Tag: Experiences

breath and branch, a reflection

Posted on by Ajmal

You know.. sometimes travel memories light you up from inside. This is one such recollection that I want to share with you.  I had travelled to Cold Spring Harbor in Laurel Hollow, a beautiful village in the Town of Oyster Bay in Nassau County, on the North Shore of Long Island, in New York. It is one of the finest green spaces I have ever walked through in my life , a place where the density of the trees creates its own soft hush, where the calmness settles into you before you even realise it, where the slowness of the air feels like an invitation to breathe differently. Being someone who has spent most of my adult life in the Middle East, this sort of a space is one of the luxuries I cherish. The interplay of trees and light were like magic. The sunlight filtered through the trees with a gentleness that made everything look newly washed. I remember sitting on that empty bench for a long moment, letting the silence settle around me. The trees stood in their quiet confidence, their branches stretching into the open sky as if reaching for something that had always been there. Sitting there peacefully, I had a kind of clarity that morning that felt almost unfamiliar. Netta and I (may be Ehan also) have fond memories of this place.

The shape of the trees in particular…made me skim through a faint recollection from years ago. I once came across an old illustration in a very old art book, a simple sketch that placed a pair of human lungs beside the shape of a winter tree. I’m not remembering the book.  The image had stayed with me without my knowing it, tucked quietly into some corner of thought. I had forgotten its details. But sitting there in Laurel Hollow, the memory returned with surprising clarity. The resemblance was unmistakable now. The trees around me were breathing in their own slow language. And somewhere inside my chest, a matching structure was doing the same. I’ve tried to draw it digitally here. I am marveling at the similarity between the lung airways and the tree branches.

The branches overhead divided and softened into thinner lines, narrowing into delicate paths of light. Deep inside the body, the airways mirror this same patient branching, splitting again and again until they reach the quiet threshold where air becomes life. It is almost impossible not to feel humbled by this symmetry. That the architecture of a tree and the architecture of a lung share the same longing. To hold. To receive. To release.One breathes out what the other breathes in. A silent partnership written long before we learned how to notice it.

Sitting there that afternoon,  the shadows of the branches lay across the grass like long fingers of memory. The world around me felt achingly familiar and strangely new. The trees were not just scenery… they were part of a larger rhythm that had been happening around me my entire life. A rhythm my body participates in without instruction, without effort, without acknowledgment most days.

It made me wonder how many miracles move through our ordinary days unnoticed. Trees that give without being thanked. Lungs that work even when we forget them for weeks at a time. The quiet exchange between the two continuing in perfect harmony, whether or not we are aware of it. Whether or not we ever pause long enough to recognise the beauty of being held between them.

There is something tender in this realisation. That the world outside and the world inside are not separate at all. The trees stand on the hillside, reaching upward. The lungs rest quietly beneath the ribs, reaching inward. Both searching for the same invisible gift. Both offering it back. Both shaped by a generosity that requires nothing from us.

Most days, we pass through life too quickly to see these patterns. The branches remain branches. The breath remains breath. The sacred hides inside the familiar. But once in a while, on a morning like that one, something makes you look twice. And in that second look, something opens.

A tree. A lung. Two reflections of the same mercy.

And you realise that all of this continues even if you never notice. But noticing turns the ordinary into reverence. And reverence becomes a quiet remembrance of the Almighty, who shaped both breath and branch in the same loving pattern. A moment of grace. Let not the noise of this life blind our inner eyes. The trees on the sides from your drive back from work, may now look a bit different 🙂

saying without words

Posted on by Ajmal

Not everything we communicate is spoken. There are words we never say, yet they echo in the things we do. In the way we linger in a hug just a little longer. In the way we show up without being asked. In the way our eyes soften when we look at someone we love. Silence carries meaning. A glance can say I’m sorry. A small gesture can say I care. The absence of words is not always emptiness, it is often a language of its own, subtle and profound. Sometimes, what we feel is too deep for words, and so it slips through in other ways, in a shared laugh, in a hand placed gently on a shoulder, in simply being there when it matters most. But we forget how much we say without speaking. We forget that love can be in the way we listen. That forgiveness can be in a simple nod. That understanding can be in the silence that asks for nothing but presence. So pay attention to what isn’t said. Listen to the quiet. Notice the gestures, the pauses, the unspoken truths that pass between people. Because often, the deepest conversations happen without a single word, in a language older and softer than speech.

