Category: boyhood interrupted..

Last night, I had an amazing date—like, textbook amazing. But before we get into that, let’s rewind a bit.

Earlier in the evening, I was living my best Sex and the City moment in San Francisco with my friends. We were sitting in a restaurant, overpriced cocktails in hand, dissecting our love lives and gossiping. One friend was debating whether she actually liked her situationship or was just caught up in the routine. Another was venting about her ongoing boy drama. It was all very cosmopolitan—a moment of camaraderie, laughter, and brutal self-reflection.

But as they talked, I found myself spiraling, overthinking the date I was about to go on. He was nice, respectful, and above all, very attractive. We had the most romantic night—a jazz bar, my favorite sushi, walking through town talking about life, getting drinks, and me giving him a little tour of my college town. The perfect ending? Sitting down together, his arm wrapped around me. It felt like a scene from a movie.

Yet… something was missing.

I couldn’t shake this feeling of disconnection. Like, on paper, he was the ideal guy. But deep down, I didn’t feel that spark. It made me sit down and reflect on all my past relationships. My last one ended so fast—because of his lack of attractiveness. And the worst part? I thought he was cute, but the people around me didn’t. My closest friends, the ones whose opinions I value most, subtly (or not so subtly) let me know he wasn’t “the one.” And somehow, that mattered more than it should have. He was literally perfect—kind, successful, we connected. But I let superficial doubts creep in and ended up cutting him out of my life.

Why do I keep screwing myself over?

Do I care too much about what people think? Do I feel like I’m not worthy of love? Do I just secretly hate myself? Have my past, worst relationships altered my brain chemistry? I don’t know, but what I do know is that I need a therapist ASAP.

For now, it’s just me and this blog, where I can try to make sense of my self-sabotaging tendencies. These guys are literally perfect, and yet I fumble. And worst of all—I do this to myself.

God, why?

They say time heals all wounds, but what about the ones that never fully close? The ones that seem fine until something small—something you weren’t prepared to see—rips them open again. I thought I had moved on. I really did. But today, I saw something I wish I hadn’t, and now I’m questioning everything.

Freshman year, there was this guy. I won’t name him because, honestly, he doesn’t deserve the space in my story anymore. But back then, he took up way too much of it. He was crazy about me—love-bombing, texting me about hooking up, telling me I was the cutest guy he had ever seen. But he was also toxic as hell. He’d call me names, treat me like an afterthought, leave me for his friends like I was disposable. And for some reason, I let it happen. Until I didn’t. There was a point where I had had enough, and I cut him off completely.

But, of course, it was never that simple. Every now and then, we’d text. Usually when we were too drunk to think rationally, too caught up in nostalgia, too weak to resist the comfort of what was familiar—even if it was toxic. And I hated that. I hated that I had a soft spot for someone who treated me like I was an option. But eventually, I did move on. I met new people, built myself back up, and left that mess behind me.

Or so I thought.

This morning, I saw his post—a soft launch. A relationship. A moment I wasn’t expecting, and suddenly, it hit me like a punch to the gut. Not because I still want him, not because I still have feelings, but because why him? The same guy who told me he wasn’t ready for a relationship, the same guy who made me feel like I wasn’t enough, is now with someone else. And I know it doesn’t change anything—I know I’m over him—but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.

It’s not about wanting him back. It’s about feeling lied to. It’s about wondering why I was never enough to be chosen when he made me feel like I was everything. And I hate that it got to me. But I also think it’s normal. Because moving on isn’t a straight line, and healing doesn’t mean you’re immune to unexpected pain.

So no, I’m not crazy. And neither are you if you’ve ever felt this way. Sometimes, the past finds its way back in, but that doesn’t mean we’re not still moving forward.

And I am. I swear I am.

There are days at UC Berkeley when I wake up, look in the mirror, and think: Am I even a person, or just a very tired shell of one? I throw on my usual rotation of “basic but functional” outfits. Oversized hoodie, jeans, my trusty sneakers. Only to step outside and see people who somehow managed to curate an outfit that screams, “I have my life together.” (Do they? I’m convinced they don’t.)

From the moment I leave my apartment, my day is a nonstop sequence of obligations. Class, work, studying, a club meeting, a quick bite (if I’m lucky), more studying, maybe a social event I forgot I RSVP’d to. I’m running on caffeine and ambition, yet somehow, I feel like I’m running on empty. My to-do list is never-ending, and despite constantly doing things, I feel like I’ve accomplished… nothing.

