I've recently made my own Chai Spice blend courtesy of Meera Sodha's cookbook, Made in India: Recipes from an Indian Family Kitchen. Instead of just turning on the kettle and throwing in a teabag, this requires a little bit more effort and setting a pot on the stove in addition to making the spice blend itself. Sure it's not instantaneous gratification, but it's a lovely slow-down in comparison to my busy days and deliciously more flavorful than a typical teabag. It allows me to be present with what I am doing and enjoy it.

The smell of the spice as it starts to simmer into the milk and tea. The need to watch my pot of chai for the right moment to turn down the heat so it doesn't scald. The delicate balancing act of straining floating spices out to make a smoother cup. The gentle clings of a spoon to sweeten it all with a touch of sugar.

I'm curious about what other folks do as mindful acts of food and drink. It can be a comfort meal, a tasty snack, a special drink, or anything in between! Maybe we could all inspire each other to incorporate a new way to find moments of peace through a hobby we mutually love in the joy of cooking.

I struggle with trichotillomania which is a compulsion to pluck my own hair. Mine is focused primarily on my beard, resulting in unsightly bare patches. I am working through the mental health component of this condition already, but a better hair and skin care regiment could help reduce the triggers that start me plucking hairs.

I keep my beard relatively close cropped to my face. When the hairs in my bald patches start to regrow there is typically a lot of irritation which starts me touching my face, which leads me to find bumps like zits and blackheads and “weird hairs”, like kinky hairs, hairs growing in the wrong direction, particularly hard or soft hairs, anything that feels off when I run my fingers over them. This has the side effect of depositing more dirt and oils from my fingers onto my face, which creates a kind of feedback loop where the dirtier my face is the more I want to touch it, and the more I touch it the dirtier it gets. When I encounter these bumps and weird hairs I will want to pick at them and I won’t stop thinking about it until I do. It is a real struggle that I am working through and I figure if I can reduce that irritation that triggers it I’ll be less likely to touch and therefore pluck.

What I am hoping to find here are general care tips I can use for my short-cropped beard. What kind of products do you use for both the hairs themselves and your face, what methods do you use to trim, etc.? Currently I wash my face with a cleanser, followed by a toner, then a serum or lotion, but I don’t use any products specifically for my beard hairs themselves. I trim with an electric razor when my beard is between .5 and 1 inches long and I’ll trim it down to about 1/8 of an inch, or whatever setting 7, 8, or 9 is on my razor.

Numerous studies have shown that talking about the things going on in our life is beneficial for our mental health, but sometimes it’s hard to speak about them with the people in our lives.

So, share with us strangers. We may not be able to fix it for you, but maybe you can leave some of the burden you’re carrying in these comments and walk away a little lighter. I’ll start!

I saw that new “Aged” filter on Tik Tok this week and thought I’d give it a try. The moment my camera opened, I was looking at the spitting image of the deceased father. I panned my head, raised my eyebrows, smiled, and frowned, so many of my facial mannerisms were exactly the same as my dad’s. As I felt all the emotion of missing my dad well up inside me, watching the camera, I said “Hey boyyy” in the way my father used to say it to me. It broke my heart to see the image of my dad staring back at me and talking to me, I miss him so much.

I lost my dad 7 years ago now, and each year I can feel little details of him slip further away. The shirts I kept of his are sealed in bags so I can open them and smell him again, but ziplock can only do so much, the scent is all but gone. I can feel little details about him that I knew so well slip away as time passes. The way the skin of his hands felt when I held hands with him. The feeling of his back when I would give him big bear hugs. The comforting details slip further out of reach as I dive deeper into adulthood on my own, without my dad to help me. So the fact that I could open this app and look at a live image of my dad, embodied in me, both breaks my heart and fills it in a strange way.

Hello Folks,

I haven't posted on Tildes for a while and today I have a very strong feeling to post something.

But what exactly should I post about? In some sense, a writer's block is the exact anti-thesis of a child. Coming up with some creative content is sometimes painfully difficult for a functioning adult like me, while my 10 year old nephew can blabber hundreds of different things in a five minute span!

Now obviously, I can also come up with hundreds of different things but we all know it's not so easy to put down those things on the keyboard. I'm not an expert in writing craft but I have a strong feeling that most of us just hold ourselves back out of fear of what the world says. And honestly, the so called "world" here is acting very toxic and isn't helping by discouraging content creators who aren't always top notch. And sometimes, the content itself can be good or bad just as beauty is defined by the eye of the beholder. What is cringe for you may be good content or even humor for someone else. If only most of us start focusing on the "full half" of the cup instead of the "empty half", think just how beautiful this world will be!

Years of facing such toxic behavior on platforms like reddit and twitter has caused me to over-analyze and over-scrutinize everything before saying it. Any idea or concept has to pass through a lot of "mind filters" in order for them to get the "clean chit" for "yeah, this can be published". Perhaps, this particular post I'm writing is an exception or anomaly in that sense!

