Tea-sha: On gaslight, girlboss, gatekeep


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My day started with a Zoom work training session. It was at 10 a.m., but waking up was harder than I anticipated. The previous night, I had a glass of white wine like I do most nights to fall asleep. 

I woke up 20 minutes before the Zoom — not enough time to drink my Trader Joe’s matcha latte, so I made do with the mountain of chocolates surrounding the pile of books and array of random objects on my desk. 

There was nothing truly special about the training, except I mispronounced one of my Indian coworker’s names. I am Indian, so this was embarrassing to say the least. I tried to act cool and relatable by recommending the TV show “The Woman in the House Across the Street from the Girl in the Window,” because it was the latest trending thing I had binge-watched last weekend. 

If you’re wondering what that has to do with anything, there’s a reason behind all these random, minute, atomic details of my life — don’t worry it’ll all make sense later. 

That weekend I had a documentary shoot plus editing, a short film shoot, a short film script, four papers, my journalism capstone work, internship applications, never-ending existential dread and this column to write. I also needed to finish work for my one of two jobs, do travel bookings and attend social plans. 

All of this needed to be done over a single weekend, because girlbosses pile on additional projects each week and only come up for air every two weeks or so. 

So how did I end up with a broken toe, a missing shoe and little will to live? Let me start from the beginning. 

It started with a walk. But, next thing I knew, the walk turned into a run. I was running for my life. It was like my deadlines and work commitments were chasing me but deadlier. I was being chased by a large bear — as if UCLA’s mascot was exacting revenge for its basketball loss to USC. Not sure why I was the target chosen, but I kept running on the streets of Figueroa and pushing past people. 

Sweating profusely with my heart racing faster than my approaching deadlines, I woke up. Yeah, this was a dream. Did you think I would be chased on Fig by a UCLA mascot and not make it on Barstool or the USC Meme page? 

Freshly reminded of my deadlines, it was time for Dulce’s blueberry matcha latte to fuel me (no, they are not sponsoring this column, but their matcha is the last thing holding the threads of my sanity together).

Pay attention, because the dream will play an essential role in piecing together what all of this means. 

During my 15-minute walk to USC Village, I analyzed my dream. What did it truly mean? Why was the Bruin mascot chasing me? Was this the spot in the pavement I tripped and came crashing down on? Was I overthinking? When your brain is constantly going over 100 miles an hour, it is hard to know when you’re overthinking versus when you’re thinking just the right amount. Who decides that anyway? 

Standing in the trenches for my matcha separated by a long queue of people hungry for the serotonin only Dulce can provide, I started planning my schedule. As a girlboss, overthinking, overplanning and overcommitment become your arsenals for carrying out the impossible. 

If you’re confused about the point this column is trying to make and where it’s going, trust me, it’ll all make sense toward the end. I know what I’m doing, and if you don’t see the big picture yet, maybe satire isn’t for you. 

Recharged, refueled and ready to take on the world — nothing could get in my way, or so I thought. The events of the day would take on a new meaning. The broken toe, a reminder of a broken system where we constantly push ourselves. Ready for the reveal?  

Rounding into the present — it is Saturday morning and I am writing my column. I woke up at 7 a.m. to finish it since it was due the previous day. With an hour and a half to get it done because I am meeting my friends Downtown for brunch, I needed to come up with 600 words. 

Seven hundred and forty one words of me gaslighting you later, nothing about this column makes sense, and yet, here you are reading till the end … and that’s on gaslight, girlboss, gatekeep.

Here are some ways to avoid getting gaslighted:

1) Stop reading this column! I already admitted to gaslighting you and nothing I’ve said so far has made any sense. 

2) Seriously, stop. Why are you doing this to yourself? 

3) If you’re still reading, you need serious help: Don’t believe everything you’re told, especially if you have no reason to. 

4) If you’re being manipulated until your judgment is being questioned and reality doesn’t make sense — stop and do a headstand. Blood will rush to your brain, and you’ll think straight. 

5) You’re smart only until you think you’re not: Ignore any statements that place the blame on you. 

6) Avoid people who are good at cooking or know how to light a gas. More importantly, never ever try lighting one yourself unless it’s to burn the place down.   

Stay smart out there, besties! Don’t let people’s words suck you in.     

Twesha Dikshit is a senior writing tongue-in-cheek satire on everyday life, the world around us and our daily march toward death. Her column, “Tea-sha,” runs every other Monday.