Sadness has a strange way of pulling us in. It lingers in poetry, echoes through music, and drips from paintings filled with untold stories. But why do we find beauty in pain? Why does heartbreak feel poetic? Why do we read melancholic verses and feel understood?

Home. A simple word, yet one that carries a thousand meanings. Is it a house with familiar walls? A city that holds your childhood? A person whose arms feel like refuge?

Success is a word we hear often—something we are taught to chase from a young age. But what does it truly mean? For some, success is a high-paying job, a luxurious home, or international recognition. For others, it is the ability to wake up peacefully, spend time with loved ones, or simply be happy in their own skin.

She was the kind of girl who carried sunlight in her pockets, always ready to brighten up the dullest days. Her laughter was infectious, her kindness boundless. She was the planner, the memory-maker, the one who remembered birthdays and made them feel like festivals. When it was her friends’ special days, she poured her heart into making them feel celebrated. Thoughtful gifts, handwritten notes, surprise gatherings—she did it all, not because she expected anything in return, but because she genuinely cared.

There is a simple truth in life—when happiness is shared, it grows, and when sorrow is shared, it lessens. This is the magic of human connection. No matter how independent we are, our emotions thrive in the presence of others. A laugh is brighter when echoed by another, and a burden feels lighter when carried together.

Life moves forward relentlessly. The world keeps me occupied—work, responsibilities, and the never-ending cycle of things that demand my attention. To everyone around me, I am just another person moving through life, seemingly whole, seemingly fine. But beneath the surface, there is a secret that only the night knows.

There was a time when she waited—her heart like a candle flickering in the wind, its flame fragile yet unyielding. Every quiet prayer whispered to the stars, every hopeful gaze cast into the night, was steeped in his name, as though uttering it would somehow bridge the distance between them. But now, the candle has burnt low, and the door to her heart, once left ajar with the illusion of waiting, is now quietly closed. It isn’t with anger or resentment, nor with a sense of betrayal, but with an acceptance so profound that it almost feels like peace. Love, she has learned, does not demand anything of the world. It simply exists—unseen, unheard, unreturned—and that is enough.

The world has always followed its own rigid patterns, shaping lives into pre-defined molds. Who dares to challenge these norms? The ones who suffer quietly, who refuse to bow to expectations, are the true rebels. But rebellion here is not loud—it is the silent endurance of pain, the refusal to conform despite the scars. The girl in this story, like many others, has fought against the world’s expectations, but at what cost? Her love was a rebellion, and yet, it was met with rejection.

Love had once felt like the only truth I needed. The way he looked at me, the way he made my world feel small yet safe, as if nothing outside of our love could ever matter. I believed in the fairy tale, in the kind of love that made poets weep and the stars shine a little brighter.

Life is anything but easy for those who choose to build it on their own. It’s a Herculean task to create what feels like an entire empire single-handedly. At my age, many girls are already married, enjoying the comforts of life, having fun, and living off their parents' or husbands' financial support. But then there’s me—balancing a demanding 9-to-5 job, and often longer hours, alongside everything else life throws my way. Isn’t it chaotic? Absolutely. Yet, amidst the chaos, I see something remarkable: I have carved out my own existence.

What does it truly mean to let go? To release something—or someone—that has become an inseparable part of your existence. It could be a habit, a memory, or a person who feels like your very breath. Letting go isn’t just difficult; it’s devastating. And yet, we call it an "art." Perhaps because it requires the mastery of emotions, the courage to face heartbreak, and the patience to rebuild oneself.

Hey there, lovely! If you’re reading this, you’re probably looking to feel a little more confident, a little more you. And guess what? I’ve been there too. Let me share my journey and some little tweaks that made a massive difference in my life.

Life has a way of redirecting us, doesn’t it? For as long as I can remember, I dreamed of wearing a doctor’s white coat. Medicine was my passion, my goal, my everything. I worked tirelessly to make it happen. But life had other plans for me. Despite all my efforts and excellent performance in academics, I never got the chance to study medical sciences. It broke my heart. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that heartbreak doesn’t have to be the end. It can be the beginning of something even greater.

Life hasn’t always been kind to me, but it has taught me one invaluable lesson: consistency is my superpower. For as long as I can remember, I’ve faced challenges head-on, refusing to let failures define me. This is my story—a story of resilience, self-reliance, and unwavering determination.

In those moments of life when I needed someone the most, there was no one by my side. This led me to build myself in a way that I no longer feel the need for anyone. Asking for help has never felt right to me; I prefer handling everything on my own. In a way, it’s a blessing because you can’t always rely on others to be there for you.

Life is a constant series of battles—some external, but the most challenging ones are often fought within. These silent struggles shape us, defining how we perceive ourselves and the world around us. My journey to self-acceptance has been marked by pain, resilience, and a transformation that turned my weaknesses into my greatest strengths.

Perfectionism—it’s this constant, suffocating pressure to get everything right, to be flawless. It feels like a goal just out of reach, no matter how hard we try. As a mom, a researcher, and a woman who’s never quite felt loved the way I dreamed, I’ve learned firsthand how perfectionism can control your life. Yet, the more I’ve tried to live up to impossible standards, the more I’ve realized: what if embracing imperfection is the real key to freedom?

We begin this journey on the 1st of January, embarking on a path to see how it unfolds. Along the way, I’ll share what I see, what I feel, and the moments I’ll treasure for years to come. I hope each of you will leave your thoughts and comments after reading my blogs—they mean the world to me!