And the worst part? Everyone around me seems to be doing more. That girl in my bio class who’s spearheading a research project on sustainable medicine. The guy in my data science course who just landed an internship at Google. The friend of a friend who’s launching a start-up and still finds time to hit the gym. Meanwhile, I’m debating if I should run to the store to grab a snack or waste my money on mediocre campus food. PRIORITIES!

It’s exhausting. The hunger never really goes away. Physically, mentally, existentially. I’m constantly chasing a sense of fulfillment, of achievement, of meaning. And just when I start spiraling into a full-blown crisis about whether I’m failing at this whole “thriving in college” thing, I meet up with my friends.

Over food at our usual late-night spot, someone sighs dramatically and says, “I feel like I’m doing so much but absolutely nothing at the same time.” And just like that, we all nod in agreement. We’re all tired. We’re all overwhelmed. We’re all questioning our entire existence in this academic pressure cooker.

Maybe that’s the beauty of it. We may feel alone in the chaos, but the chaos is universal. So, we embrace it. We complain, we laugh, we push through. And tomorrow, we do it all over again.

At a college that never sleeps—where connections disappear as fast as an Uber during rush hour—I’ve found myself questioning the nature of intimacy and identity. As a gay man navigating the dating scene, I can’t help but wonder: When did the pursuit of pleasure start feeling like a transaction, leaving real connection behind?

Lately, I’ve met men who seemed to see me through a single lens—one focused purely on physical gratification. Their intentions were obvious, and when I set my boundaries, especially around certain things I wasn’t comfortable with, they disappeared. As if my worth was tied to my willingness to perform.

That left me feeling dehumanized, like I was just an object meant to satisfy someone else’s desires. And it made me wonder: In a world that champions sexual liberation, have we unintentionally commodified ourselves? Are we placing more value on the act than the person behind it?

Of course, sexual compatibility matters. But should it override the essence of who we are? Our preferences, boundaries, and emotions aren’t inconveniences—they’re fundamental to our identity. And when someone walks away the moment we assert them, it raises the question: Were they ever interested in us, or just the idea of us?

In the search for real connection, it’s crucial to find people who see beyond the physical—who recognize the complexity of what makes us, us. True intimacy isn’t just about bodies coming together. It’s about minds and hearts meeting too.

So as I sip my coffee, scrolling through TikTok and watching the world go by, I have to ask: Have we, in prioritizing pleasure, lost sight of personhood? And if so, are we missing out on the deeper connections that make these endless nights worth something more?

boyhood interrupted: a blog born from a random day of inspiration

Sometimes, the best ideas come to us on a whim. That’s exactly how boyhood interrupted was born—a spontaneous decision on an otherwise ordinary day, fueled by an urgent need to create something of my own. A space where I could express myself freely, explore my thoughts, and connect with others. Writing has always been my sanctuary, my way of making sense of the world, and for the longest time, I’ve felt this pull to put my words out there. So, I finally did.

what boyhood interrupted means

The name boyhood interrupted represents a lot of things for me. It’s about growing up and the moments that shape us, the ones that force us to step out of childhood and into something new, sometimes too soon. It’s about the disruptions—the unexpected turns, the realizations, the heartbreaks, the joy, and the constant evolution of self. It’s about navigating life as a young adult, embracing vulnerability, and finding beauty in both the chaos and the calm.

A huge inspiration for this blog comes from sex and the city—the way Carrie Bradshaw narrates her experiences, weaving personal stories with universal truths. Like her, I want to write about the things that keep me up at night, the fleeting moments that make life feel cinematic, the lessons learned in love, ambition, and identity.

why i am doing this

More than anything, this blog is an extension of me. Writing has always been my passion, my therapy, my way of connecting with the world. But beyond self-expression, I want to build something bigger—a community. A place where people can come, read, relate, and maybe even feel a little less alone.

Boyhood Interrupted isn’t just a blog. It’s a conversation. It’s a journey. It’s a testament to the fact that we’re all figuring things out, one story at a time.

So here’s to this new beginning, to writing with honesty and heart, and to all the beautiful interruptions that make life worth sharing.

Welcome to boyhood interrupted.

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