Tag: love

Traveler on path between ancient ruins, medieval castle, and modern city; signs read Ancient Era, Medieval Era, and Modern Era.

Back to the past

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If you could go back and witness any historical event, which one would you pick?

If there were even a remote possibility that I could travel to the past and witness a historical event, I honestly would not know which one to choose.

I was never a good student of history. I never really paid attention in class, and I did not do particularly well in my exams. The one time I managed to pass, it was by a single mark, which probably says everything that needs to be said about my knowledge of the subject. So when people ask what moment in history I would want to witness, I struggle to come up with an answer.

It is not that I have never heard of important historical events. I know there are countless moments that changed the course of humanity. The problem is that when I try to think of one, nothing comes to mind. My mind simply goes blank.

I also think there is another reason I hesitate. Whenever I imagine visiting the past, somewhere in the back of my mind is the reality of what life was like for women during much of history. No matter how fascinating an era may seem, that thought always makes me pause.

On the other hand, if I were choosing an event based purely on something that would make me happy, my answer would be completely different. I do not know if it would be considered a historic event, but I would want to attend the very first BTS performance. Not when they were already famous, but when they were still a rookie group performing in front of a small audience that had no idea what they would eventually become.

It may be a cliché answer, but like many others, BTS’s music healed me in ways I never thought possible. Their songs found me at the right time, comforted me when I needed it most, and continue to inspire and encourage me even today. Maybe witnessing a world-changing moment would be incredible, but there is also something special about being present at the beginning of something that would later change your own world.

What does being free mean to you?

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I am extremely grateful to be born free.

But what does being free actually mean in today’s world. You read about the history where there was extreme cases of slavery, an era whenhumans were considered less than animals. There was no free will people lived according to the rules set by the masters. Where breathing was also done without the permission of their master.

The extreme cases makes you loose your mind. Those people struggled to determine their worth in this world they fought for their voice to be hoard in this world and through immense sacrifice they finally succeeded.

we are free from this struggle but are we really free?

The society that we live in today has created new chains.

We are boundby society’s expectation and the constant pressure of having to match what society deems appropriate slowly crashes the person from within. Today I can buy what I want and I can eat what I want and ican dress the way I want to. But still I hesitate with the one thought running in my head what will people think of me? And somehow I am paralyzed to the world’s expectation. Today you cannot see the physical chains that bind, they are the chains of my mind that are choking the life out of me.

So I ask you – Are you really born free?

Faded Memories

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Daily writing prompt
If you could relive one day from your past, which day would it be and why?
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When people talk about childhood memories, they describe them so vividly that it feels like I can almost see them myself. I can feel the emotions they felt at the time. The joy, the comfort, the innocence. They speak about their past as though they can step back into it whenever they want.

For me, it isn’t like that.

When I sit alone and try to remember the past, I feel as though I am lost in a haze. I know things happened. I know I laughed, loved, celebrated, worried, and dreamed. But whenever I reach for a specific memory, my mind returns only fragments. Faces without conversations. Places without stories. Feelings without context.

Sometimes I think I have a habit of placing memories into a box and setting it aside. Not because I want to forget them, but because life keeps moving forward. There is always something new demanding my attention. Over time, I stopped opening the box.

Now, when I try to revisit those memories, it feels as though it has been locked shut.

Yet something remarkable happens whenever I am with my family.

A story gets mentioned. A photograph appears. Someone laughs about something that happened years ago. Slowly, the blurry images begin to sharpen. The haze lifts. The memories come rushing back, and with them all the emotions I felt in those moments.

What I miss most are not the big milestones or the stories people would tell at a family gathering.

I miss the ordinary moments.

I want to relive the nights when we were children and all of us squeezed into our parents’ king-size bed. We would fight over the blanket and argue over who got to sleep next to Mom and who got to sleep next to Dad. At the time it felt like the most serious argument in the world. Now I would give anything to be back there, surrounded by the warmth and chaos of a family that was all together in one place.

I want to relive the days when my dad would carry me on his shoulders. The world seemed bigger from up there, but somehow safer too. I would eventually drift off to sleep without a single worry in my mind and he would not move me, walking the complete distance to home. Or even those magical moments when I fell asleep in front of the television and woke up in my bed the next morning. I never questioned how I got there.

