Tag: relationships

  • How to Stay Soft in a World That Made You Hard

    I’m tired of this mind of mine, so tender, it bruises with every word. The one that gets hurt at the slightest comment.

    The one obsessed with validation.

    My entire sense of worth seems to hang on someone else’s words.

    I have this maddening urge to explain myself until the other person finally says, “I get it. I still like you. You weren’t wrong.”

    Why can’t I be wrong? Why am I so attached to being right?

    I’m sure my moral compass was shaped in childhood, by parents who believed that making a mistake meant you were a bad person. So to me, being a good human meant being a perfect one. Nothing less of perfection.

    It’s become an obsession: to be right, always right. And when I’m not, I spiral into anxiety. Then I expect others to accept my shortcomings, because I wasn’t raised right, because I have issues, because I am broken.

    And the burden falls on the ones who love me to accommodate my madness, my fears, my tears, my jolts, my frenzy, my apparent lovelessness.

    It becomes a vicious cycle: “Please don’t hate me, I’m not bad”—to—“Go to hell, you’re wrong and imperfect.”

    Self-preservation takes over when someone tries to push me into a corner.

    I growl like a grizzly bear to scare them away, but on the inside, I just want a hug.

    I want to be told I’m still loved.

    I often observe others, watching how they go about their day, without any apparent worry of thr world.

    I don’t understand how people live with their imperfections without constantly fearing ridicule or rejection. I can be kind to strangers, compassionate to broken people, accepting of their flaws.

    But in close relationships, I run a tight ship.

    So tight, it’s suffocating.

    And truthfully? It’s exhausting to live with me.

    I’m constantly analyzing myself, putting myself on trial, playing the jury, the judge, the lawyer, the culprit, and the victim. It feels like I’m holding a fragile ship together. One wrong move, and everything sinks.

    Yes, yes,I know I need help!

    But here’s the question that haunts me: Does wanting to be right mean I need help?

    I fear that if I start letting go, if I start accepting things as they are, I’m giving up on myself.

    Accepting would mean my thoughts aren’t really changing. I’ve just muted my voice.

    I fear I’d become a fake. A hypocrite. An inauthentic.

    So what to do now?

    Should I end relationships where I don’t let the other person breathe?

    Should I only stay close to those I can accept easily?

    Should I keep pushing people to be better?

    Where’s the line between nagging and nurturing? Between trying and accepting?

    Why does acceptance sometimes feel like enabling cruelty? And why does trying to fix things make me feel like the villain?

    If I don’t sound urgent, will people even take me seriously?

    How much time are we wasting hurting each other—hurting ourselves—just to be ‘right’?

    How do I handle the casual disdain people seem to have for empathy and accountability? How far do I go in trying to show them a different way?

    What’s the ideal distance in relationships? What’s hypocrisy, and what’s authenticity? What does it mean to “let people be” versus trying to make a relationship work?

    And then I wonder: what is stopping them, and what is stopping me,from accepting?

    Behind the refusal to accept is fear.

    Fear born in childhood, or maybe adulthood, during those moments when you were left alone, helpless.

    When the hand that was supposed to save you pushed you deeper into the swamp instead.

    You felt like you’d die in those moments.

    But you survived. Heroically.

    At a cost.

    You lost faith. In people. Maybe even in God.

    Now, the only person you trust is yourself, because it was you who pulled yourself out. And even when someone offered help, they didn’t reach in time.

    So now, you plan. You judge. You micromanage every outcome. To avoid vulnerability.

    People might think you’re strong, wise, put-together. But really you’re just scared.

    A scaredy crow who can’t handle surprises. You spin like a top, terrified of falling.

    This perfection isn’t superiority. It’s inferiority, wearing a mask. It’s fear pretending to be in control.

    And when you look at others, you wonder: How are they just living? Not micromanaging? Not terrified of mistakes?

    You’re triggered by their ease. Their confidence. Their oblivion. You scoff at them, call them naive. But in quiet moments, you wonder: Who sleeps better? You or them?

    Maybe you’re jealous. Maybe you envy how little time they spend in fear.

    Your fear shows up as control. As nagging. As intensity. You become the party pooper. The energy zapper.

    But there’s an opposite extreme too: The avoiders. The numb ones. Those who were never taught to handle hard emotions. So they freeze. Scoff. Numb.

    They call emotional people dramatic. They label vulnerability as weakness.

    But deep down, they’re as fragile as you. They just express it differently.

    Addictions often live here: in food, screens, working out to look a certain way, alcohol, sex, shopping, even cleaning. Anything to escape the storm inside.

    So there’s a middle path. There has to be.

    One extreme says stop at the sight of trouble. The other says ignore the signs and run. But the middle path says:

    Pause.

    Feel your feelings. Sit with discomfort. Then choose your next move, with kindness, with strength, with clarity.

    Tell yourself when difficulties are looming over your head, that you are strong enough to face it. You are loved enough to ask for support. You are mature enough to know who to ask. You are kind enough to accept failure. And wise enough to begin again.

    You don’t have to feel ashamed of making mistakes and seeking help. You help others feel whole when they think they’re missing something to be happy and worthy.

    I read somewhere, Not making mistakes is not perfection but growing continuously changing continuously as per the lessons is perfection.

    So now to me, this is what a healthy mind looks like: A mind that can handle what life throws at it—with quiet dignity. Even if it stumbles, it rises.

    It knows how to hold itself. And when it can’t, it’s confident enough to reach out. Not in desperation, but in strength.

    It doesn’t dwell in shame. It doesn’t seek constant validation. It simply knows:

    The space it holds on this Earth is already its own, and it doesn’t need to be earned or justified.

    I hope all the broken ones find peace. I hope they’re met with warmth instead of suspicion. That their concerns are treated like real wounds. That they are supported like they never were before.

    I hope they know: They matter. Without effort. Without perfection. Without asking.

    Always.

  • Echoes of a Love Long Gone

    Love and human emotions are complex, capable of offering a wide range of experiences even when the circumstances seem similar. The process of loving someone, feeling disconnected from them, and eventually losing interest follows a pattern many have lived through, yet it feels unique every time.

    Loving someone who was once close, not necessarily an ex-partner, but a family member or a friend who no longer reciprocates the same warmth, is a quiet rollercoaster in itself. Keeping up with someone who no longer shares their life with you, who remains a mystery despite once being an open book, can feel like chasing a mirage.

    You think you know them, but then a void appears, an ever-present gap in your understanding. You yearn for just one missing piece to complete the puzzle of your relationship, of their life, of a shared existence.

    You rarely ask those who know them because you don’t want to seem like you care, even when you do. Instead, you subtly seek clues, scrolling through their social media, piecing together fragments of their world. Sometimes, they reveal something unexpected, something you could never have imagined. Other times, a mutual friend shares a detail that leaves you utterly shaken. Sometimes, you learn something that makes you wonder if you ever truly knew them at all.

    But then comes a stage, after much heartbreak, where you finally give up. The love that once burned fiercely now flickers weakly. You realize you will never be part of their inner world, and in one way or another, they have disappointed you too many times. You’re no longer in their close circle, no longer a favorite, perhaps just a number in their contact list, blocked and unblocked more times than you can count.

    After the storm of emotions passes, indifference sets in. Not hatred, hatred may have had its moment, but now, you no longer wish to know more. Their life no longer intrigues you. Their secrets no longer tempt you. Their interests no longer find a place in your world. Self-preservation has replaced your need to be accepted.