not everything you carry was meant to be yours

Posted on by Ajmal

There are weights we pick up along the way that were never truly meant for us. Expectations that grew from someone else’s dreams. Guilt that was never ours to bear. The silence of others, their disappointments, their ideas of who we should be can quietly settle on our shoulders until we begin to mistake them for our own. We hold on because we care. Because we were taught to give, to help, to keep everyone else comfortable. But in doing so, we sometimes forget that our hands were also made to release. Not everything handed to us is ours to keep. Not every opinion needs to be carried. Not every expectation needs to be met. There is a soft kind of strength in pausing and asking, “Does this really belong to me?”
The fear. The pressure. The story about who you’re supposed to be. Maybe they were only passing through. You are allowed to put them down. You are allowed to be lighter. You are allowed to make space for what is truly yours: joy, peace, purpose, your own voice. Because sometimes, the greatest freedom begins when you realize this simple truth: not everything you carry was meant to be yours.

allowing to unfold

Posted on by Ajmal

We spend much of life searching. For meaning, for love, for a sense of belonging. We chase answers, direction, certainty, believing that if we just look hard enough, if we just keep moving, we will finally find what has been missing. But some things do not arrive through effort. Some things are not found in pursuit, but in stillness. The best conversations often happen when we stop trying to force them. The deepest realizations come when we stop thinking so hard. Love appears not when we go looking for it, but when we are simply living, unguarded, open. There is beauty in the unexpected, in the moments we stumble upon when we are no longer trying to control the outcome. The best days are often the ones unplanned. The most important lessons come when we least expect them. The things we need often find us when we are not searching for them at all. So let go. Just for a little while. Allow life to unfold without demanding answers. Trust that not everything must be hunted down, some things are meant to arrive softly, in their own time, when we are finally ready to receive them.

story shapers

Posted on by Ajmal

We never fully know the role we play in someone else’s life. To us, an ordinary moment might be forgotten by tomorrow, but to someone else, it might linger for years. A kindness we barely remember might be a turning point for another. A passing word might be something they carry long after we have moved on. We assume we are the main characters of our own story, but in reality, we are also side characters, background figures, fleeting presences in the lives of others. The stranger who smiled at just the right time. The friend who unknowingly said exactly what we needed to hear. The person who walked away, teaching us something we didn’t understand at the time. It is humbling to think about, the ways we leave fingerprints on stories we will never get to read. The ways we become someone’s memory, without ever knowing how or why. So perhaps the best thing we can do is move through the world gently. Speak words that lift. Offer kindness without expectation. Be mindful of the fact that, at any given moment, we are shaping someone’s story, whether we realize it or not.

the life we forget to notice

Posted on by Ajmal

There is a version of life happening around us that we often forget to see. It exists in the small, unremarkable moments, the way the leaves shift in the wind, the way light spills through a window, the way laughter drifts from a nearby table. These are the things that fill our days, yet we rush past them, lost in thoughts of what’s next, what’s missing, what’s undone. We think of life as the big moments, the milestones, the achievements, the turning points. But real life happens in between. In the pauses. In the way someone looks at you when they think you aren’t watching. In the rhythm of your own breath as you sit quietly, doing nothing at all. How much have we missed in our hurry to get somewhere else? How many sunsets have gone unwatched, how many conversations only half-heard, how many days passed by without ever being truly lived? Maybe life is not something to chase. Maybe it’s something to notice. Maybe the magic is not in waiting for something extraordinary, but in realizing that the ordinary was always enough. So pause. Breathe. Look around. Life is not in the next moment. it’s in this one. And if we are not careful, we will spend our whole lives waiting for something that has been here all along.