I want to relive the afternoons when my dad fed me lunch because my mother worried that I never finished my plate. I remember treating it as an inconvenience. Just another part of my day. Now I understand that some of the greatest expressions of love arrive disguised as ordinary routines.

I want to relive the evenings when my mom came home exhausted from work and stretched out on the bed for a brief nap. Her arm was always extended outward because the pillow was never meant for me. Without ever saying a word, she made space for my head in the crook of her arm. Looking back, I realize that no pillow I have slept on since has ever felt as comfortable or as safe.

I want to relive the days when I was shorter than my sister. When I could hug her and bury my face in the crook of her shoulder. When her embrace felt like protection from everything I didn’t yet understand about the world

Growing Up

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What’s a moment when you realized you were officially an adult?

For much of my childhood, I lived in a cocoon of protection. My parents spared no effort in shielding me from hardship, and my sister, too, placed my needs above her own. It was a world where happiness seemed permanent, where every want was met before I even knew to ask. I thought that was life — simple, safe, and endlessly cared for.

The illusion shattered the day I was handed medical proxy papers when my mother was admitted to the hospital. I was not yet eighteen, still technically a child, but in that moment the world demanded something more of me. Though I ultimately needed a relative to sign, the weight of responsibility pressed down on me. I felt inadequate, unprepared, and suddenly aware that the real world was far harsher than the one I had been living in. That was the day I realized I had to grow up.

From then on, every step became part of that growth. I finished school, pursued my undergraduate studies, and eventually secured a job. Each milestone carried with it the quiet determination to shift roles — from being the one cared for to becoming the one who could care. I wanted to give back to the family that had given me everything, to stand as their support just as they had always stood for me.

Growth, I have learned, is not a single event but a continuous unfolding. It began in that hospital corridor, with trembling hands holding papers I could not yet sign, and it continues each day as I navigate adulthood. I am still growing, still learning, still striving to balance the weight of responsibility with the gratitude I feel for the love that raised me.

Adulthood is not about perfection. It is about stepping forward even when you feel inadequate, about carrying the lessons of protection into the practice of care. My journey is ongoing, but I know now that growth is not something to fear — it is the path that allows me to honor the family who gave me everything, by becoming someone who can give back in return.

Silhouette of person breaking glowing chains with light and sparks swirling

The Perfect Image

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What’s something you used to worry about but don’t anymore?

I have never been a very confident person, largely because I never fit the appearance that society calls “beautiful.” As I grew older, the world seemed to grow meaner. As a child, I did not fully understand the taunts hidden behind sweet smiles and caring words. But with time, I began to hear the malice between the lines. Eventually, the mockery was no longer disguised, and the words broke me. At eleven or twelve, I did not have the emotional strength to look beyond the bad days. I withdrew from everything — from family, from the things I loved, from my dreams and hopes.

Yet growing older brought a realization: I could be perfect in every way, and people would still judge, still comment, still find something to tear down. Many speak without understanding the impact their words can have. Others live with the sole intention of hurting. You can never truly know another person’s motives, but you can choose not to acknowledge them. It is easier said than done, but if you begin today, over time it becomes a habit. Slowly, peace replaces the noise.

Society’s expectations are ever-changing. Just when you think you have done everything right, something shifts, and suddenly you are wrong again. For years, I kept adapting myself, trying to meet those expectations. But the moment I stopped caring about what others thought, I found happiness.

Now I do what I want. If people think I am silly or foolish, I no longer mind. Their judgment is fleeting, but my joy in those moments is lasting. A silly memory can bring back a smile long after the moment has passed. And in this world, happiness is the most precious thing one can have. So I choose to cherish my silliness, to hold onto my happiness, and to live beyond the weight of other people’s opinions.

Person walking alone on a dirt forest path surrounded by trees and mist

Be yourself but more

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If you had to give one life-changing tip, what would it be?

“Be yourself.” Most of us have heard this line at least once, perhaps on a billboard or tucked into an advertisement. It’s become such a cliché that its meaning often slips away. Yet, beneath those two words lies a strength that can be interpreted in countless ways.

