You are not what you’ve lost.It’s easy to let the pieces of yourself that have been chipped away define you. To look at the empty spaces and think they are who you’ve become. The relationship that ended. The dream that didn’t work out. The parts of your past that felt so rooted in you they seemed permanent—until they weren’t.But you are not the absence of what is gone. You are everything that remains. You are the courage to keep waking up, to keep showing up, even when it feels like you’ve been hollowed out. You are the strength that fills the cracks, even if it’s slow, even if it doesn’t feel like much right now. You are the moments of laughter that still find you, the quiet glimmers of hope that bloom despite the ache.Loss has a way of making you believe you are less than. But what if the opposite were true? What if loss only strips away what no longer fits, making room for something better? What if it reminds you of what you are capable of surviving, what you are capable of building again?You don’t have to rebuild all at once. Start small. Start with the pieces of yourself that feel steady—the parts that never left, even when everything else did. Hold onto them. Nurture them. Let them remind you that there is still so much of you here, so much worth loving, worth fighting for.You are not what you’ve lost. You are what you’ve kept. And what you’ve kept is enough to start over. What you’ve kept is enough to make you whole again, in a way that is new, in a way that is yours.
Healing is not a straight road. It’s not a map you can follow or a recipe you can master. Healing is messy. It shows up on the quietest days, in the middle of a task, in a song you thought you’d forgotten. It ambushes you when you least expect it, making you feel like you’re back at the beginning, even when you’ve come so far.But here’s the truth: healing is not about perfection. It’s not about waking up one day and realizing you’ve left all the hurt behind. Healing is about learning how to carry it differently. It’s about allowing yourself to breathe, even when the weight hasn’t fully lifted. It’s about finding the strength to sit with your wounds, even when they sting.Some days, you’ll feel like you’re making progress. Other days, you’ll feel like the same person who cried on the kitchen floor months ago. Both are valid. Both are part of this journey. Healing isn’t about racing to the finish line; it’s about the quiet moments when you remind yourself that it’s okay to take it one breath at a time.Be gentle with yourself in this process. Let the tears come when they need to. Let the joy find you, even in the smallest moments—a warm cup of tea, a laugh with a friend, a morning where the world feels a little softer. Don’t rush it. Healing will never be linear, but it will always be yours. And that’s enough.One day, without even realizing it, you’ll notice that the sharp edges have dulled. The ache you thought would last forever has softened into something bearable. And in that moment, you’ll understand—you’ve been growing all along. Even when it hurt. Even when you didn’t see it. You’ve been healing in ways that only time could reveal.
Gratitude is something you can carry with you, something that finds its place in every corner of life. You can pause to be grateful in the hush of early morning, cradling a cup of coffee as dawn breaks through your window. You might whisper thanks while waiting in line at the lulu hypermarket, or as you sit in traffic watching the world rush by. Gratitude can sneak up on you while taking a quiet walk by the corniche, feeling the sand beneath your feet, or as you pause to watch children laughing and playing in a nearby park .You can take a moment to feel thankful while curled up with a book, losing yourself in the worlds within its pages or my blog even : ) if you read it often, or just before biting into a warm slice of homemade samoosa or a morsel of chicken dum biriyani. Gratitude can be as simple as the warmth of a shared laugh over a kitchen table or the quiet contentment that follows a long phone call with an old friend. You can say a quick thank-you as you catch the colors of a sunset spilling across the sky, or as you stand barefoot on cool grass under a blanket of stars. There is no right place or time to feel gratitude. It’s a gift you can give yourself at any moment, wherever you are.
If you’re reading me here for quite long, you might notice that one of the aspects that I often pencil here is about hope. Never loose hope in life. Kindle it with whatever you can . Life is hope. There is no dead end for anything that you and me encouter or experience . Life has an endless capacity to surprise us, to offer moments of wonder, and to open doors we never knew existed. There are experiences waiting around the corner, possibilities we haven’t yet imagined. For every coffee shop we haven’t discovered, there’s a unique ambiance to savor. For every song that hasn’t been written, there’s a melody that will someday resonate with us, capturing emotions we didn’t know could be expressed in music.