    This is where love, long ailing, finally takes its last breath. It hurts, perhaps just a little, but you know better than to give in.

    Months go by. You both have likely removed each other from social media, not because you wanted to, but because they made it clear you no longer belonged in their life, and you couldn’t bear the constant reminder. So one of you deleted, unfollowed, or blocked the other, each choosing a different path.

    But then, unexpectedly, through some forgotten app, a rare notification, or a mutual group chat, you catch a glimpse of their life again. A recent update. A passing mention. And for a moment, it all comes rushing back. A jolt in your chest. A sinking feeling in your stomach. The urge to look away, yet unable to.

    For a fleeting second, the old love is reminded.

    You take a breath. Maybe a minute, maybe an hour, maybe a day. But then, once again, you remind yourself, it’s not worth it anymore. Probably never was.

    And with that, you repeat the one truth you’ve come to learn:

    What is not watered will not grow—no matter how much you once wished it would.

  • The Romance of Distance

    Time and again, both the wise and the foolish have spoken about yearning, about loving from afar. Philosophers, theologians, ardent devotees, and poets have all mused on how, sometimes, cherishing someone from a distance and waiting for them can feel more blissful than actually being with them.

    Neuroscience explains this phenomenon through arrival fallacy. This refers to the idea that dopamine—the neurotransmitter responsible for motivation and pleasure—is released in anticipation of something rather than in its attainment. Once a long-awaited goal is achieved, dopamine levels drop, leaving a person feeling unexpectedly empty.

    Someone who longed to be with their beloved, for instance, might find themselves feeling strangely indifferent once that desire is fulfilled. This concept has also found a place in spirituality, particularly in Sufism and Vaishnavism, which speaks of how yearning for the divine is often more intoxicating than attaining union with God.

    Many couples talk about how their relationship changed after marriage, how the passion and effort that once defined their love seem to fade. It is as if marriage itself marks the completion of a goal, after which the pursuit, the excitement, and the longing all dissipate.

    A similar feeling often follows major life events. We hear of people feeling numb after accomplishing something they deeply desired. It is simply a “now what?” moment, a sense of emptiness that lingers after a mission is complete.

    Infatuation, too, thrives on distance. There are those who find quiet joy in merely observing the person they admire—never confessing their feelings, content instead with fleeting moments: a brief meeting of eyes, an accidental brush of hands, the lingering trace of perfume as they pass by.

    If it’s a celebrity crush, people can spend years, even decades, dreaming of someone they may never meet.

    It is the waiting, the yearning, that turns people into poets and artists, not the fulfillment of desire.

    Perhaps there is a kind of sweetness in longing. Of course, it shouldn’t consume a person, turning into obsession or unhealthy patterns. But there is a quiet charm in knowing that someone you desire is close yet out of reach. And in a world so focused on achieving, acquiring, and winning, perhaps longing itself is an experience worth savoring.

    Maybe love, in its purest form, isn’t about possession but about presence,whether near or far. And maybe, just maybe, the ache of longing is not a curse, but a quiet kind of grace, a reminder that some things are most beautiful when they remain just out of reach.

  • Mom & Me: A Story of Life, Death, and Beyond

    The Fear Of Death

    I have three types of experiences with death. I had imagined it many times. Daydreaming about my mom’s death or the deaths of people I loved came naturally to me. Probably because I always watched her being unwell while growing up, I felt we could lose people anytime. 

    As a child, health concerns in my family in various forms was part of my daily life. Even when my mother didn’t have a real fear of dying, I always feared losing her. 

    To me, imagining the deaths of loved ones was probably my love language. It was my way of realizing how unbearable losing them would be. I would cry and tell myself, It’s not going to happen.

    These thoughts came and went until they came too close to reality. I don’t know if I manifested it or if it was an inevitable truth waiting to upend my life.

    My first experience with death spanned my childhood and teenage years. I was disturbed and probably needed help. I felt it was better for people to die because that was one way to rid themselves of the pain of birth and this dreadful life. 

    I used to think death had nothing on me, until it actually did.

    Slowly, the fear of death started to engulf me as I grew up. Life was getting real and true learning was on my way.

    Living with Death: A Game of Hide and Seek

    The second experience of death started, and I guess grief too, when I was told what to expect about my mother’s chronic kidney disease. This was when I just started my new job. It hit like a boulder, a giant mountain, a glacier, or a planet falling on my head. Until then, I was frantically trying my best to fix her kidneys.

    I thought if I tried hard enough, I could make her live forever, somehow happily too.

    During those times, the universe would play with me. On my way to the office, there was a cremation ground. Every alternate day I would see a death procession, and slowly started to feel nauseous expecting to see another one on my way, everyday. Right when parallelly in my personal life death was looming over my mom’s head.

    During a casual conversation with the doctor, a bomb was dropped on me: she might survive for another year, but not more than that. That was the typical average lifespan of a dialysis patient in India. And I did see a lot of patients succumbing to the disease within that time frame. 

    When I was told about this timeline, I didn’t know which dam broke in my heart, but I started crying profusely in front of the doctor, as if mourning my mother’s death already. I still do, whenever I happen to talk to him by chance. The doctor reminds me of her and the version of myself that existed then. He has been a silent audience to the whole experience. 

    Anyway, even after that dreadful conversation, I didn’t lose hope. I sulked, I cried, I complained to god for a while. And then I thought, three years is just an average. 

    My mom was not an average person. And she did prove everyone wrong.

    That’s a story for another day.

    I decided to quit my job. It became increasingly overwhelming for me to work and handle the stress of health emergencies. I would fear I’d need to rush home but what if I reached too late!!

    Since that conversation, as I got used to the disease, the caretaking, the regular hospital visits, the frequent operations and tests, our home became a second hospital, and the hospital became a second home. The hospital staff and the people who helped in caretaking in various roles, became extended family. 

    During all this, I was breaking every day. The nights were the toughest to pass.

    Every task related to her care, her dialysis, the slow walks that eventually turned into wheelchair rides, feeding her in the hospital, running frantically to call the nurse the moment her BP fell, or when the machine would start beeping, reminded me that this would take her life one day. It reminded me of the death processions I used to see on my route to the office.

    Watching my mother’s blood flow in the tubes thrice a week during hemodialysis, the blood that made me, the blood that was running in my mother’s body since her birth, made my blood turn into water seemingly. I could not feel my own emotions watching this. It seemed like watching a movie, but a silent one.

    Blood sometimes spilled on the floor, dozens of gauzes filled with blood, the crazy blood clots in her hand, made blood from something sacred life giving, to a mere fluid in the body which needs to be treated. Her hand became a pin cushion from the constant attempts of finding the right blood vessel. Her skin became multi- colored due to blood clotting and wounds due to frequent syringe piercing. 

    I stopped noticing her hand was a part of her, but a tool to keep her alive.

    From this craziness to the dullness and lull of the hospital waiting rooms, the coldness and eerie silence of the night spent at hospitals, with only machines’ beeping a constant sound just like your heartbeat, the smell of the hospital started to become a part of my core memory.

    I still have white coat hypertension due to this. Every time I step into a hospital, my BP increases.

    From almost learning how to operate machines to knowing what was about to happen medically to her, from predicting which medicines would be prescribed next to almost becoming a half doctor and probably a full-time nurse for her, I was living her death in every moment. 

    While doing her peritoneal dialysis at home, 4 times a day for 4 years, I just kept thinking she would die of this disease one day.

    Thinking about death like, I was possessed by it at this rate, wreaked havoc to my mental health and perception of life.

