I’m really, really sorry I disappeared like that.
I know some of you send me emails asking why I stopped writing. Some of you ask “When will you post again?” And honestly? I know. I left it hanging.
But the truth is… I’ve been in the middle of something. Something messy. Something I don’t know how to write about the right way.
So, tonight? I’m just going to write it anyway. Right way or not.
Let me tell you the long story of why I’m finally writing this.
Today… today was rough.
I’ve been anxious for months now. It’s creeping up because in three days, I turn 18. Everyone talks about turning 18 like it’s this shiny milestone. Adulthood. Freedom. All that stuff.
For me? It’s just… fear. Fear I’ve been carrying for months.
But today hit different.
Today I had a mental breakdown. Two panic attacks. Maybe more, I don’t even know anymore.
I was lying on my bed, mid-breakdown, and my phone buzzed. You know when you're so numb, you just pick it up without thinking? That was me.
I pick it up, say “What’s up?”
My friend?
“Hey, how were your results? You know… your exam results came out today, right?”
I froze.
I didn’t even know. That’s how much I’ve been avoiding anything connected to my exams.
Why?
Because… it hurts.
Because I had a dream. A stupid, stubborn dream that I still refuse to let go of.
I want to get a Master’s degree in Computer Science.
People laugh at that these days, make fun of CS, say the market’s dead or whatever. I don’t care. It’s been my dream since forever.
Tech, computers, building stuff bigger than me… that’s what I’ve always wanted.
But then… there’s Nepali.
There’s Social Studies.
Two subjects. Both written in Nepali. My own language. The one that suddenly feels like a wall I can’t climb.
Maybe it’s the dyslexia.
Maybe it’s the visual processing disorder.
Or maybe both.
See, last year, I found out I have dyslexia. I didn’t even know what that meant at first. One of my online friends told me about it. They had it too. They explained all the signs, and it all clicked for me.
I booked a psychiatrist online.
Turns out… yeah. I’ve got dyslexia.
And visual processing disorder, too.
Honestly, it should’ve been obvious from the start. I’ve been flipping letters like d and b my whole life. Writing? Reading? Always a struggle.
But here’s the thing… I haven’t told my family.
How do you even say that at dinner?
“Hey, by the way, I have dyslexia. That’s why I failed my exams. Again.”
I don’t know how to tell them.
I don’t even know how to tell myself sometimes.
So… I just stayed quiet.
I wrote blogs about everything else. About pain, about anxiety. .
Tonight? That changes.
I failed again.
And yeah, maybe this blog isn’t neat. Maybe it’s not perfectly structured or inspirational. But it’s real. It’s where I’m at.
To be honest, I’m disillusioned with my country’s education system.
Actually… I think most people would agree. The South Asian education system? It’s brutal. It’s rigid. It leaves no space for people who fall outside the mold.
I’ve seen it happen over and over.
One of my friends has dyslexia too. Not as bad as mine, but still enough to make school feel like a warzone. He can’t pass EPA. And that’s without the visual impairment I have on top of it.
Me? I can’t even properly copy text from one paper to another.
It’s like… I see the letters, but they don’t stay still. They dance, they swap places, they vanish.
I lose track of what I’m writing, where I am on the page, and suddenly… it’s gone.
The words disappear. The meaning disappears.
And with it? My chances in this system.
I don’t know what to do with my life anymore.
In my country, without secondary education? You’re nothing. You don’t pass that exam? You don’t get options.
And if I want to leave this country…
If I want to start over somewhere that gives people like me a chance…
I still need that secondary education certificate.
So I’m trapped.
Stuck in a system designed for people who can read perfectly, write perfectly, process perfectly.
People my age? They’ve already passed their exams. They’re done. Moving on.
Me? I’m here.
Falling behind.
Watching them lap me.
Feeling… I don’t even know what.
All I want is that secondary education certificate.
Not because I believe in it.
Not because I think it makes me smarter.
But because I need it to leave.
To get out.
To go somewhere I can breathe.
Last year…
Funny enough? Last year, I failed my exams too.
And weirdly? It still ended up being a decent year for me.
I grew. As a developer. As a programmer.
Sure, there were roadblocks.
But I got an internship.
I built things.
For the first time, I started thinking… maybe I could make it anyway.
But now? I don’t know.
Am I doomed to be that person?
The one people look down on?
The dropout?
The failure?
I don’t know what happens next.
I don’t know how I get out of this system.
All I know is… this wasn’t built for people like me.
And if I stay here, stuck in it forever?
I don’t think I’ll survive that.
People love to wrap themselves in their country's flag like it's supposed to define them.
Patriotism. Pride. Loyalty.
They act like it’s automatic. Like you're supposed to love where you're born just because you happened to land there.
Me? I don’t feel that.
Not even a little.
I’m not tied down to this place.
I’m not proud of it.
I’m not blind to what it really is.
I hate the social system here.
I hate the way people talk, judge, trap each other in fake rules and fake respect.
I hate the politics. The instability. The chaos that never ends.
I hate how you can work your ass off, be smart, be capable…
And still be shoved down because you don’t fit the neat little mold the system expects.
Thank God I figured that out early.
I know what my goal is.
It’s simple.
Get out.
I don’t want to stay here and fight for a system that was never designed for people like me.
I don’t want to drown in their expectations, their fake traditions, their broken promises.
I just want to go somewhere I’m accepted for who I am.
Somewhere I can be dyslexic, different, complicated… and still build something real.
Somewhere I’m not constantly made to feel small because of where I struggle.
That’s the truth.
That’s my anchor.
Not a flag. Not a politician.
Just the quiet, stubborn belief that there’s a life beyond these borders where I can finally breathe.
And I’m going to find it.
Or die trying.
I don’t even know what I’m writing anymore.
I was really emotional while writing this.
So, please — don’t take the wrong idea from anything here.
This isn’t some planned, structured blog. This is me, mid-breakdown, just… typing.
I guess that’s how this ends. For now.
I know I’ve probably disappointed some of you.
I know some of you have been waiting for my next post.
I will write again. Soon.
The next blog? I’ll post it on my birthday. Three days from now.
Thank you — seriously — to everyone who’s been reading my story.
When I first started the journal section on this blog site, I didn’t think anyone would care.
I didn’t think people would actually want to hear my story.
But your emails, your messages… your kindness…
It means more than I know how to say.
So… thank you.
Really, really — thank you.