there is only now

Posted on by Ajmal

We are always waiting for something. The right moment. The perfect words. A sign that we are ready. We tell ourselves that someday, when things fall into place, when we feel more prepared, when life slows down, then we will start, then we will choose, then we will finally live the way we’ve been meaning to. But life does not wait for us to be ready. The days pass whether we feel prepared or not. The opportunities come and go, indifferent to our hesitation. The version of ourselves we are waiting to become is already in motion, already forming in the choices we make today. What if we stopped waiting? What if we did the thing now, without certainty, without perfect timing, without the reassurance that everything will go as planned? What if we spoke the words instead of waiting for the right conversation? Took the risk instead of waiting for permission? Allowed ourselves to feel joy instead of waiting for a reason? Because the truth is, there is no perfect moment. There is only now. And if we are not careful, we will spend our whole lives waiting for a future that was always meant to begin today.

life beyond line of sight

Posted on by Ajmal

So much of life happens just beyond our usual line of sight. Above the screens we hold, above the paths we walk without thinking, above the distractions that pull us away from the present. Look up, and you might see the way tree branches tangle like old friends. The way the sky shifts from deep blue to burning gold in the span of a few quiet minutes. The way someone, somewhere, is pausing at the same moment as you, noticing the same fleeting beauty. We live so much of our lives looking down, at tasks, at worries, at endless streams of information. We forget that the world is still happening above us, beyond us, in ways we were never meant to control. Clouds move without our permission. Birds take flight whether we see them or not. The moon waxes and wanes, indifferent to our hurried footsteps below. Perhaps the simplest way to feel more alive is to lift our gaze. To catch the movement of the world beyond our own thoughts. To remember that life is not just what is in front of us, but also what has been happening all along, just waiting to be noticed. So, look up. Just for a moment. You might be surprised by what you’ve been missing.

invisible kindnesses

Posted on by Ajmal

Not all kindness is visible. Some of it is quiet, unnoticed, given without expectation. The door held open for a stranger. The message sent just to say, I’m thinking of you. The moment when you choose to listen, even though there is nothing for you to say. We are taught to celebrate the grand gestures, the visible acts of generosity. But there is another kind of kindness, softer and smaller, that passes between people without ceremony. A glance that says I understand. A silence that says I am here. A small act done not for recognition, but because it felt like the right thing to do. And sometimes, the greatest kindness is the one no one will ever know about. Forgiving someone in your heart and asking for nothing in return. Choosing not to speak a harsh word, even when it feels deserved. Giving someone space, time, or grace, without announcing it. These are the kindnesses that shape the world quietly. They leave no trace, no credit, no applause. But they stay with the people who receive them. They become part of someone’s story in ways that might never be shared. So be kind in ways no one will see. Let your kindness be silent and soft, the kind that asks for nothing but gives everything. Because sometimes, it is the unseen kindness that carries the deepest weight.

versions of the past

Posted on by Ajmal

The past is not as solid as we think. It does not remain untouched, waiting for us to remember it exactly as it was. Instead, it shifts, bends, reshapes itself with every recollection, molded as much by time as by our own emotions. A conversation revisited in memory takes on a different weight. A love once cherished may now seem smaller, or deeper, or something entirely different than it once was. Even our happiest moments blur at the edges, touched by nostalgia, softened or sharpened depending on where we stand today. We think of the past as fixed, yet no two people remember the same event in the same way. Even we, when looking back, see different versions depending on what we need to find, comfort, closure, meaning. The past does not change, but the way we carry it does. So how much of what we remember is truth, and how much is a story we’ve rewritten without realizing? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe memory is not about perfect accuracy, but about what remains. What stays. What shapes us, even in its distortion. And maybe the past is not something we can return to, not because it has disappeared, but because it exists now only in the way we choose to remember it.