The beauty of life lies in its potential for the unknown. There are countless cities, neighborhoods, and landscapes to explore, each with its own charm, history, and story. Somewhere out there is a place that will capture our heart, a view that will take our breath away, or a sunset that will etch itself into our memory. And with each new person we meet, there’s a chance for a deep connection, a shared laugh, or a conversation that will stay with us. Our minds are like that as well.
Clothing that makes us feel strong and confident, books that will change our perspective, meals that will linger in our memory – these simple joys remind us that there’s so much to live for, so much left to discover. Each day, we have an opportunity to create new memories, to embrace joy, kindness, and love. Even in difficult times, life’s abundance is there, waiting for us to reach out, explore, and connect. Don’t ever loose hope.
There is, indeed, always more to life. More laughter to share, more love to give, more kindness to receive. This vast, beautiful world is filled with infinite moments waiting to be lived, if we choose to believe in the endless possibilities ahead. Never loose hope.
I want to comfort you especially if you’re overwhelmed and it can be daunting, especially with the weight of unfinished tasks, new responsibilities, and the unknown that each day brings. It’s natural to feel a little anxious, but we often overestimate how challenging things will be and underestimate our own resilience. The reality is, we’re usually more prepared than we think, and the journey through the days is filled with small victories, even if they aren’t always obvious.Each day is an opportunity to take things one step at a time. By focusing on what’s immediately in front of us rather than the entirety of the week, we make the mountain seem more manageable. Breaking down tasks, setting small goals, and giving ourselves credit for each accomplishment – no matter how small – can make a significant difference. Trust in your own ability to handle what comes, and remember that you’ve faced countless challenges before. This week is just another chapter, one you’re fully equipped to navigate.The key is patience with yourself. Not everything needs to be solved today, and not every day will be perfect. Allow yourself grace in the process, recognizing that effort counts just as much as outcome. Sometimes, just showing up and giving it your best is all you need to do. So, let this be a gentle reminder that you’re not alone in feeling the way you do, and there’s a quiet strength in taking things day by day. You’ve got this, and each day is a fresh chance to prove it to yourself. Be at ease.
In my thoughts before writing abstracts on the blog, it’s always etched in my mind that longing isn’t bound by rules. You can yearn for a moment, a feeling, a place, or a version of yourself that no longer exists. You might miss a person who once filled your days with laughter, or a quiet morning spent in a city that now feels like a distant dream. You can miss the person you once aspired to be, or the path you didn’t take, a life that seemed possible but never came to be.
There’s an ache in recalling a shared meal with someone you’ve lost touch with or a fleeting connection that slipped away too soon. You can feel the absence of a friend who lives oceans away, or the gentle embrace of a loved one sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you even miss the things that never truly belonged to you—a cozy armchair by a fire you only saw in passing, a sunset view from a mountain you haven’t climbed, or a life story you glimpsed but couldn’t make your own.
And perhaps, there’s the most bittersweet longing of all: when what you miss reappears in your life, only for you to realize that the memory was warmer, more comforting than the reality. In that moment, you understand that sometimes, the idea of something holds more power than its presence ever could.
There’s a quiet tragedy in things left behind. Empty rooms that once echoed with laughter now sit in silence, their walls bearing the fading traces of past lives. Buildings stand unfinished or forgotten, relics of dreams that were never fulfilled. Streets no longer walked on, chairs no longer sat in, stories that will never be told. There is a sadness in abandonment, distinct from the solitude of choosing to be alone. It’s the reminder that everything, at some point, was cherished, needed, or inhabited.We are creatures made for connection, drawn to places, people, and memories. To be left behind, or to witness something left behind, stirs something deep within us. It’s why we hold onto family, create communities, and fill our lives with others. Belonging is not just a desire—it’s essential. When we see something or someone cast aside, it echoes a fear and longing we all understand. Perhaps that’s why we look at abandoned places and feel a strange familiarity, a reminder of the need to belong, to love, and to live fully, lest we too fade into forgotten memories.