Like many motivational phrases, its meaning shifts depending on who hears it. In today’s world, where right and wrong seem to change with circumstance, “be yourself” can be a life-affirming call to embrace imperfection. But for someone blinded by narcissism, it can become a justification for harmful traits. That’s why I believe the phrase needs an unspoken addition: Be yourself — but do not destroy another.

You cannot truly be yourself if your choices trample someone else. Selfishness in moderation is healthy. Walking away from a toxic situation is not weakness; it is strength. Some may call you fragile for leaving without “making the other pay,” but in truth, it takes far more courage to walk away than to stay and retaliate.

Most people carry pain — not the physical kind, but the soul-crushing kind. The world is crueler than it appears on the surface, and we rarely know what battles others are fighting. Never change for someone who only wants to mold you into their world. Change for someone who wants to grow with you, to build a shared space where both can belong. And sometimes, walking alone is also being true to yourself — because solitude can be the path to finding your place in the world.

In the end, being yourself is not about defiance or conformity, but about choosing a way of living that honors your truth without diminishing another’s. It is about carrying kindness alongside authenticity, and realizing that the most genuine version of yourself is the one that makes space for both courage and compassion.

Open book emitting glowing bird shapes toward the sky at sunset

Dreams and its Manifestations

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I am glad today that I have started dreaming again. In my opinion, you only have dreams when you have hope, and if you had spoken to me a year ago, I probably had no hope. That slowly killed any dreams I had. Now, come to think of it, I have revived some of my old dreams and added a few new ones to the list.

There are many dreams I hold — some tied to reality, others to fantasy. But here is a question: do I say my dream out loud to manifest it, or do I work in silence and revel in it materializing into reality? Here’s to throwing caution to the wind. My dream is to have a home of my own and to be a writer. These are definitely the most outrageous ones on my list.

Writing has always been my passion. I do not need to be a full-time author, but to even write something that others would like to read would be enough. I want to open doors to new worlds of imagination just like books have done for me. As a child, I didn’t understand the world and its problems — everything felt too life-altering. In that small frame of mind, books gave me an escape from reality. They showed me characters of great strength, worlds where magic was possible, and how a protagonist could change the world.

But my dream of writing is not only about stories. It is about leaving behind pieces of myself in words that might comfort someone else, or spark reflection in a stranger. It is about capturing fleeting emotions before they vanish, giving them permanence in sentences. Writing is my way of building bridges between my inner world and the minds of others. It is also my declaration of individuality — a space where no one dictates the rhythm of my sentences or the worlds I create. In writing, I find the same freedom I long for in a home of my own.

The other dream I have always kept close to my heart is the dream of a house of my own. It is a strong desire to express my individuality. I am the youngest at home, and in my family the elders always hold sway in decisions. I do have a room of my own, and one would say that is a luxury in itself. However, I cannot change anything in the room without permission from my parents or elder sister. Not that it is a bad thing — I tend to make impulsive decisions — but I would really like to decorate my home to match my aesthetics. Our family home is my mother’s space, and I would not want to disrupt her image of a perfect home. Yet seeing her has also inspired me. It is one reason I want to make a space of my own, free of the influences of my family, where every corner reflects me.

Woman writing a detailed travel bucket list in a notebook at a wooden desk

Not Every Dream is a Waste of Time

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Daily writing prompt
What’s a lesson you’ve learned recently that shifted your perspective?
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I grew up in a middle-class, working-class family where life revolved around work. My parents labored endlessly, and their idea of fun was taking us to the park. Even then, while we ran around carefree, they sat together on the bench, whispering about the next bill, calculating how to stretch every rupee, every dollar, every ounce of energy. Their lives were a constant negotiation between responsibility and survival.

For years, I believed my path would be no different. I imagined myself joining the cycle of endless work, exhausting my body and spirit to provide for my family, hoping that by the time age caught up with me, I’d have just enough to sustain myself. That was the script I thought I had to follow.

But something has shifted. These days, I’ve started to dream — not the fleeting kind that comes with sleep, but the conscious, deliberate kind that plants hope in the cracks of reality. I know there’s a high chance I may never achieve all that I dream of, and strangely, I’m at peace with that. Because I’ve realized it’s not the fulfillment of dreams that keeps us alive, but the act of dreaming itself. To imagine a life beyond the grind is not foolish; it’s a declaration that we deserve more than survival.

