When Did We Forget What Was Ours?

There was a time when originality wasn’t celebrated—it was punished.

The ones who thought differently, created differently, lived differently… were questioned, mocked, often dismissed. Their ideas didn’t fit the moment they were born into. They were too early, too strange, too unfamiliar.

And yet, time did something curious.

It softened resistance.
It reframed rebellion as brilliance.
It took what was once rejected and made it the foundation of what we now call normal.

What we consume today—what we admire, recreate, and even monetize—was once someone’s lonely, misunderstood expression.

And now here we are.

Not creating from emptiness, but from inheritance.

We don’t just borrow ideas—we inherit entire emotional frameworks. Ways of expressing joy, grief, love, success. Templates for how we’re supposed to feel.

So the question isn’t just “Are our thoughts ours?”

It becomes quieter. Stranger.

Are our emotions ours?

Am I supposed to be happy because the moment looks like happiness?
Am I supposed to grieve just because something ended—even when I feel… relief?
Am I wrong for not missing what no longer fits me?

When did emotions become performances?

Somewhere along the way, we stopped trusting our internal compass and started referencing an external script. Social cues. Digital validation. Metrics disguised as meaning.

We hesitate before feeling freely.

We filter joy.
We justify relief.
We feel guilty for not aligning with what the world expects us to feel.

And even our experiences—

Every place we visit, every piece of art we encounter—has already been seen, captured, curated, and sold to us before we ever arrive. We walk into moments already knowing how they should look, how they should feel, how they should be remembered.

So what are we really chasing?

The experience itself?
Or the version of it we’ve been shown?

It’s no wonder it feels exhausting.

To an old soul, this isn’t just overwhelming—it’s disorienting.

Because you’re not just navigating life… you’re navigating layers of borrowed meaning.

And maybe that’s where the quiet truth sits:

You’re allowed to feel what doesn’t match the script.

Relief at endings.
Stillness in moments that should feel loud.
Disinterest in what the world insists is extraordinary.

Maybe authenticity today isn’t about creating something entirely new.

Maybe it’s about returning.

Returning to a feeling without checking if it’s valid.
Returning to an experience without needing to document it.
Returning to yourself—before the world told you how to exist within it.

Because in a time where everything has been shaped, sold, and repeated—

The most radical thing you can do…

is feel honestly.

Dear Life,

There are days when it feels like we’re all just flung into this chaotic, confusing, strangely beautiful mess called life with no guide, no warning, and no hand to steady us. We’re expected to learn as we go, to face our storms alone, to stitch our wounds in silence.

So we grow an armour—thin at first, then thicker with every bruise.

Not because we are fearless, but because fear taught us not to trust too easily.

Not to lean.

Not to hope.

But sometimes, life surprises us.

It hands us a story—a series that doesn’t just entertain but gently rearranges the furniture inside our heart.

For me, as a girl walking through the fragile, fiery transition into womanhood, that series didn’t feel like fiction. It felt like a hand reaching into the dark. It gave me hope bigger than life itself.

There was this boy…

A soft-hearted, stubborn boy who loved a girl with everything he had.

He couldn’t bear to see her hurt, to see tears stain her face, to let her fall asleep hungry.

His love wasn’t loud—just fiercely present.

And then he grew into a man.

A man whose presence felt like safety.

A man who looked at her as though breathing without her would feel incomplete.

Gwan-sik.

A name that became a refuge.

A man who was her shoulder, her path, her home.

They faced more hatred than love, more storms than sunshine.

Yet they kept moving forward because their love wasn’t a fleeting spark—it was a compass.

Watching them, I couldn’t help but whisper into the universe:

Dear Life,

I know you will give me happiness, laughter, and a thousand moments of wonder.

But I also know you will bring me pain, heartbreak, and nights that feel too long.

We cannot outrun the breaking.

We cannot move through this world without scars.

So I ask you, gently—

When you hand me your tangerines,

also place a Gwan-sik by my side.

A love that steadies me when I shake.

A love that feels like coming home.

Labels or Identity ?!

Have you ever noticed how quickly we, as humans, reach out for a label the moment we come across a new word? The second we hear terms like introvert, foodie, minimalist, or even workaholic, we pause and ask ourselves: “Is this me?”

