Healing through words 😄

We all have an internal alarm system. Mine usually sounds like a sensible friend whispering, “Just smile, nod, and walk away.”

Unfortunately, during my college days, I ignored that alarm because I desperately wanted to impress someone.

The result? Five minutes of pure, unfiltered public humiliation that still visits me at 3 a.m. without an invitation.

I was at a busy neighbourhood café, waiting for my coffee. Standing right next to me was an effortlessly handsome, stylish person, engrossed in reading a thick, complicated-looking book.

My gut immediately whispered, “Mind your business. Grab your coffee and leave.”

My brain, however, decided this was my golden opportunity to appear cultured, witty and charming.

I casually leaned against the counter, pointed towards the book and announced,

“Oh, I love that author! Brilliant stuff. Really changed my perspective.”

There was just one tiny problem.

Though I had never read that book. I didn’t even recognise the author’s name.

My literary knowledge back then consisted mainly of Mills & Boon, Sidney Sheldon, Danielle Steel and every romantic novel I could get my hands on. My idea of complicated literature was remembering who had fallen in love with whom.

But confidence is a dangerous thing when it isn’t supported by facts.

The person’s face lit up.

“Really? No way! Nobody ever knows this writer. What did you think about the plot twist in chapter four?”

My internal alarm system went into emergency mode.

My gut screamed, “CONFESS!” Tell him you mistook the cover.

Instead, I doubled down like a cornered raccoon.

“Oh, chapter four!” I said, nodding thoughtfully, as though I were chairing a literary discussion. “Classic! Totally didn’t see the betrayal coming. Heartbreaking.”

He looked at me, puzzled.

“Betrayal? It’s a non-fiction book about sustainable mushroom farming.”

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

Even the espresso machine seemed to have stopped hissing just to enjoy my downfall.

My brain completely short-circuited. Instead of apologising and disappearing gracefully, I attempted one final rescue operation.

Right,  Yes .The… the betrayal of the soil. When the mushrooms don’t grow. Very emotional.

He stared at me as though I had just communicated with another planet.

Slowly, he took a step backwards and said, “Right. Enjoy your coffee.”

I grabbed the nearest cup from the counter without even checking the name, sprinted out of the café and walked three blocks before realising I had stolen someone else’s iced matcha.

I don’t even like matcha.

But I drank the whole thing anyway. Apparently, humiliation comes with a thirst of its own.

I haven’t been back to that café since. I now walk an extra ten minutes to another coffee shop, just to avoid an accidental reunion with the barista.

Looking back, I realise my biggest mistake wasn’t pretending to know about mushroom farming.

It was believing that I needed to impress a stranger by pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

These days, I’ve learnt to trust my internal alarm system.

If my gut says walk away, I walk away.

And if someone is reading a book about mushrooms, I admire it from a safe distance.

So here’s my advice: Listen to your gut. Especially when it tells you to keep your mouth shut about mushrooms. 🍄😂

Some embarrassing moments fade with time. Others become permanent residents in your memory, rent-free, and insist on waking you up at 3 a.m.