For the first time, I’ve made a bucket list. Ninety percent of the items feel out of reach, but they’re there anyway. To act as reminders of what I want, of who I am beyond the paycheck. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. And even if someday never comes, the list itself is proof that I’ve allowed myself to hope.

Being practical is wise, yes. But sometimes, being impractical and daring to dream of possibilities is what makes life bearable. Dreams are the spark that light up the monotony, the quiet rebellion against a world that tells us to only endure. They are the whispers that say: you deserve better, you deserve more.

Teenage girl writing in a notebook at a desk in a bedroom with Harry Potter poster and packed boxes

Day 211: Finding my Independence

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Being the younger child in the family comes with a lot of privileges, but it also comes with its challenges. While I am extremely pampered because my parents literally want to do everything for me, they do not set high expectations because they don’t want me to feel burdened. They are always happy with whatever I achieve, no matter how insignificant it is.

I have now come to a stage in my life where I want to live independently. I want to have my own home — and yes, my parents’ home will always be my home. But being the younger child often means your opinions or choices are not really considered. I think I want a home of my own not for the freedom that comes with it, but because I want to decorate it the way I like. I want to finally be able to buy furniture that I love. I want to have my own office room that I can set up according to my preference, without someone constantly asking, “Do you really need this? Why this? Why that?” And of course, I want to walk around my house in the clothes I like. Since I’ll essentially be by myself, I doubt relatives will visit often, and there will be no judgment on how I look.

While the prospect of living separately excites me, it also brings with it the guilt tied to the “empty nest syndrome.” I sometimes just stare at my parents doing their regular tasks and notice the shift in the way they move. They have become slower. They have become quieter. They spend most of their days just resting, ironically scrolling through the phone or watching TV. I see them huffing and letting out exasperated sighs when they take a break after doing some tasks. They are together now, but I keep thinking: should one of them leave, how will the other manage? Would it be right for me to leave them too?

But on the other hand, I’ve received very fitting advice: “You can love and care for them, but it is not your responsibility to fix their life.” It is true — parents are the most resilient class of people. Their world keeps changing, and somehow they adapt. They may not adapt in the way you believe is right, but they find a way to adjust to their new life.

And so, I return to my desire to finally break free from the nest and find a place of my own in this world.

The Notes of Change

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Daily writing prompt
What’s a piece of media (book, movie, song) that changed how you see the world?
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usic has always been present in my life. My mother sang in the choir, and my sister was blessed with a soulful voice. By the time I was six, I too joined the choir — and from the very first note, I loved singing.

At around ten or eleven, I began to pay attention not just to melodies but to the lyrics. That shift changed everything. Music was no longer just something I enjoyed when I was happy; it became something I deeply related to when I was upset.

The first song that has truly impacted me is “Seasons in the Sun”. Its farewell theme, filled with memories and goodbyes, resonated so strongly that I often cried when I heard it. Beyond its sadness, the song reminds us of the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing the people around us. In everyday life, it teaches me to value moments with family and friends, because time is never guaranteed. Sometimes it’s the words left unsaid that matter most, and this song pushes me to express love openly before it’s too late.

Another song that has stayed with me since childhood is “Walking Away”. Its laid-back tone contrasts with its powerful message about leaving behind toxic people and situations. It’s not just about endings; it’s about courage — the strength to step away from what no longer serves you. In daily life, this resonates whenever I face difficult choices, reminding me that peace often comes from letting go rather than holding on. It reassures me that seeking space isn’t selfish; it’s self-preservation, a necessary act of survival in a world that can be cruel.

Life has shifted in countless ways: genres, artists, circumstances. Yet one thing has remained constant — music. In times of turmoil, it brings me comfort and peace. Whether through melancholic songs that let me sit with my emotions or uplifting tracks that reignite my energy, music adapts to my journey and never leaves my side.

Music is more than sound; it’s memory, emotion, and healing. It has been my mirror when I needed to reflect and my lantern when I needed light. No matter what changes, music remains my most faithful companion — guiding me through everyday life with lessons of love, resilience, and hope.