The Weight



Hey…

I don’t know if this is the right place to begin, but maybe beginnings never feel right. Maybe they just… happen. So here I am, trying to put my thoughts into words, hoping they make sense to someone—if not to the world, then at least to myself.

Let me ask you something.

Have you ever done something you didn’t want to do… only because someone else expected it from you?

I’m sure most of us would say yes. It has become so normal these days that we don’t even question it anymore. People call it “adjusting,” “understanding,” “sacrificing,” or sometimes, simply “life.”



But for me?

I care.

Maybe I care too much.

And I know I’m not the only one. There are so many of us who quietly carry this feeling—this uncomfortable mix of guilt, fear, love, and helplessness. But we rarely talk about it, because we think no one will understand… or maybe because we’re scared that someone actually will.

Sometimes I sit alone and think:

Why am I doing this?

Why am I forcing myself into something that my heart clearly rejects?

The answer always returns like a heavy breath:

Because I don’t want to hurt the people I love.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

How the people closest to us—knowingly or unknowingly—become the biggest source of pressure in our lives. Parents, friends, relationships, society… the ones we want to make proud are the same ones who unknowingly push us into corners we never chose for ourselves.

And no, I’m not blaming anyone.

Everyone has their own story, their own struggle, their own fear. Everyone carries a world inside them that we might never fully understand.

But even then… pressure is pressure.

And its weight doesn’t decrease just because it came from someone we love.

The thing about pressure is that it creeps in quietly.

At first, it feels like a small push.

Then it becomes a nudge.

Then a shove.

And before we know it, we find ourselves doing things that have nothing to do with who we are, what we want, or what makes us alive.

It’s like losing little pieces of yourself… one decision at a time.

And that’s when the realisation hits—

We are living, but not living as ourselves.

Sometimes, it feels like everyone is running a race without understanding why.

A race to meet expectations.

A race to prove something.

A race to not disappoint anyone.

But while trying so hard to make others happy…

we forget what happiness even feels like for us.

Isn’t that frightening?



Pressure.

What a simple word.

Just eight letters.

But the weight of it?

Enough to crush dreams.

Enough to make you forget what you wanted.

Enough to make you believe that your desires don’t matter.

Sometimes I wonder…

Did we forget how to live?

Or did life simply get too heavy to hold?

Because when pressure becomes a habit, silence becomes a home.

A home where we stay trapped… even when the door is open.

And that’s why the title of this book is Homeless.

Not because I don’t have a physical home.

But because somewhere along the way…

I lost the home inside myself.

The home where my thoughts should feel safe.

Where my choices should matter.

Where I should be allowed to breathe without fear of disappointing someone.

Maybe that’s what this book is—

an attempt to rebuild that home.

Brick by brick.

Sentence by sentence.

Truth by truth.

If you’re reading this, maybe you feel a little bit homeless too.

Not in the world—

but inside your own heart.

And maybe… just maybe…

We’ll find our way back together.

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