    Sometimes, I would look at that frail body in a wheelchair or on a hospital bed or at home, getting her dialysis done, and I would think about the woman she once was. A woman with broad shoulders who had carried the weight of the world, who was still carrying it, carrying us. 

    A revolutionary at heart, a spiritual guru in her soul, a compassionate woman ahead of her time, and a sad, broken yet a hopeful mother in that fragile body. 

    I listened to her new voice, which was hoarse, and weak. You could sense the debility in it. She always had a sharp, strong voice. And this reminded me how slowly things were deteriorating. 

    She would be lost in her world, maybe because her faculties were affected as the disease progressed. Maybe because of fluid retention, depression, diabetes, or the hearing loss that completely shattered her confidence to communicate with people. Her usual sharpness and confidence was missing.

    I mostly did the talking on behalf of her. She started to rely heavily on my psychological support, almost like I was her brain, and maybe I wanted her to not to worry about anything anymore. 

    But despite all these changes in her, something was always there, the grit, the optimism, the zest for living, and an inspiration in her to keep going, keep trying.

    She wanted to live for us. Even for herself probably.

    She probably wanted a tryst with destiny, a chance to have a few happy years after the long, arduous life she had lived. So she kept trying.

    She wanted to make me happy, probably. She could see I was trying. And even though she was in so much pain, she tried not to give up for me and her family.

    She was sacrificing for us.I sort of couldn’t see it then.

    But I did see her living in those dying moments every day.

    We lived our best years.

    We went out frequently. Wore new clothes regularly. Ate whatever we could because she could hardly eat or drink anything, so whatever she did was a win. We lived as if all was well.

    We talked, we fought, and she was mine for all those years. Whatever nobody could give her in her healthier years, I tried to give her in the days that were numbered.

    I made sure she did not have to ask for anything, I wanted her to believe I am one person for whom she is the top priority.

    I would look at her sitting from afar, trying to register that memory in my head forever. Somewhere deep down, I knew I might not see that face again someday, but not the following day.

    I tried to fix her body so she could have a good time before her death. Even though I didn’t believe her death was imminent, I felt the need to cherish her as much as I could.

    Denial has always been my close ally.

    She was my last hope of the lost childhood, a hope of getting the love I never received or maybe never understood, and would never get a chance to feel again.

    And then a point came when I started to believe, maybe my plan had worked. Maybe she would now live, as long as we kept fixing her. 

    I got married during all this madness but I kept trying to keep her alive. Going back and forth between cities, to get her dialysis done.I thought soon I’d have more control over our situation. 

    As long as I kept running and praying, I could do it all. 

    When things didn’t seem to work, I prayed harder, and God seemed to give in. I thought God has to grant my wishes if He wants to prove His existence. And He kept humoring me. My mother kept humoring me too.

    Things kept getting tougher, but hope was never lost.

    There wasn’t a single corridor, or a room or a person I’ve been with, where I did not cry while talking about my mom or even thinking about it. I did not know a person could cry so easily, that the human body had so many tears to shed.

    I never had a conversation with the doctor where my eyes were not teary or my throat was not choking. I could feel it took a lot to just smile. The way I spoke had changed. I did not feel excited about anything, I did not want to be anywhere but home, there was no one I thought about but mom, I was struggling. I was gasping for air, for peace, for myself.

    I had a struggle understanding what I am beyond caretaking and being a daughter, and is it really enough?

    Those days were so stressful and eventful that I never got a chance to mull over these things for long. It was like living in a war zone and anytime a bomb could be dropped on your head.

    Through all this God had some plans for us. And our lives were suddenly disrupted by COVID pandemic.

    During that period, I got her cataract treated so she could see better, it gave her hope and strengthened her will to live.  

    And then, after a series of events, stories of the truest, greatest acts of love and spirituality, where God Himself had to come to change fates, she went away.

    Rendezvous with Death

    It was 3:30 on a Saturday morning.

    The person who called had disdain in his voice, I was in a denial in what I heard.

    I reconfirmed with him. He also insisted that he was not wrong or he did not mix up her name with someone.

    She was gone.

    In the hospital. Alone. And hopefully, lost.

    Probably, she had already left when she left for the hospital to be admitted to the ICU.

    She had decided to leave me. She had made her plans.

    I was 9 months pregnant. I was strictly advised not to go to public places or a hospital to avoid picking COVID infection during this time. Hence, I could not accompany her for the first time to the hospital, especially when she was going there to stay.

    And that’s why she decided to choose this time. She already told me, she feels now she’d be a burden to me, because I won’t be able to care for her along with the baby.

    She didn’t let me see her like that. She knew I’d stop her, so she didn’t take me along to the hospital. 

    She left without making me feel like she was going.

    She did send a signal that I didn’t understand.

    She had her last two-line conversation with me, which I didn’t realize would be her last. She told me to prepare for the baby to come. She was thinking about me. She spoke to me when she could barely think or be conscious anymore. 

    A few days before, she told me she had the best three months of her life. She told me, I have never been loved by anyone this much. I am truly happy.

    I don’t know why she said that because we never thought her days were coming to an end.

    One of those days, she had asked me.

    She told me she wanted to leave now.

    She was tired of the pain.

    It was as if she was asking for my permission.

    But I would never tell her to go. Because I knew she wanted to live.

    She wanted to live fulfilled. Pain Free too.

    And most of all, I wanted her to know she was wanted. Not as a role, but as a person. That she deserved all the love and care and respect. That I would fight anyone and do anything to keep her alive and happy.

    But probably, the one thing I missed was that I couldn’t reduce her pain, even when I wanted to.

    I was no God sadly.

    And so, for the first time, I let go.

    At the age of 62, after 35 years of mental and physical struggle and an 8 year long heroic battle with Chronic Kidney Disease, she finally rested.

    Grief: Never Ending Echo

    My third ongoing experience of death is a slow dance with Grief. 

    Grief is a strange, silent companion. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it, latching onto moments and memories, warping time in ways you cannot comprehend. It makes the past feel too close and the present too distant, blurring the lines between reality and dream. 

    Her death and the grief that came along with it, changed my identity, my worldview, my spirituality completely.

    When she went away, I was nine months pregnant. I couldn’t even cry, at least not the amount I wanted to when the numbness would fade. I had to prepare for everything, take care of all the rituals.

    I didn’t know the clothes that I was giving for her were her last. And in a way, I feel she chose them—they were her color. 

    I missed welcoming her into our house, covered with white sheets on a gurney, her last time in her home. I couldn’t see when they lay her down on the floor of the house she cherished so much, or maybe she did not.

    This house saw everything, her own disease, her children’s marriages, her transient peace and now her death. This house was a small pit stop, though not a pain-free one, after a long, dreary life in our previous house, and now on to her final journey.

    She had always been the strongest person I knew. Now, I had to be the strong one. But I wasn’t ready. And I didn’t want to be. Even if I held it together for so long, I did not want to anymore. What’s the point after all?

    If I had to define what death feels like, it is cold. It is eerily cold. It is a vacuum. You can breathe, but you don’t really feel anything around you. You don’t know if you are capable of feeling anything now or ever. Your heart, your brain-they have decided not to feel any more emotion. Your hands and legs are moving, your mouth is talking, but you have no awareness of your own body. You constantly dwindle between reality and dream. What you are in is a nightmare and what is real is when you wake up.

    And somehow, time moves really fast when you want it to stop. You want to spend more and more time with your loved one, but suddenly, it’s time to go. 

