Butterflies, Deadlines, and a Beating Heart

Tomorrow is the big day. My research supervisor asked me to submit the corrected copy of my thesis, and here I am, staring at the untouched pages like they’re plotting against me. I know the deadline is right in front of my eyes, but instead of panic, I feel a strange mix of fear and thrill. It’s that classic “butterflies in my stomach” moment, except these butterflies seem to be dancing a kuthu song inside me.

Yesterday, when my phone lit up with her number, my heart stopped for a second. She is kind, always patient, but my fear doesn’t listen to logic. I wanted to sound confident, but inside, my brain screamed, “Run!” Funny thing is, this isn’t the first time I’ve been in this situation. Deadlines and I share a love-hate relationship, mostly hate until the last minute and then love when I somehow cross the finish line.

Somewhere deep down, I actually enjoy this madness. It’s like my heart whispers, “Viduda, pathukalam.” There’s a weird comfort in knowing that even if I’m struggling now, I’ll eventually survive it, just like every other time. Life won’t pause for me, and maybe that’s the beauty of it. The fear, the rush, the last-minute energy it’s all part of the drama that makes me laugh later.

So here I am, with a thesis to correct and a stomach full of butterflies. Will I get it done? Of course. Will I panic till the last second? Definitely. But that’s my style, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Deadlines scare me, but they also remind me that I’m alive, running, fumbling, and still moving forward. And tomorrow, when I finally hand it over, I know I’ll smile and say, “See? Pathukitten!”

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