As a programmer, freelancer, writer, someone interested in things like humanities and social sciences, and an ordinary Indian dude, you guys tell me what kind of content should I write so that the writer in me thrives and also the content is at least bearable by the audience?

The problem I'm trying to solve here is difficult but I may not be the only one going through this phase. Is there a solution to this? Any proven and practical solution which you've had success with yourself?

A part of me thinks that I should try podcasting or youtubing first, and then I'll gain the confidence necessary to actually write mind-blowing content. But I have a problem with impromptu speaking and talking, is that a very common problem? Is there an easy fix available for that? I intuitively know from what I've observed in this world that most people have enough confidence to say or speak a lot of things (even the harshest of things!) right in front of others' face but when it comes to writing, they can't write so much. I'm a kind of antithesis of that, isn't it?

How exactly does one build confidence with public speaking? They say keep practicing and you'll get there. Here is a feeble attempt, not exactly a podcast but something near enough - a presentation for an app idea I've got. I want to create more of these but again, what content? I've got no ideas, especially interesting or appealing ones. And judging by the number of likes that youtube video got, I already have half a mind of just giving up on this!

If you've reached until this point, thank you for sticking with me till the end. And apologies if I picked up on your brain beyond its limits!

I've posted about my mental health issues on Tildes before, 1st post 2nd post.

I reread my other 2 posts before writing this, and I definitely cringed a bit at them. I was not doing good and did not have a real sense of what to include and not. However, I really needed to feel seen and heard, so I also don't regret either of them. I didn't have anyone to open up to in my real life.

I've gotten a much better understanding of what I went through as a kid over the past year. My sister physically and emotional abused me since before I can remember until she left for college, and my parents always ignored it. That's fucked up, and there's nothing wrong with me for being so damaged because of it.

I moved to Portland, and it was definitely the right choose. I can't imagine living in the suburbs again. I went to my first concert, I got my first tattoo. I tried weed for the first time, and it really helps me gain emotional clarity. For first time in my life, I have some real hope for my future.

As the final note, I'd like to thank all the nice people here again; you really did help a scared, lonely kid more then you think.

2020. That's when I met her.

To some of my close friends it sounds silly to them when I tell them we loved each other. It's hard for some people to grasp the intensity that a long distance relationship can have. But I don't have anything to prove to anyone - I truly did love her.

Being with an ace, I thought, would make things more complicated as I am not asexual myself. But if anything it made things simpler. It made the long distance easier to deal with. It made it easier to be patient. Easier to deal with her not being in my life all the time, because when push came to shove, she was in my life when I needed her to be. In fact, she was the main reason I labeled myself as polyamorous this year. I realised that I didn't want to pretend we were just friends anymore. I cared for her too much for that.

In so little time, she changed me into a better person. She taught me subtleties about love, sex, relationships but also about life in general. She helped me through mental struggles. She was my first call when we got my SO’s sister out of Kyiv this year. In fact, the day of the war, we talked for over six hours in a row.

She was always, always positive no matter the challenge. A true constant. Saw the flip side nobody else could see. No matter how ill she would get, she'd always brush it off and get back on her feet. In the two years I knew her, she had never made me cry, and her messages would always put a smile on my face.
Difficulty tends to make people stronger. She's had an incredibly difficult life, and was the toughest person I knew.

None of those challenges defined her. She was not defined by her gender, illness, sexuality. She was defined by her constant, absolute positivity. And her unending love for Korea.

She believed, as I do, that we're all one entity - the universe experiencing itself. That her role here had been to spread love and positivity. I hope everyone here will be lucky enough to meet someone like her, at some point in their life.

She was 30. The world is worse without her in it.

I've been rewatching Ozark. The third season features a bipolar character, and his storyline has been hitting me hard.
There is an emphasis on "getting better". Staying somewhere and getting better. Giving things time.
It's been making me wonder if time really makes things better.

Time heals wounds, but it doesn't fix broken things. It helps with grief. It helps forget the things that make it worse.

Twelve years ago, things got bad enough in my life that I attempted suicide. I had no psychological safety nets at the time. No mental security. What saved me at the time was a mix of luck, a couple of smart decisions on my part, and the good will of some people I barely knew.

I have since spent a lot of time creating and nurturing safety nets to make sure this never happens again. A variety of social, technological and mental mechanisms to stop me at every step, should things ever get this bad again.

And now, I'm... alive. Things got bad this last month. Really bad. Worse than twelve years ago. Worse than they've ever been. But I'm alive. My safety nets worked. I wouldn't be writing this without them.

I'm getting the feeling that I'm going to carry this burden for the rest of my life. Time didn't fix shit. I just got better at defending myself since.