Every moment holds its own quiet significance. The warmth of fresh-baked bread. The sharpness of a new pencil. The geometry of latticed pie crust. The quiet ache of hands letting go. The velvet texture of a ripe peach. The murmur of morning birds. A detour that led to an unexpected view. The melancholy of an unfinished song. The stillness of waiting for a friend to arrive. The golden crunch of a perfectly toasted baguette. The anticipation of an unread post card. The thrill of a second glance.
Imagine you’re at a movie theater, watching a film unfold. You’re caught up in the suspense, wondering how the story will end. Yet, to the director, the film’s conclusion is no mystery; the entire storyline is known, edited, and complete. This metaphor may hint at our own lives, suggesting that events we experience moment by moment could be more like scenes on a reel than spontaneous occurrences. But what if everything in our lives—every choice, every path, every twist—was already “edited” in a cosmic timeline, unchangeable, yet new to us? Such a notion, destiny as preordained, is profoundly thought-provoking.
The concept of destiny—that our lives and the universe itself are a kind of prewritten script—leads to a natural question: do we have any real control over what happens? This is not a new debate; philosophers, theologians, and even scientists have pondered it for centuries. Some believe that destiny is a divine design, where every event is part of a plan beyond human understanding. Others argue that we actively shape our lives through choices, claiming agency in the “unknown” future. Yet, modern neuroscience raises an intriguing perspective, suggesting that our choices may be “pre-decided” by our brains before we are consciously aware of them. Experiments in brain science have shown that when we think we’re making a decision, our brain activity shows signs of that choice seconds before we become aware of it. This strange finding implies that free will, at least as we traditionally understand it, might be less “free” than we assume.
But what does this mean for how we live? If every choice we make is part of an unseen, predetermined plan, does that free us from responsibility? Or does it offer a sense of peace, knowing that there’s a purpose and order behind all that happens? Imagine, for instance, a time when you faced a challenging decision. Perhaps you weighed pros and cons, sought advice, and finally made your choice. According to some perspectives on destiny, even that process was guided by something beyond you, aligning you with a path already set out. From this view, our struggles, decisions, and even moments of hesitation are all part of a predetermined journey, one we are invited to experience rather than control.
On the flip side, living as though we have free will can be empowering. It means taking responsibility for our actions, creating our future, and embracing life’s unpredictability. Yet, the paradox remains: if our choices are prewritten, then our sense of “choosing” becomes part of the experience we’re meant to have. In this way, destiny might not mean we’re puppets on strings but rather that we are participants in a story written to teach, challenge, and grow us.
Ultimately, considering destiny in this way can deepen our approach to life and our relationship with the Almighty. If every twist and turn of our journey is part of a grand design, it suggests not randomness but divine intention, woven by a Creator who knows every detail of our lives. Knowing that our path may be guided by the wisdom and love of God can bring a sense of peace and purpose, especially in difficult moments. It’s as though every joy, every challenge, and even every misstep is part of a divine plan, crafted to teach, strengthen, and elevate us in ways we might not fully understand.
You know, it’s funny how the most meaningful parts of life often hide in the simplest things. In the steam rising from your morning tea. In the dog-eared pages of a book you’ve read a hundred times. In those late-night chats that somehow make the stars shine brighter. In the scuffed toes of your favorite sneakers. In the grass stains on well-worn jeans. In the smears of paint on your hands after a creative burst. In the contagious giggle of a toddler. In the laugh lines that grace your face. In the fingerprints smudged on a mirror. In the collection of stamps on a well-traveled suitcase. In the fridge magnets that map out your journeys. In the seashells gathered from distant shores. In the tangle of cords under your desk that keep you connected. In the comfy sweater with a fraying hem. In the empty plates from a meal shared with loved ones. In handwritten postcards sent from afar. In playlists carefully curated just for you. In the crumbs left from a shared slice of pie. In the origami crane folded with care. Life isn’t just the big events or grand achievements. It’s woven into these tiny, often overlooked moments that make up our days. So next time you notice these little things, take a moment. They’re the threads that stitch together the fabric of your existence.