    You try to soak in that face one last time in the hope that this remains, that maybe time doesn’t take the memory of it away from you.

    I touched my mom’s face, like she was my child or maybe my mother, how I must have looked at her when I was a child, in her arms. She looked so pretty. Her face was glowing. I felt her nose and her cheeks one last time, patted her forehead like I wanted her to finally rest, that this was finally over. 

    She looked peaceful, as if she had simply gone to sleep, waiting to wake up in another world.

    I couldn’t hug her or sit next to her on the floor because I had a baby in my tummy. We have never been those families who show love through physical touch. I have hardly hugged my mother in my whole life, this includes even my day of marriage. So I was in a way thankful when she got unwell, retrospectively. Because I got to hold her a lot, her hand when walking, her shoulders when she would be unable to balance herself. 

    In these last years, I fed her, held her, bathed her, and did countless number of dressings, which gave me a chance to be close to her as a daughter, the physical touch that I always wanted. I could mother my mom the way she mothered me. And today I touched her face like I could cherish her at my will, without any awkwardness, but the last and only time of my and her life. 

    And that day, while sitting next to her on a chair, I was hanging between real life that was in my tummy and death which was in front of me-who do I save, and who do I stop? How do I feel and not feel at the same time? Who do I hug, and who do I cradle? I didn’t know any of it.

    I tried to bid her goodbye as happily as possible. I didn’t want her to worry anymore. And it didn’t feel like she had gone for many days. She did come visit me, it seems. I kept looking for that one sign of acceptance even then. I wanted her to tell me she knew I loved her so much, that I did my best to save her, that she doesn’t feel I gave up on her. 

    I didn’t know what was what. But there was guilt, a whole truckload of it. So much of it, I shoved it all down. I started fighting with her through her photos. She didn’t give me a chance to help her. She gave up on me. Or no-I screwed it up. Why did I let her go alone to the hospital, that one and only time?

    It’s like she was looking for an escape from life, from me.

    I started to feel more and more numb, as time passed. I completely denied she had gone in my head. I stopped looking at her picture. I could feel her living in my body. I would talk about her in the present tense. 

    I could feel it when I smiled like her, sat like her, talked like her, nodded like her, and sometimes even looked like her. I became obsessed with her. The only way for me to believe she was still with me was through living like her, to feel I am her daughter and she is alive in me. 

    Sometimes, I would get soundless dreams, daydreams of her. A memory of hers,  and I am just watching her. I wasn’t even part of that memory. Every time I cooked, I thought of her. Every time I drove on the road which led to the hospital, I thought of her.

    I had kept old hospital bills, her leftover medicines, her reading glasses, her comb, her clothes and tried to find her in those whenever I felt lonely. 

    I couldn’t give away the things which were used in her dialysis, I have still kept her hospital bag as is.

    And just like that, all of my three years after her death were about reliving every memory of hers, but with no emotions. Just feeling betrayed by her for leaving. Then feeling lonely, like I was completely alone in this world. Not looking at her pictures at all because the world would start spinning, and I would feel nauseous. An empty pit in my stomach and I did not know if I am supposed to breathe in or breathe out. I didn’t know I had these weird feelings, and I couldn’t understand them. 

    Grief was my worst nightmare—or not even that, because I didn’t know I could feel this way.

    We never were a family of camera people. We were always too shy of spotlights, and felt really awkward about taking our own pictures. When I realized I may not have a lot of time with my mother, I felt I probably should be clicking more pictures of her or us, but I also felt if I clicked her picture thinking she might be gone one day, then I am accepting her fate, I am making it real. So I never clicked those pictures. 

    I won’t deny I always regretted it but even to this day when it’s almost her 4 year death anniversary, I still am not able to look at her pictures. It’s difficult to even talk about her with anyone without crying.

    I probably will regret not saving enough memories of her even more in the years to come.

    I would look at her old pictures, the ones when she got newly married. I would look into those eyes and try to understand what this young girl would have been thinking. She must be so excited about the new life that she’s going to start and looking forward to the dreams she wanted to come true.

    And here I was, grieving for her own unlived life as well as mine. It made me even more sad, realizing I could not ever change someone’s destiny, especially of the person I loved so much.

    I have hated myself for still living after her death, that my own heart was betraying me by still beating. I was supposed to die if she died, but I was alive, barely surviving. 

    The sense of identity loss, loss of purpose and understanding life after being a caretaker for so long, turned my emotions into a whirlwind. I couldn’t detach nor I wanted to detach myself from the role of a daughter. I felt this would be a betrayal to my mom if I thought of anything else, in fact I had spent years thinking about how to keep my mom well, that suddenly I realized I have no personal goal. I had no idea nor any wish to look forward to anything. To me life was just dragging, everything seemed pointless. 

    It finally started to hit me, I don’t know who I am, I don’t know how I would have been if things were normal. I had no idea who Neha could be, if not for this.

    There were reasons I was trying to live, denial being one. 

    And denial is probably the state that is always there, maybe even after accepting too. I don’t know if, on a daily basis, grieving people can reminisce about their dead loved ones. They barely make it through birthdays or anniversaries, especially death anniversaries.

    One of the things I hated was not being able to say goodbye at the hospital. Another was my own living. Then I was angry at her for not asking for my permission. 

    I would get vertigo whenever I looked at her picture. The Earth didn’t seem to rotate properly when I thought about her.

    I spent unhealthy amounts of time at night looking at her last rites. Fortunately, or maybe only for me, there were videos of her cremation. And looking at them made it real. Contrary to popular belief, it healed me. And the biggest of all—the one thing that healed me was Time.

    I don’t know if there’s anything apart from Time that can heal, but perhaps the other thing is Purpose. A reason to live. A reason to wake up every day. A reason to not think about your loved one and instead think about those who are left behind.

    Death, even when it seems to be looming over our heads, when it does come, it comes sneakily. It takes away our senses, our authority over our own thoughts, our ability to understand what is happening to us and around us. Brain fog becomes a constant companion. Our body doesn’t seem to know what warmth means for a long while.

    We unknowingly look for them everywhere, and we get scared when we do get a whiff of their existence in the corners of our daily life.

    It takes a while to realize the tenses being used for them need to change, that the incidents we are sharing about them are the only memories we have. The accidental things we touch that belonged to them still carry a trace of them, a coldness that feels almost unbearable.

    I only have compassion for the people who lost someone they were not prepared to lose. They may be living, but a piece of their heart has flown away and doesn’t belong to them anymore. They are looking for their loved one’s existence in another realm. They are looking for a sign from their loved one’s soul to tell them they are still loved.

    They are still trying to understand whether they are still related, or if the alive one is the only one holding the ropes of this relationship.

    Yet, they deny every day whether they are truly living or even allowed to live again like before. The void they carry in their hearts, in their life, engulfs them even when they seem happy, whispering to them to feel guilty for moving on. 

    Death not only takes a person—it makes the one left behind feel guilty for being alive. 

    Grief is not a journey for those who have never loved, but a road seemingly less traveled by those who choose to drag themselves through this road of loneliness, with no hope of ever learning to live without the person they loved so much.

    Healing from grief feels like you’re sitting on this bed, bed being your emotional self. You can’t put your feet down, which is outside of your broken self, a logical self. The logical self is very painful to face, and it feels too hot to step on this floor. The logical self tells you to move on because what is gone is gone. And you, despite being scared of the hot burning floor, still want to go out of the room, to the outside world, to the normal life like before. You step down and then go out with all your strength but you still badly want to come back to the delusional grieving emotional self. You again go through that agonising pain of facing your logical self asking you to heal and live a normal life, and return to the bed, with no hope of any strength to leave this room ever again. And this cycle goes on for months, years and sometimes decades.