And more often than not, we try to fit into it.

At first glance, labels feel harmless—even empowering. Calling yourself a foodie because you enjoy your comfort food, or identifying as an introvert because you love quiet nights in, might feel like a way to understand yourself better. But here’s the catch: the moment we embrace a label, we also build walls around it.

Think about it. When you decide you’re an introvert, suddenly going out for dinner feels like a betrayal of your “identity.” You cancel plans, you stay home, and when a part of you craves connection, you silence it with: “That’s not me, I don’t do that.” The label becomes a box, and soon, the box becomes a cocoon. And while cocoons feel safe, they also mean one thing—no growth.

Because growth doesn’t happen in comfort zones.

The problem with labels is not just about how others see us, but how we begin to judge ourselves. If I do something outside of the label I’ve chosen, I feel conflicted—like I’m breaking my own rules. And so, I retreat. Again. Again. And again.

But here’s a thought: what if we didn’t need these labels at all?

What if we allowed ourselves to just be—fluid, flexible, ever-changing—without the constant need to define who we are in neat little words?

Maybe, just maybe, we don’t need to call ourselves anything.

Maybe the freedom lies in living without labels—because who we are today doesn’t have to restrict who we can become tomorrow.

The Art of Keeping: A Lost Love for What We Have

Once upon a time, we cherished what we owned. We mended torn clothes, fixed broken furniture, and held onto things not because we lacked the means to replace them, but because they meant something to us. There was an art to preservation, a beauty in repair. The Japanese philosophy of kintsugi—mending broken pottery with gold—celebrated flaws as part of an object’s history, rather than reasons to discard it. But today? The moment something fades, breaks, or loses its luster, we throw it away.

This isn’t just about waste—it’s about what we have lost as humans. 

Landfills are growing, the planet is warming, and yet, we continue to consume mindlessly. We don’t truly use what we buy; we replace, we upgrade, we dispose of things that could have lasted longer had we cared for them properly. Clothing that should have been treasured ends up discarded in piles of fast fashion waste. Electronics are tossed aside for the latest model, even when the old one still works fine.

It isn’t just a climate crisis—it’s a crisis of connection.

Some might say this is minimalism versus maximalism, but it’s not. It’s about mindfulness. About recognizing that resources are finite and that what we discard doesn’t just disappear—it lingers, it piles up, it scars the Earth. It’s about asking ourselves: Do we truly need more, or should we learn to love what we already have?

I might sound like an old soul, and perhaps I am. But seeing things, clothes, memories that should have been treasured being tossed away—it hurts more than I can express. We need to remember that things don’t have to be perfect to be valuable. Maybe, just maybe, if we learn to care again, we can mend more than just our belongings—we can mend the world.

Discovering Myself Through Mani Ratnam’s Lens: A Journey of Aesthetics and Identity

Growing up in the 2000s, my introduction to the world of cinema was nothing short of magical, largely due to the films of Mani Ratnam. Initially, it was the sheer aesthetics that drew me in—the mesmerizing visuals, the soulful music, the artful direction. Each frame was a masterpiece, and each story, a vivid tapestry of emotions and life. Little did I know that what started as a mere appreciation for cinematic beauty would soon become a profound realization: I am a woman written by Mani Ratnam.

Mani Ratnam’s female characters are not just roles played on screen; they are fully-fledged personalities with depth, conviction, and an undeniable presence. His heroines are headstrong, short-tempered, witty, and sometimes lost in their own world of dreams—a fascinating blend of strength and vulnerability.

Take Roja (from Roja), for example, who is unwavering in her determination to bring her husband back from militants, facing each challenge with quiet strength. Or Shaila Bano (from Bombay), who embodies resilience as she navigates the turbulence of communal riots while fiercely protecting her family. Then there’s Divya (from Mouna Ragam), who stands her ground and speaks her mind even in the face of societal expectations, her heart constantly in conflict between past love and present duty. Meghna (from Dil Se), the epitome of mystery and inner turmoil, is torn between love and a cause greater than herself. And Tara (from OK Kanmani), the modern woman who balances her career aspirations with her deep emotional connections, is fiercely independent yet tender, making her journey through love and life deeply relatable.

