At 3:07 a.m., sitting on a bed full of crumbs and tangled chargers, I was convinced of two things:

1. I was completely failing at life.
2. Something inside me was about to break for real this time.

My room looked exactly like my head felt: a laptop still on from work, two phones, cold coffee, dirty T-shirt, curtains half open to a city that just kept moving without me. My heart was racing for no reason. No fight, no breakup, no disaster. Just… a wave of panic hitting me in the safest place I had.

From the outside, I’m “fine”. Stable job. Parents proud enough. Friends who tag me in memes. I travel sometimes, I post stories, I laugh. But when the lights go off, there’s this tightness in my chest, like someone’s quietly pushing a knife in and saying, “Smile for the camera.”

That night, I did what I always do: grabbed my phone and started scrolling like a man trying to dig his way out of a hole with a spoon. News, reels, people getting married, people getting rich, people getting abs in 30 days. The usual.

Then, totally random, a YouTube thumbnail pops up:
“An Indian prince who gave up everything to end suffering.”

I almost scrolled past. I wasn’t looking for religion. I wasn’t looking for a new “life hack”. I just didn’t want to feel like I was about to explode. But for some reason, I clicked.

The video started talking about this prince living in a palace, protected from all pain. His father tried to hide old age, sickness, and death from him. One day the prince sneaks out, sees an old man, a sick man, a corpse… and his whole world collapses.

The more I listened, the quieter my room felt. The traffic outside, the hum of my laptop, even the buzzing in my head… everything slowed down.

And then it hit me: I was that stupid prince.

My “palace” wasn’t gold and dancers. It was Netflix, endless notifications, fake smiles at the office, saying “I’m good” when I clearly wasn’t. I had built walls of distraction around myself just so I wouldn’t have to look at the fact that life is fragile, people leave, bodies get sick, money disappears, and no amount of Starbucks and self-help quotes on Instagram can protect me from that.

The video kept going. It talked about how the prince walked away from everything. How he tried extreme pleasures, then extreme punishment, starving himself half to death, chasing some magic state of perfection. And in the end he realised both extremes were just… noise. The answer was in the middle.

I glanced at my room. Half-eaten snacks, half-finished projects, half-sent messages to people I didn’t really care about but didn’t want to lose. My whole life was “too much” or “not enough.” Overworking then collapsing. Binge eating then dieting. Hookups then swearing I was done with love.

I was chasing something I couldn’t even name. Happiness? Validation? Just not feeling like a failure for five minutes?

Then the video explained this thing called “craving.” How we cling to stuff – people, status, likes, comfort – like drowning people holding onto anything that floats. And how that clinging is what hurts the most.

It was honestly brutal. Because it felt like someone had opened my brain, turned on the light and said, “Look, this is you.”
Clinging to the past.
Clinging to how I think my life “should” look by now.
Clinging to the idea that if I just find the right person, the right job, the right city, this storm inside my chest will finally shut up.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t swipe away. I just sat there, phone in my hands, breathing, listening.

I noticed the little Buddha statue on my bedside table – a gift from a friend I’d mostly used as decor. Warm lamplight on one side, cold blue screen light on the other. Me stuck in the middle. Literally.

The video didn’t promise miracles. No “manifest your dream life in 21 days.” It just said something simple:
“Pain is part of life. But suffering grows when we keep saying ‘This shouldn’t be happening to me.’”

I realised how many times a day I repeat that sentence in my head without actually saying it out loud. This shouldn’t be my job. This shouldn’t be my body. This shouldn’t be my bank account, my relationship status, my family, my story.

What if… it is my story?
And the real problem is how hard I’m fighting reality instead of living it?

I didn’t shave my head that night. I didn’t suddenly become calm and wise and glowing. I still had deadlines in the morning, rent to pay, messages to answer. But I did one tiny thing I’d never done before.

I put the phone down.
Sat there on the bed.
Closed my eyes.
And actually felt my breathing, without running from it.

For maybe 30 seconds, nothing magical happened. Then something very small did: I realised I wasn’t dying. It was just another wave of fear. And for once, I didn’t immediately drown in it. I watched it.

It didn’t fix my life. But in that messy, sleepless, coffee-stained moment, I felt a kind of space open up inside me. Like, “Okay, maybe I don’t have to keep living on autopilot. Maybe I can learn how to suffer less, even if I can’t avoid pain.”

I guess that’s how I “met” the Buddha. Not in a temple. Not with incense and chanting. But alone in my room, with dark circles under my eyes, a laptop full of unfinished tasks, and a YouTube algorithm that, for once, actually showed me something I needed.

I’m still figuring it out. Some days I’m mindful, some days I’m a complete mess. But now, when the 3 a.m. panic hits, I remember that prince and his palace. And I ask myself:

Am I going to keep hiding inside my digital walls…
or am I brave enough to step outside and really look at my life?

If you were me, what would you choose? Stay inside the “palace” of distraction, or walk out and face everything that scares you?
Tell me honestly in the comments. 🧡