    Grief doesn’t end; it shifts. And somewhere in that shift,it teaches, love never really leaves, it just changes form.

    So I am trying, and would keep trying to keep her legacy alive in me. She would not like it after all this, if i hated living this much. I would try to understand why she made that sacrifice then, and why in all possible ways, whatever she did or God does, is an act of love. I may not completely see it today, but one day, I’ll be able to cherish her memories, and not be haunted by the emptiness she has left behind. 

    Now, I look for her in the quiet moments, in the warmth of the afternoon which is as peaceful as her, in the way I love my own child and when my daughter looks at me lovingly. 

    She left, but she didn’t leave me.

  • How Does It Feel Falling In Love With Someone

    (A millennial’s version)

    The age-old question. Maybe when you are a teenager. Maybe when you’ve been hurt so many times that your heart has stopped feeling. Maybe when you’ve been with someone for so long that love has faded into mere habit. Whatever the reason, this question haunts millions, and always will.

    Understanding love, the yearning for it, is one of life’s greatest dilemmas. At times, it feels impossible to differentiate between a crush, infatuation, or true love. But for now, let’s talk about love-the kind that makes you want to be with someone, in any and every way.

    We may try to separate admiration, platonic love, or protective affection, but the most perplexing kind is amorous love, the deep, undeniable desire to be with someone both physically and emotionally.

    The first sign? A definite interest in their life. A clear, positive interest means attraction, but sometimes, it manifests as irritation or even repulsion-why, no one really knows. If someone is on the receiving end of such behavior, I would never suggest mistaking a bully for a secret admirer. But the truth is, some people struggle to express warmth at first, or they themselves are confused by their emotions, making things even more confusing.

    Yet, if their presence sparks a rush of energy, a quickened heartbeat, a clouded mind, or burning ears, if you suddenly become hyper-aware of your own face when they’re around, chances are, you’re drawn to them.

    If you can’t help but be interested in their personal life, if hearing their name makes you feel lightheaded, if your hands tremble when touching something they’ve touched, if you’ve memorized their routine and favorite songs, if you secretly take candid pictures of them, if you know the exact shape of their eyes and nose by heart, and if just standing next to them sends electric waves through you,then you are truly, deeply infatuated.

    If they sit behind you, you dare not turn around for fear they might see the madness in your eyes. Writing their name becomes a pastime. You imagine them in every love song, every movie, every poem. You’ve stood outside their house just for a glimpse. You’ve lingered in places they frequent, hoping for a chance encounter.

    Looking into their eyes feels dangerous because they’d instantly know how much space they occupy in your thoughts. So instead, you hide within a crowd, just to watch them from a safe distance.

    If you’re already friends with them, you tread carefully. You hesitate to show too much care, yet somehow, you’re always the first to rush to their aid. Jealousy flares when they pay attention to someone else. You twist time and schedules just to be near them, ensuring they never glimpse your struggles. Your day starts with them and never truly ends, sleep merely interrupts the thoughts of them.

    Then comes the stage where your feelings refuse to be contained. It feels like your heart will burst if you don’t tell them. So you drop hints, sometimes subtle, sometimes glaring. You find yourself playing attention games, getting mad over the smallest things, hiding away just to be found by them.

    You stop speaking to them, not because you want to, but because every word feels like it could betray your secret. And so, the push and pull begins, a silent battle between revealing your heart and guarding it, unsure whether to risk everything or hold onto your fragile, unspoken world.

    Whatever the ending, every love story is different, in terms of outcome and the length. Love taps you on your shoulder when you least expect it, nudges you to take the first step and when you are in the middle of your journey, brings you a choice, if you want to pursue further or stop right there.

    Whatever the choice, it is not easy to make. Hell, even after choosing, there could still be regret. Because love stories are messy, at least the real ones are.

    Lucky are those whose love is recognized and returned. My heart aches for those whose love remains unrequited. Perhaps that is the paradox of love-it demands to be felt, yet it often defies logic.

    We spend our days longing, analyzing every interaction, deciphering unspoken words. But love has its own will, moving in ways we cannot predict or control.

    Love, in its unpredictability, often takes unexpected routes. It can be fleeting, it can be patient, and sometimes, it circles back when you least expect it. Sometimes, love comes back when you’re no longer around-days, weeks, years, even decades later. But no matter the outcome, experiencing love in its rawest, most unfiltered form is a blessing.

    Yes, love can be painful. It can end in heartbreak. But years from now, when you look back, you’ll remember not just the ache but the depth of your yearning. The intensity of your emotions. The sheer capacity of your heart to feel.

    Because to have truly lived is to have felt-immensely and intensely.

  • Who Are You Without their Approval?

    Why Being Unable to Show Up Is a ‘You’ Issue, Not a ‘Them’ Issue?

    Most of the time, when we get ready to meet someone, we think about how they will perceive us. Will they approve of the way we look? Will we fit in?

    This concern makes sense in formal settings, where dress codes act as unspoken signals. Dressing like the attendees at a corporate event or a government meeting signals, I belong here. I understand your language. Even in creative spaces like art exhibitions or tech startups, a certain aesthetic exists—one that distinguishes us from them.

    But what about relationships? Shouldn’t those be the spaces where we show up as we are, not as someone trying to belong? Is that too much to expect in this world where everything else is made up?

    Living As Per the World vs. Living True to Yourself

    The truth is, many of us live as versions of ourselves shaped by the world, not by what feels natural to us. But what makes us doubt our authentic selves? What strips away our ability to stand firm in who we are?

    The answer: Self-esteem.

    A deep, unwavering belief that you are lovable and worthy exactly as you are, not because of your appearance, achievements, or status, but simply because you exist. Not an arrogance that stems from superiority, nor apathy that disguises insecurity, but a quiet confidence that says, I am enough.

    The Fear of Not Being Enough

    I’ve seen this trope play out in movies: Two childhood friends, now grown up, decide to meet. One of them, usually the heroine, recognizes the other right away. But the hero is searching for an idealized version of her -the pretty, polished version he remembers. She sees this, feels small, assumes she isn’t enough, and instead of revealing herself, she walks away.

    Is this the guy’s fault, or is it her own self-doubt? If he openly shows disappointment, sure, we can judge him. But maybe even he has a physical preference. And what if he’s just happy to see her, no matter how she looks? Would we pat him on the back for that? And if so, what does that say about our own standards? Are we promoting pity and negating the importance of authenticity?

    Who really needs to do the work,the person with an expectation that their love interest will have a certain physical appearance and financial situation, or the person too afraid to show up as they are in the present moment?

    Where It All Begins: Childhood

    What fuels self-esteem? Why do some people seek a lot of external validation while others don’t?

    It all is set in the first 25 years of life. Those years shape almost everything about how we navigate adulthood, including how much we like ourselves. And the biggest deciding factor? Parents.

    Or, if not parents, the primary caregivers ,the people who first taught us what being human means. Think about Mowgli. Raised by wolves, he didn’t see himself as a human. He measured himself by the wolf pack’s standards. Even when he was found, he struggled to integrate because his foundation wasn’t built on human identity. That’s how deep early influences go.