Each of these characters reflects a part of me, as if Mani Ratnam saw into the heart of every woman and brought out her essence on screen. These women are flawed, passionate, and strong—they are everything that society often tries to simplify, but Mani Ratnam refuses to reduce.

Being this way also made me a hopeless romantic, and I blame him entirely for that! His heroines fall deeply in love, but not in the superficial way often portrayed in cinema. Their love is complex, layered with challenges, misunderstandings, and, most importantly, respect.

The men in Mani Ratnam’s films are equally compelling, and their qualities only fuel the romantic in me. There’s Amarkant Varma (from Dil Se), whose obsession with love leads him on a perilous journey, fighting against fate itself. Karthik (from Alaipayuthey) is a mix of youthful arrogance and genuine affection, struggling to balance his love life with the realities of marriage. Velu Nayakan (from Nayakan) is a man of principles, driven by justice, yet constantly haunted by the cost of his choices. Aadi (from OK Kanmani) is the embodiment of modern love—free-spirited, supportive, and willing to grow alongside his partner, yet realistic about the challenges that come with love and commitment. These heroes aren’t perfect—they are human, with flaws and virtues that make their love stories all the more poignant.

Mani Ratnam gave me the confidence to be a strong-headed girl, unafraid to speak her mind. Through his films, he taught me that being outspoken, passionate, and fiercely independent is not something to be tamed, but to be celebrated. His characters—both women and men—navigate a world that is often unforgiving, yet they remain true to themselves, challenging the norms and expectations placed upon them.

In a society that sometimes tells women to soften their edges, Mani Ratnam’s films remind me to embrace every part of who I am. His heroines are not just characters; they are reflections of the strength, passion, and complexity that lie within every woman. And through them, I’ve learned that it’s okay to be a little headstrong, a little short-tempered, and yes, even a hopeless romantic.

PS : Of all Mani Ratnam’s films, *Kannathil Muthamittal* is my absolute favorite. This film goes beyond storytelling, reaching into the depths of my soul with its exploration of identity, love, and the longing for belonging. The emotional journey of Amudha and her parents resonated with me in a way that no other movie ever has, making it a deeply personal and unforgettable experience.

the human relationship paradox...

 Ever since human civilization has existed, the idea of 'society', and 'community' has been implemented and followed. But why is it that even after 6000 years of this practice, the innate need to be accepted and feel validated by others still intensified? Have you ever thought of it? It doesn't even have to be social acceptance, since childhood we have been conditioned to seek validation for our behavior and even appearances from our kith and kin. And it did not stop there, we call the ones who give us this sense of validation and acceptance as our friends and partners. Yet, we strive so hard to fit into the group that we believe has accepted us for who we are. In retrospect, I believe that we are still run by the 'fear' of being left out from the crowd or 'herd'. Irrespective of the growth we claim to have achieved, humans have this inevitable need to be with each other to 'thrive'. Scary, isn't it? 

Why? Because you go on about how you want to be independent and content with just yourself but find yourself wanting to be with someone and you feel bad about it. It made me think that maybe the whole idea behind 'independence' is a paradox that negates the very essence of human behavior. Neuroscientists have been coming up with studies that show how when a human is deprived of social connection or any human interaction, their brain loses the cognitive ability to perform well. Though we won't die from not being with another human, the chances of losing our primitive functions and developing illness are higher. But, is validation a standard for this coping mechanism? Do I want to be validated by others as much as I want to be with someone? 

If this is the case, why do we have this constant need to be acknowledged, validated, and accepted by the people we want to be with? From our parents, friends, and co-workers to our partners. In one way or another, we seek their validation for our own emotions and behavior, when there is a difference of opinion on agreeing to something we feel as if our entire life to this very point has been a lie. When deep down, the need for human connection is very primate, reiterating the fact that no matter the evolution, human beings are social animals. The need to be with fellow humans or close to civilization is driven by the fear of being hunted and dying. The need to be with a romantic partner is driven by the urge to procreate and sustain the life form. And the need to be validated arises with the fear of not being able to validate and accept our own self. 

