Dear Self

Letters to the Self

Dear Self,

There was a time when you were very naïve, when you did not know how to say no or how to turn down things that were not good for you. You gave more than you should have, often at the cost of your own peace, believing endurance was strength and silence was kindness. However, this led to lessons of suffering and bitterness that you learnt with difficulty.  

Growth came slowly, disguised as discomfort. The lessons you carry today were not easily earned; they were shaped by moments that tested your patience, trust, and resilience. Through bitter experiences and quiet suffering, you began to understand yourself better. What once felt like pain slowly turned into clarity.

With time, you have come a long way. You learned to draw boundaries and discovered the quiet courage in saying no. You now know that protecting your peace is not selfish but necessary. Every “no” you speak has become a gentle “yes” to your own dignity, time, and inner calm.

Perhaps you could have saved your energy and avoided many detours had you learned this earlier. Yet there is a strange comfort in knowing that wisdom arrived when you were finally ready to receive it. Even if learned late, this art of choosing yourself is deeply yours now.

Be gentle with yourself. You are still learning though you have arrived quite late on the scene and you are still in the process of becoming the self that you have always wanted to be.

Love,

Self

 

goodies

The Unsent Letters

Plans

Sunshine

cute

Support

slow down

hobbies

beautiful

Journal: Serious and Trivial

The pages of my journal await to record a few thoughts. These could serious, trivial or even a mixture of both just like life. All these rambling thoughts were gathered from the same quixotic heart that has loved to dream, to fly, to win and to keep.

The serious thoughts were all about love and the longing to be with the one you love and the need to make him your heart's anchorage and sacred space, how from a chance acquaintance he grew into my world and how this love is celebrated in an alternate universe of togetherness. 

The trivial thoughts were scribbled on early mornings as a bundle of words in the dream journal as a celebration of the pure delight of being alive, when a burst of fresh air, a bit of bright blue sky or a belief in the goodness of life were more than enough to keep this heart on cloud nine. 

But the best ones are the mixed ones, a little serious and a little trivial about things that celebrate the joy of life that finds room in today's dream journal. 

My day

Okay

Skywriting

The writing stretches across the bright blue sky,
In the form of snow-white clouds that loom large
A look-out notice for your soulmate you really miss
Against the distant blue mountains and valleys.

From my vantage point that shows me the land,
I watch the skies turn from blue to ochre shades,
When your songs at twilight brought an embrace
Or brought in a love-light too strong to withstand.

Your hands that trace the contours of my body
Your eyes that appreciate the hues that I'd wear,
You bringing me my favourite chempaka flowers
Or telling me stories of your long weary work-day.

The absence of years made worthy by its pain,
Love that stays forever written across the skies.

plans

Tiny Seed

World Poetry Day

My River Pamba

 The River Green always looks like a sheet of green glass, flowing majestically and serenely. It was in a small town beside this river Pamba that we-my brother and me- grew up fighting each other and playing in the water.

My memories associated with the river are innumerable.Every evening we, along with my aunt or grandmother and cousins would walk to the river and play in the water for an hour. Every day was fun, with us staying in the water for at least an hour, though both of us never learned how to swim, splashing and shouting, while the sun set and it grew dark.

In the still waters, near the banks, people washed clothes and for bathing or swimming they walked to where the flowing water was. It was an adventure to stand in the flowing currents without falling. It requires considerable practice. Once we rescued a plaintain trunk from the currents and gave it to a neighbour, who had cows. It was a big adventure, something that brought a "we" feeling between my brother and me, who were like Tom and jerry throughout childhood.

The river was part of the life there, its dips and floods, festivals like Onam, Maramon Convention or Aranmula boat-race. Everybody went to the shops set as part of Maramon Convention, irrespective of religion. That was one time, when all sorts of things came in the shops- bangles, toys, shoes, clothes and items of food.

Then there are boat-rides across the river, holidays during floods (once we had 10 days of holidays) Onam and Aranmula boatrace, when the decorated boats travel across the river to the beat of the boatsongs. It can be heard from a distance and all children will run to the riverbank on hearing the boatsong from the distance.

On the night of Thiruvonam,belief has that Lord Mahabali comes to see his subjects on his boat called Thiruvonathoni. After midnight, people wait on the banks of the river with lighted torches and lamps for the well-lighted Thiruvonathoni. This was one adventure for we, children to boast about. The ones who had slept that night had nothing to talk about and felt ashamed the next day.

Now the river has changed. It is no longer clean. Clean water exists in the middle of the river and it's a long walk. You need to wade through muddy waters to take bath in clean water and then after bath, through muddy waters again. Yet, with all its differences, this is one of the sacred spaces, I can reach in an instant, travelling in thoughts, to where I like to stand, on that mound of rocks (called pulumuttu), with the entire river, looking like a large sheet of green glass, clean and clear.

No wonder, everytime, I stand there in real, I step into the waters and become a child, splashing and loving the water. My young cousins are like ducks, "no getting them out of water". Last time,on my visit to the river, I went till the middle of the river, to where the currents are and splashed there along with my five cousins, while my frantic mother was waving to us from the shore. Short-sightedness is at times a wonderful excuse and I pretended that i didnt see her and went back after an hour or so, drenched completely and dipping water. 

I guess as a child, I related everything to the river. Once during family dinner, when I was six or seven, I told my grandfather that the sky ended at the other side of the river. He roared with laughter and asked me:"Really?"

dreams

Kindness

Minimalism

Today was a special day as I got an exposure to the mall culture. I loved wandering at the lovely things on sale and thought of buying many though prevented myself after looking at the price and the lack of usefulness. The reason for this change can be attributed to the fact that I stay in a rural area and the needs have become limited to the essentials. 

The place I stay for the last few years has a beach that I visit occasionally. Whenever I feel like it, I rush to the seashore to get a breath of fresh air. So, I thought I can get happiness out of shopping but nothing can beat the happiness of the sea breeze and the fading light of the setting sun. 

I was reading of minimalism and the need to reduce unnecessary shopping but didn't think that I will start putting it to practice some day. It is good to buy cute objects and household items on a shopping trip but do I need it, that is what I ask. Anyway, I bought two coasters with a cute motif on them as a reminder of my shopping trip. 

Purple Riot

The purple riot began
and took root slowly.

Who would have thought,
who would have known?

In the rearview mirror
it looks like spring again.

The beauty of this world 
In the songs that never cease.

One day, sitting nearby,
feeling the full purple riot—

the deep desire in your eyes
that sang to me all night,

the hand that almost reached,
the purple riot in your heart.

Soul Food

What comforts your soul, when it is weary with life and cannot go on, what brings you back to the centre when you feel drained of your vital energy, are words written by some strange wise person living in some place and time.

Like a young person perusing loveletters, one reads words of comfort from an unknown hand from an unknown land as if they were written just for your eyes. You feel sustained by their wisdom and they make sense like pieces in a jigsaw coming together. It feels like an unreal experience where the hand of Providence set them right before your eyes to nourish your strength and you feel grateful that you didn't give up this time either.