    If your parents praised you only when you looked a certain way, you learned that appearance equals worth. If they mocked others for their looks, you internalized that judgment, fearing they saw you the same way. And so, you either conformed to avoid shame or rebelled to prove a point,both behaviors driven by external validation rather than self-acceptance.

    If You’re a Parent, What Can You Do?

    First, learn to love yourself, the way you are. Do the inner work that’s required to reach that healthy stage. How you see the world and yourself influences your child’s worldview. The efforts you make for yourself and the words you use for yourself  and others, the things you approve or disapprove of, all these shape your child’s standards for themselves and others.

    Yes, you have to teach your child about societal norms. Yes, you have to protect them by teaching them certain behaviors and practices. But none of it should make the child feel inadequate,especially if they struggle to follow those norms. Their worth should never be intertwined with what they do or how they behave in the eyes of a parent. They don’t have to fight you to earn your love. 

    Second, self-esteem isn’t just about looks. It extends to career, relationships, and life milestones. Parenting requires a fine balance between nudging a child toward growth, setting necessary boundaries, and making them feel inherently valued.

    Sometimes, tough love is needed. But how it’s delivered determines whether it builds resilience or damages confidence. A healthy child who grows into a healthy adult doesn’t constantly seek approval. If your child never seeks validation, something’s off. If they always need it, something’s off. And if they tiptoe around your emotions to keep you happy, you might be raising a people-pleaser.

    A confident child pushes boundaries because they know your love isn’t conditional. In any case, never mock or shame your child-whether in front of them or behind their back. Sarcasm and shame never help a child (or even an adult) learn anything. They only teach them that they are unworthy of their parent’s love because they failed to meet a certain expectation. 

    Sarcasm and shame seemingly may work in the short term, but it should not be the norm for correction in the house, your kid (sometimes even adult children) shouldn’t fear that their parents can make fun of them anytime in front of anyone, in the name of motivation. In the long term, it destroys their self esteem and in a deranged way can also be used to gain an unhealthy form of attention from you. 

    Research shows that kids who receive enough love and  healthy attention actually listen more to their parents. Parenting becomes easier when children feel secure in their worth and receiving love that is consistent.

    As an Adult, What Can You Do?

    It may not be about physical appearance. It’s about how you feel about yourself overall. Career struggles, unmet expectations, and peer pressure can all chip away at self-esteem. If you feel like you’re falling behind, it’s easy to shrink.

    Instead of forcing yourself to ‘march ahead,’ start by surrounding yourself with people who see your worth beyond your current circumstances. Find friends or family members who remind you that you are you—not your achievements, not your setbacks, just you.

    These people keep you grounded when you’re soaring and lift you up when you’re falling. They may even be part of a digital community if your family is toxic and you don’t have supportive friends. Finding healthy support,through online spaces, doing self-care and inner work, reading good books, podcasts, and other perspectives, helps maintain and build self-esteem when it is shattered.

    Sometimes, you have to spend time with yourself to rebuild your self-worth from scratch. Something like rising from the ashes like a phoenix.

    Final Thought

    No one—not society, not your past, not even your own doubts—gets to decide your worth. If something isn’t working out, it’s a matter of strategy and time, not proof of your value.

    We all love achieving things, and that’s great. But your milestones should never dictate your right to get love, respect, or attention.

    Show up. As you are.

    That’s all you ever needed to do.

  • The Illusion of Self-Sustainability: Why We Need Each Other

    Why I Don’t Want People to Solve All Their Problems on Their Own

    This is the 21st century—the era of ‘freedom’, ‘liberation from the dogmatic clutches of society’, and ‘independence from orthodox thoughts that hold people back’—or so we had hoped. But what have we actually become? ‘Independent’, ‘self-reliant’, not because these are the highest human values, but because our trust in others has eroded so profoundly. Ironic, isn’t it?

    Society was meant to evolve in a way that made human life easier, allowing us to spend less time on survival and more on higher pursuits—spiritual, intellectual, or even pleasure-seeking. Technological advancements were supposed to serve this goal, making our lives simpler so we could focus on building stronger, healthier communities. But instead of using our knowledge and progress to bring people together, we are weaponizing them to break down societies. Rather than fostering camaraderie, we are fueling cynicism, paranoia, and a worldview where other humans are seen as obstacles rather than allies.

    Historians may not have emphasized this enough, but community is not a luxury—it is a necessity. Even a digital community can offer immense support to its members. Yet, we were sold the idea that being a good human is optional, that we only need others as a matter of choice. However, research over the past few decades has continually proven that humans cannot function in isolation. From birth to even after death—where people continue to honor their ancestors, believing that love and responsibility transcend realms—our existence is deeply interwoven with others.

    The Fallacy of Self-Sustainability

    Today, we are increasingly told that we must be entirely self-sufficient: grow our own food, stitch our own clothes, maintain peak health so we never need external medical care, and even grow our own medicines if we fall sick. If we crave community, we are advised to chant mantras to remind ourselves that we were born alone and will die alone (which, ironically, is a misinterpretation of that ideology). The ultimate goal, it seems, is to live in isolation, rejecting society altogether. But should a life goal be so alienating that it requires us to forsake our true selves? Isn’t it already evident that people become bitter when they stray too far from their inherent social nature?

    We have all encountered so-called self-reliant or spiritually ‘enlightened’ individuals who appear emotionally hardened, untouched by human warmth. Have they mistaken detachment for strength? Do they believe that even God doesn’t cry?

    The problem with self-sustainability and extreme independence is that it distances us from other humans. The idea is often rooted in mistrust, fear, and cynicism rather than true empowerment. Yes, corruption and untrustworthiness exist. Yes, adulteration, unethical behavior, and deceit are real. But instead of fiercely advocating for a return to ethics, empathy, and accountability, we are retreating into isolated cocoons. The result? People cut themselves off—not just from toxic environments, but sometimes even from their own families and communities.

    The Natural Order: A Lesson from Biology

    Nature itself does not operate on self-sufficiency. The first example of the division of labor comes from biological evolution—the development of complex organ systems that work together to sustain life. Plants and animals thrive through intricate interdependencies. If we were meant to be entirely self-reliant, we would have remained amoebas—unicellular, shapeless, and alone.

    But we are not alone. Neither at a cellular level nor on a universal scale. So why this obsession with ‘making it to the end’ alone?

    The Psychological and Social Consequences

    Psychologists have documented countless cases of individuals struggling with mental and emotional distress, and one recurring factor hindering their healing is a lack of a healthy community. It is unrealistic to expect people to thrive in toxic environments, but the solution should not be complete isolation. Instead, the goal should be to build and nurture spaces where trust and authenticity can flourish.

    This goes beyond mental health—it extends to social well-being, too. Farmers grow our food. Businesses provide goods and services. Consumers drive economies. At every level of this chain, we are interconnected. A strong community is only as trustworthy and ethical as its members. Yet, the prevailing narrative tells us to disengage rather than repair, to abandon rather than rebuild.

    The Frustration Feedback Loop

    Conversations about modern life increasingly revolve around how difficult it is to rely on others. As a result, people turn inward, believing they must handle everything themselves. But this isn’t coming from a place of enlightenment—it stems from frustration and disillusionment. When others fail to meet basic expectations of cooperation and decency, the response is often, “If I can’t count on them, then I won’t be there for anyone either.”

    This creates a dangerous cycle. As trust erodes, people stop holding themselves accountable to others. The growing sentiment of “Let the world burn as long as my house is safe” is becoming not only acceptable but encouraged.