Does this mean, the whole human relationship is a paradox? well, I might have rambled about what I think but what I feel is different. I am still a romantic who believes in the concept of 'twin flames' and 'soul mates', but that doesn't deny the truth this paradox holds. Evolution is in favor of a race that has the ability to source its own food and survive on its own, prevents itself from being hunted, and the one that keeps its race going. But even before the concept of 'survival' and 'civilization' came into existence, 'family', 'friendship', and 'love' existed. Leaving us a choice to choose from, do we want to survive and evolve or just 'live'? 

"the big picture"

Ever since I have started this blog, a lot of things changed and are still changing...but the only thing that remained the same is the fact that I believe in, "life is a series of thousands of tiny miracles". I happened to have a conversation with a friend and I found myself saying "I am trying to focus on the bigger picture here" and that person was kind enough to not ask what that picture was. But being the overthinker that I am, I cannot help but understand what that was. As much as,  I have to acknowledge the fact that I am someone who obsesses over the tiny details... whether it is a person or a thing or anything. Details matter to me, I hold them so close to my heart. With this being said, how am I in a place right now where "I am trying to focus on the big picture"? 

I took myself down memory lane before answering that question. The first ever memory I hold so close to this beautiful life is my mom's voice singing our favorite lullaby that puts me to sleep and how her voice and the song have the same impact on me even today. It is followed by a string of memories where my paati got me my favorite cream biscuit and I did not even tell her that it was my favorite (and, I believed this is how love works), and how my mama used to spoil me with all sorts of stationaries even at the cost of my mom dissing at him. And how dipping me in the drum used to be the only right way to spend my dad's Sundays. And how my getting a bar of chocolate to visit my brother at the hospital when he broke his hands was his way of knowing that I love him. And how picking me to be her partner even when I suck at math was my best friend's love language. And how waiting for me to come back home and give him those 5 biscuits was all that Jimmy (my stray) ever wanted. And how, getting me ice cream, every single time we meet and taking these insanely slow walks was my first love's little thing to do to make me smile. And how, my girls trusted me with every minute and embarrassing detail of their life, knowing that I will still love them. And how, even when we had to wake up and work the next day, we spent hours talking to each other on the phone and slept listening to each other breathe... 

Looking back, these are the exact memories I want to take with me when I become dust. Are these big gestures? No. Does this mean I don't fondly keep the big gestures that have been done for me? No. Big gestures were the symbol of how big I am in their life. From their surprises to the gifts they spoil me with, I hold them all close. But, If I have to take a minute and think if this is the big picture I want, the answer would be NO. 

When I say big picture, I meant spending the Sunday together, cooking our favorite meal and watching each other's favorite TV, and laughing together. My big picture is when we are a bunch of 40-something and 70-something women and go on road trips, reminiscing the silly things we did when we were young. My big picture is, seeing my parents look at me, whenever I hold a cat or a dog and how they find it so hard to say no to me. My big picture is, watching my parents grow old in love together. My big picture is, having my entire family eat a big meal together and laugh our hearts out. My big picture is, listening to my paati and watching her smile at peace knowing I will listen to her gossip even when my mom says No. My big picture is, having a passion for the rest of my life. My big picture is, never running out of time to stop and admire the wild flowers. My big picture is, listening to Taylor Swift and being able to connect to her lyrics every single time. My big picture is, being able to tell you my mind and no doubt about you loving me even for a minute. My big picture is, being able to laugh at myself whenever I stumble and not take myself too seriously. My big picture is, holding your hands and still being able to feel the sense of safety and comfort like I do now, even when we are 80. My big picture is, telling my akka to cook me briyani even when I am old. My big picture is, telling my thambi, how I cannot believe he is a grown-up. My big picture is, talking to you without any filters for the rest of my life. 

And when I think of all this, my big picture really is a series of thousands of small moments that makes my soul go "ahh!". The moments I want to enjoy every second of it, the moments I know I won't regret ever, the moments I know I will have with me for the rest of my life. May be, it is high time that we accept and acknowledge the fact that we all cannot have the same big picture and it is alright. It doesn't make anyone else's any small, after all...this isn't a competition. This is my big picture and each and every little moment and my people make up my whole world and life. 

Forever grateful for the insanely beautiful humans I have been bestowed with. 

(touchwood!)