointed.Then I laughed.

Because honestly—

of all the ways to not reach Wonderland, this was dramatic enough to count as an attempt. So yes, I’ll continue acting sensible.
I’ll nod at reality, meet expectations, play my part convincingly. 

But if you ever catch me staring at nothing, smiling for no visible reason...assume a dragon just passed by.

And I chose not to point it out. 

If only I could speak, I’d tell you that your life is shaped less by fate and more by the quiet arithmetic of yes  and no.

You say yes to things that drain you, and I tighten your breath because you know it’s a betrayal.

You say no to chances that could grow you, and I twist your stomach because you know it’s a retreat

I am the ache before honesty, the noise before clarity, the discomfort that shows you exactly where your boundaries are bleeding.

I am not the storm you imagine —

I’m the quiet check-in before your life changes direction.

I am the quiet weight that teaches what promises mean,
the tension that carves depth into your dreams,
the shadow that gives your hope its shape.
You imagine a world where I don’t exist —
but in that world, bravery would have no story,
and victories would feel weightless.
I don’t rise to stop you;
I rise to make sure the life you choose is truly yours.
I am the hesitation that sharpens your intention,
the trembling that tells you where the truth begins,
the darkness that makes your light worth finding.

Every time I rise in your chest, I’m asking just one question:
“Will this choice protect your peace or steal it?”

They say, until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.

How true that feels.

So often we move through life like passengers, not drivers—

repeating patterns we never questioned,

following rules we never wrote,

calling it destiny when it was simply habit.

And then there’s authority—the loud voice outside that drowns the quiet one inside.

Blind obedience feels safe, but it costs us the truth.

Because the greatest enemy of truth is not lies—it is silence,

the silence of those who never questioned, never looked deeper,

never dared to step aside and ask, why am I doing this?

It makes me wonder—what are we really gathering all our lives?

Degrees? Applause? Bank balances?

Or just more guests for our funeral?

We chase validation so hard,

forgetting that peace was never out there in the crowd—

it was always in the solitude we kept running from.

Maybe real living is this:

to bring light to the unconscious corners of ourselves,

to question authority when it blinds us,

to stop decorating the cage and finally walk out of it.

Because at the end, a full hall on the day of our death means nothing.

But a life lived awake, with truth as its anchor—

that means everything.