    There Is Still Hope

    Yet, all is not lost. There are still people who believe in the power of community, who understand that the most profound human experiences come not from isolation but from togetherness. We must share the blame collectively and spread hope collectively.

    Our core human nature—shaped by millennia of evolution—proves that we cannot thrive alone. A community is not just about collecting ‘likes’ on social media; it is about the people you share your days with, the ones who stand by you until the very end.

    It’s time to rethink what independence truly means. It should not be about detaching from others out of fear or disillusionment but about building relationships where trust, cooperation, and interdependence thrive. Only then can we move forward—not as fragmented individuals, but as a society that truly understands the strength of standing together.

  • When It’s Time To Let Go Of Your Friendship

    This is something which is not really talked about. Not all friendships are meant to last forever. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, a friendship can become toxic or one-sided. But there are clear signs when things start to seem off track. Here’s how to recognize when it’s time to let go and move on. 

    Signs It’s Time to Leave a Friendship

    You Feel Drained

    If spending time with them leaves you feeling exhausted, anxious, or self-conscious, it’s a red flag. A good friendship should energize you, not drain you. If you need to take a deep breath before calling them or if you need a break after meeting them, and it’s kind of frequent, then it’s time to give a real thought about what is going on with you two.

    Lack of Reciprocity

    If they don’t make time for you, forget important details about your life, or fail to keep promises, the friendship may be one-sided. For example, if you’re always the one initiating plans or checking in, it’s a sign they’re not putting in the same effort. Again, this has been going on for a long time, and you haven’t been able to understand a reason for it, despite asking them or observing them. For example, when people are going through a difficult situation they either become clingy or isolate themselves. In both cases, a true friend can understand that in a while, just by being patient. But you feel despite your extended understanding, your presence is not valued, then it’s time to rethink.

    Constant Criticism

    If they make you feel like a burden or belittle you under the guise of “motivation,” it’s time to reevaluate. For example, if they constantly point out your flaws or make you feel like you’re not good enough, it’s not healthy. It’s one thing to be your honest critique, and it’s another to make you feel like a loser all the time, sometimes in front of others too.

    Gaslighting and Disrespect

    If they dismiss your feelings, refuse to apologize, or make you feel small, the friendship is no longer healthy. For example, if you tell them something they said hurt you and they respond with, “You’re too sensitive,” it’s a sign they’re not respecting your emotions, and it happens everytime you bring up what’s troubling you about them.

    You’re Not Yourself Around Them

    If you feel constricted or unable to be your authentic self, it’s a sign the friendship has run its course. For example, if you find yourself censoring your thoughts or hiding parts of your life to avoid judgment, it’s not a safe space. You feel they may shame you for your life choices, without understanding your point of view, and it’s a fear in your head to share your real desires with them, then your friend is not your safe-space.

    They Don’t Remember or Care About Your Life

    If they don’t ask about your struggles, forget important events, or seem uninterested in your life, it’s a sign they’re not invested in the friendship. For example, if you’ve been going through a tough time and they haven’t checked in, it’s a red flag. If they keep asking you to tone it down or telling you to move on or big deal when you are clearly struggling then it’s a red flag.

    They Make You Feel Like a Burden

    If they act like tolerating you is a chore or make you feel like no one else would want to be your friend, it’s time to walk away. For example, if they say things like, “You’re lucky I put up with you,” it’s a sign of emotional manipulation. If you feel they are ashamed of you, they feel uncomfortable introducing you to their other friends, then it’s time to reconsider this relationship.

    They Don’t Respect Your Boundaries

    If they constantly push your limits, ignore your requests, or make you feel uncomfortable, it’s a sign they don’t respect you. For example, if you’ve asked them not to share something personal with others, and they do it anyway, it’s a breach of trust.

    Remember it’s never one thing, nor should it be judged on the basis of one off event. The way you spend a long time to realize how much you value your friend the same way you should take time in understanding if the red flags are a permanent feature of your friendship. Also if the burden is too difficult to carry and if it has been a long time, then no point pretending that you still fill each other’s cup.

    How to Let Go Gracefully

    Take a Break

    If you’re unsure about ending the friendship, take a break instead. Distance yourself for a while and see how you feel. Sometimes, space can give you clarity.

    Have an Honest Conversation

    If you feel comfortable, talk to them about how you’re feeling. Be honest but kind. For example, “I’ve been feeling like our friendship has become one-sided, and it’s been hard for me.”

    Set Boundaries

    If you’re not ready to end the friendship completely, set clear boundaries. For example, let them know you need space or that certain behaviors are not okay.

    Let It Fade Naturally

    Sometimes, friendships fade on their own. If they’re not putting in effort, stop reaching out and see if they notice. If they don’t, it’s a sign the friendship has run its course.

    Focus on Healthy Relationships

    Invest your time and energy in friendships that make you feel valued and supported. Surround yourself with people who uplift you and bring out the best in you.

    Final Thoughts

    Friendships are a two-way street. While it’s important to put in effort, it’s equally important to recognize when a friendship is no longer serving you. Letting go of toxic relationships can be hard, but it’s necessary for your mental and emotional well-being and growth.

    Wishing you all happy and fulfilling friendships!

    (Based on My Lived Experience)

  • How to Make and Maintain Lifelong Friendships- A Millenial’s Guide

    Friendships are one of life’s greatest joys, but they don’t just happen—they require effort, understanding, and care. Here’s a detailed guide to making and maintaining healthy, close friendships, based on what I’ve learned over the years.

    Making New Friends

    Start with Shared Interests

    When you find someone you’d like to be friends with, connect with them on social media or platforms where you can share similar interests. If you meet regularly (like at work or college or gym), take every chance to hang out. Observe their likes and dislikes, but avoid intruding into their personal space. Speak less, observe more. This helps you understand them better without overwhelming them.

    Stay Connected

    Add them to messaging apps like WhatsApp to keep in touch regularly. Start with casual conversations about the common interests that brought you together. If they seem interested, slowly suggest meeting up. For example, if you both love coffee or playing similar sports, then you could suggest meeting up for those common activities.

    Take It Slow

    Don’t push for meetings too soon. Let it happen naturally, especially if it’s a workplace friendship. Avoid one-on-one meetings until you’re comfortable with each other’s silence. Remember, friendship is about ease. If you’re not sure, stick to group hangouts initially.

    Be Patient

    Aim to meet at least once every two months initially, but don’t take it personally if responses are sporadic. People have busy lives, and it takes time to understand whether someone is introverted or extroverted. Give them the benefit of doubt.

    Maintain Self-Respect

    Keep a bit of self respect/restraint initially to avoid coming off as clingy. Let the friendship develop naturally without forcing it. For example, if they cancel plans, don’t immediately reschedule—wait for them to suggest another time. Sometimes it may take months for you to meet your friend, thats how adult life is. But as long as you are connected and regularly in touch, it is positive sign that friendship is mutual.

    Validate and Appreciate

    Praise your friend often. Let them know you see and hear them. Remember their likes, dislikes, and the little details they share with you. Thank them for the good times you’ve had together. Be kind—sometimes, friends can show a level of kindness even family can’t.

    Here are some gestures to show you care:

    If they’re struggling with their health, show up with fruits or something thoughtful.

    Offer to help with small tasks, like picking up something they need or running an errand.

    Listen without judgment when they vent or share their struggles.

    Celebrate their wins, no matter how small—send a congratulatory text or treat them to coffee.

    Avoid financial entanglements early on, as they can complicate the friendship.

    The key is to make them feel valued and appreciated without overstepping boundaries. Small, thoughtful actions go a long way in building trust and closeness.

