The wishful thinking that never goes away,
The mind that never lets peace stay.
The “what ifs” and “what could have beens” creating havoc
In the middle of all this noise…
Hold on to what truly matters.
Focus, and let yourself stride through it.
You can do this — after all, that’s how you’ve come this far.
Don’t let the past haunt you, or worse, depress you.
Only you truly know your strength.
So my darling self… be calm.
Move on.
May has somehow become the month of moving for me and my family. Four years back, we packed our life into little carton boxes and shifted to Noida.
As someone who moved constantly during childhood and never really had permanent memories of “home,” leaving Mumbai ,officially my first real home..... was hard. Not just hard, but traumatic in some ways. Mumbai wasn’t just a city for me; it was where I belonged, or at least I thought I did. Packing away memories of our early married years, my daughter’s childhood, and pieces of a life we had built there felt like leaving parts of myself behind.
Leaving my bhabhi , who is far more than family, almost a friend, philosopher, and guide....hurt deeply. Leaving behind the helps who had quietly become my support system felt equally harsh. I refused to accept Noida for the first year and treated her almost with disdain.
Every time I travelled back to Mumbai for work, it felt like I could breathe again. But slowly, somewhere along the way, Noida grew on me. I began to love the wide roads, the lack of traffic, the fact that my parents were suddenly so close, and the soft gulabi sardi that North India brings. So when my husband decided we should finally buy a permanent place of our own, despite my better judgment, I agreed.
We bought a house and turned it into a home. We spent endless time building it, dreaming through it, shaping every little corner of it. And boy we did build a beautiful home, one that I now have to leave behind again, while rebuilding life not just for myself but for my daughter too.
Maybe that is the part that hurts the most. I always wanted to give my child the stable childhood I never had.. the comfort of growing up with the same friends, the same community, same school, the same sense of belonging. But once again, I have to pack all of that into those hideous carton boxes and leave.
Last night, surrounded by packed boxes again, I looked out at the beautiful skyline outside my window and realized I always thought I had more time. More time to admire the view. More time to sit in the little library I built so painstakingly and watch sunlight pour into it. More time to simply belong.
Maybe that’s the tragedy of moving so much.... by the time a place finally starts feeling like home, it’s already time to leave. Sometimes I surprise myself with my own ability to adapt, but I wonder if adaptation is both my greatest strength and my quietest grief.
Old dreams lie quiet,
like seeds buried in the dark,
roots twisted deep inside the chest
where reason cannot reach.
The mind shrugs — childish stuff,
and turns away with logic’s stern hand,
but the heart keeps them
like pressed flowers,
fragile, waiting.
Then a scent, a song,
a half-forgotten voice —
and suddenly they rise,
ghosts of what might have been,
stinging sharper than new wounds.
Perhaps they hurt more with years
because we know now
what was possible,
what was lost,
what never will be.
Dreams don’t die with time.
They hide.
And when they return,
they remind us
Of what we once believed.
Notes to myself..
In these uncertain times you hear a bad news..have a heart ache...somethings dont make sense anymore....you question every single thing every single person you have always believed in
Life seems directionless..there is fear anxiety self doubt
When all this and more is going on
Then
Take a pause
Be grateful for what you have and who you have
Breathe
Take one day at a time