    Align Values

    Understand their value system and see if it aligns with yours. Discuss/notice political or moral differences early on to gauge how much divergence you can handle. For example, if they have strong opinions on a topic you disagree with, ask yourself if it’s something you can respect or if it’s a dealbreaker.

    Maintaining the Friendship

    Remember Important Dates

    Set reminders for birthdays and other significant events if you tend to forget. Small gestures like a thoughtful message or a surprise call can make their day.

    Get Involved in Their Life

    Ask about their daily struggles, family, and work. Offer help when you can, even if it’s just checking in to see if they’re okay. Share your own experiences and ensure the friendship isn’t one-sided. For example, if they mention their mom is unwell, ask about her the next time you talk. But also notice how much they remember stuff about your life in general. Do they check up on you when you or your loved ones are stuggling? Do they try to understand what bothers you and if they are willing to support you in any capacity during that time. This ensures balance in friendship.

    Stay in Touch Regularly

    Meet at least once every 2-4 months, and have monthly phone /text/video catch-ups. Keep the conversation continuous by asking about ongoing issues or updates. Validate their feelings and avoid preaching unless they ask for advice especially about work or relationships. Usually people have a notion that giving unsolicited advice is the mark of a good friend. But when it’s done early on when the trust is not very much built, it seems like intrusion. So one should be really cautious while offering advice on matters which you think are critical for the person like physical or mental health, work, relationships and family. 

    Show Appreciation

    Even if you don’t talk often, send texts once in a while to remind them how much you value their friendship. Compliment the time you’ve spent together and express how much you miss hanging out. For example, you might be crossing one of the cafes they like, and you can text them how fun your last meeting was and you would love to catch up again at their favorite cafe. 

    Let Go of Ego

    At this stage, you can initiate calls and meet-ups without overthinking. Just ensure the effort feels reciprocated. If you’re always the one reaching out, it’s okay to gently bring it up and see if they’re willing to put in more effort.

    Plan Visits

    If you’re in different cities, make it a point to meet when you’re in their town or vice versa. Prioritize seeing each other. For example, if you’re visiting their city, let them know in advance so you can plan a meet-up.

    Involve Families

    Start meeting each other’s families. Let your name become a household name in their life, and invite them into yours. Slowly become a part of each other’s worlds. For example, invite them to family dinners or celebrations.

    Solidifying the Friendship

    Become Family

    At this stage, you’re more than friends—you’re family. Even if you don’t talk for months, you’re still each other’s go-to person. There’s no ego, just love and trust.

    Be There for Each Other

    Help with tasks they’d usually ask family to do—taking them to the hospital, helping with groceries, or caring for their pets, kids, or plants. But only do what you’re comfortable with. For example, if they’re moving, offer to help pack or bring snacks for the team. Never promise something out of your comfort zone, but also sometimes you do have to step out of your comfort zone if your friend is struggling. It’s a fine balance between being a helpful friend and taking care of yourself in the process.

    Be Transparent

    If you ever criticize them in front of others, make sure it’s something you’d say to their face too. Honesty and transparency are key. For example, if you joke about their habits in a group, make sure they’re okay with it. Shaming your friend is never a sign of intimacy. But a fun banter which you know your friend will be okay with is always a good idea. Humor is what keeps the friendship stronger.

    Stay Connected Across Distances

    If they live abroad, meet at least once a year or whenever you’re in the same country. Give each other undivided attention during these meetings. For example, plan a weekend getaway or spend a whole day catching up. Make sure you both make efforts to see each other.

    Integrate into Each Other’s Lives

    Become a part of their family and vice versa. Their siblings, spouse, and parents should feel comfortable contacting you directly. You should be invited to family events, and your name should hold significance in their household. For example, their mom might call you to check on them if they’re traveling or if they are going through something, their family and loved ones know they can call you about it.

    Things to remember

    Remember at any moment you can’t stop being your authentic self. It’s one thing to make an effort as a friend to help your friend in need, but it’s another level of maturity to retain your true self and identity. This way friendship is never a burden and you remain predictable, reliable and trustworthy as a friend. Any friendship is only as strong as the promises that are kept, be it said or unsaid. 

    Make sure you don’t go too haywire with the unsaid expectations of your friendship, at the same time if you feel something is going on, share. If you feel something is going on with your friend, ask. But give a lot of time and chances to each other, sometimes years to understand what is going on. It takes a lot of effort to maintain any relationship, because it’s worth it, so be patient while deciding if you want to be friends with someone or if you want to leave a friendship too. 

    Friends build a place in our hearts and leaving them might create a hole which is not easily healed. Adult friendships are as important as building a concrete house. They are meant to last forever only then you can truly rejoice the bliss they bring with them but don’t drag a heavy weight that drains you too. I hope you will find a friend who is like a cozy home to you.

    (Based on My Lived Experience)

  • Shared DNA-blessing, burden or both?

    The Joy of Shared Traits

    There’s something magical about seeing families together. It’s such an underrated feeling, the way similar people with similar traits create a sense of connection. The same noses, the same eyes, the same cheeks or eyebrows.

    Even the way they walk or the shape of their fingers, it’s like nature is showing off, saying, “Look how clever I am.”

    I’m an obsessive pattern-seeker. I have to find connections everywhere. I’m very good at remembering people, their faces, their nuances, their quirky stories. It’s like I have a mini profile page for everyone I’ve ever met, and with little effort, I can pull it up anytime I want.

    Every time I see a family together, I get this fuzzy feeling. I rejoice in this small wonder that nature has created. The beautiful sharing of DNA, the way traits are passed down, it’s a quiet miracle.

    The Burden of Resemblance

    But not everyone finds joy in resemblance.

    Some people don’t like looking at their own face because it reminds them of someone who hurt them in the past. Imagine your face being your own burden.

    You might think you’re not aesthetically pleasing, but the truth is simpler: you haven’t healed yet. You haven’t been able to move on.

    Resemblance can be a double-edged sword. It connects us to those we love, but it can also bind us to those who’ve caused us pain.

    The same hands that bring comfort in one person can bring heartache in another.

    It’s a strange, heavy thing, to carry someone else’s traits when they’ve left scars on your heart.

    The Ephemerality of Time

    The ephemerality of time is real. Time is too short to not be spent with your loved ones, yet sometimes it feels unbearably long when you haven’t been able to reconcile with them. Or maybe life’s winds have carried you far from home, leaving you longing for the connections you once had.

    And then, one day, you see someone, your cousin, your sibling, your uncle, or your aunt. There they are, with the same body language, the same voice, the same wrinkles that you saw on your mother’s face. The same laughter, the same hands. For a moment, you’re back with the person you’ve lost. Your cold heart warms up again.

    You don’t feel so lost, even if it’s just for a little while.

    Maybe you keep coming back to these moments because that’s all that’s left.

    God is kind. He takes a lot, but sometimes He leaves a lot to carry on too.

    Finding Comfort in Patterns

    In the end, resemblance is both a gift and a challenge. It connects us to our roots, to the people who came before us and the ones who will come after. It’s a reminder that we’re never truly alone, even when we feel lost.

    But it’s also a call to heal, to untangle the emotions tied to our reflections and find peace with who we are.

    So, the next time you see a family together, take a moment to appreciate the wonder of resemblance. Notice the shared traits, the mirrored gestures, the quiet connections.

    And if you catch your own reflection in the mirror, remember:

    you’re not just a ripple in someone else’s story,

    you’re the center of your own.