life – Calm with Me

I Am Lost, But I Exist

I am lost — but I exist.
Somewhere beneath a pile of hundreds of chores and duties, I breathe. I move through the day, ticking tasks off lists, smiling when expected, surviving each rush. Yet, deep within, there’s a quiet pull — a search for something that could lift me back to the surface.

Time is ticking. Milestones are passing. And it feels like I’ve missed most of them. Still, I yearn — to hope, to rise, to fall, and to rise again.

Some days weigh heavy with sadness, and some shimmer softly with light. Both matter. Both remind me I’m still alive.

I want to run — not from myself, but toward a place where life feels full again. A place where my robe carries countless experiences stitched across its fabric — moments of laughter, tears, courage, and quiet wonder.

I want to fall in love with life, deeply and endlessly.

Maybe this post will get buried among millions. But still — I write.
Because I want to be read.
Because somewhere out there, maybe someone else feels lost too… and needs to know — they still exist.

When Plans Fall Apart, Life Still Flows

Last month, I was all set to change my life. I wanted to add creativity, meaning, excitement, and adventure to it. I spent days planning how I would allocate my time—learning, playing with my baby, finishing chores, resting, taking care of my body, connecting with friends, and more.

That planning phase itself was exciting, I must admit. But soon, joining all the pieces together became difficult. Each time I failed to stick to the plan, it felt like I was collecting milestones of failure, adding up to a negative score against myself.

Then I realized—what I was doing wasn’t living. I was torturing myself in the name of a perfect plan.

Life is mostly unplanned. Yes, having a routine and some discipline can streamline our days and give them meaning, but after a while, even those can turn into a trap. We begin layering them with too many goals, too many expectations, and eventually lose sight of the joy in simply being.

The truth is, our life is already good, no matter how ordinary or simple it looks. If we can happily manage our meals, our health, and our shelter—we already have most of what we need. Living becomes joyful when we learn to embrace solitude and simplicity.

Life is not about tiring ourselves in the chase of endless goals. It is about enjoying it—in whichever way it comes. A good sleep, a relaxed body, a walk, or a heartfelt conversation—these are rewards in themselves.

The busyness we run after is just an illusion.

Does Winning or Losing Really Matter?

From the moment we enter this world, a silent race begins.
First to cry.
First to walk.
First to speak.
Better marks. Better clothes. Better job.
Even when no one’s watching, we’re often sprinting — to be “better” than someone, or perhaps, better than who we were yesterday.

But why?

Even when we pause, reflect, and tell ourselves, “Winning isn’t everything,” deep down… we crave something more.
Fulfillment. A sense of achievement. A feeling of being “enough.”

And it’s not wrong.
This inner longing — this desire to accomplish — might just be the very thing that makes us human.

We often confuse this journey with a trap — an endless loop of wins, losses, and comparisons. But maybe, it’s not the outcome that truly matters, but the fire within us — the reason we show up every day and say, “Let me try again.”

🌱 The Secret Might Be This

Instead of resisting the instinct to strive, what if we embraced it… mindfully?

Let’s acknowledge that our hearts long to create, to win, to overcome. But let’s also learn to:

Detach our self-worth from the results.
See failures as teachers, not verdicts.
Find joy in the process, not just the trophies.

When we break big goals into small milestones — like reading one page, writing one line, running one kilometre, helping one person — we build something far more powerful than success: inner peace with momentum.

And no, it may not earn applause or medals every time.
But it makes our hearts beat with purpose.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real victory.

So today, set a small challenge.
Write the first page.
Call the loved one.
Start the project.
Dream the dream.
Act like you’re solving the climate crisis or winning a world cup — because that enthusiasm is what your spirit deserves.

And when you do it — not for the world, but for you — you’ll feel something awaken.
A quiet power.
That’s your win.

Trying Again Is the Key — Not Just Consistency

How easy life would be if we actually followed every plan we made — from eating right, exercising, sleeping well, saving money, staying creative, to limiting screen time. But let’s be honest: most of these plans derail, and when they do, we often feel like failures.

To escape that guilt, we make new plans. And this cycle — plan, fail, replan — becomes our life.

Over time, I’ve realized this is not just my story — it’s most people’s. And there’s no perfect solution. It’s like learning to walk: we try, we fall, we get up again. One day, without even noticing, we run, we jump, we chase our dreams. All of it begins with just trying to walk.

I’ve struggled to keep my learning goals alive. Something always comes up — housework, responsibilities, distractions. Plans fail. Motivation fades. Subscriptions go unused. Downloads pile up. Stories go unwritten. Recipes remain untried. My to-do list is full of “pending” items.

But now I look at that list differently — not as proof of failure, but as a reminder to try again. Life moves in cycles — ups and downs, stops and starts — and that’s okay. The key is to keep moving, to keep trying, no matter how slow or broken the process feels.

Trying consistently is what keeps us on the road — not being perfect every day.

If you feel the same, tell me: what’s one thing you’re still holding on to but haven’t completed yet?

After the Storm: A Note to Self

Yesterday, everything felt bitter.
The house felt like a mess — chores were torture, cooking felt thankless, toys scattered everywhere, and nothing around looked even remotely pleasing. I was angry — at everything and everyone. In that moment, I hated it all.

Then I slept.

A few hours of rest, a quiet moment with my little tornado, and things softened. No, this isn’t about guilt creeping in or me romanticizing emotional outbursts. This is about realizing that self-blame solves nothing — and bottling up emotions until they explode doesn’t help either.

Sometimes, breakdowns don’t look pretty. They don’t come with a journal, candles, or gentle tears. They come as rage, shouting, numbness — things that scare even ourselves.

What matters is what comes after.
And for me, the lesson was simple: Melt before you shatter.
Release before it ruins everything.

This isn’t about blaming people, fighting over responsibilities, or idealizing support systems. This is about facing the fact that we are each responsible for our own well-being. Yes, it’s beautiful to imagine perfect partners, helpful siblings, friends who check in — but not everyone will show up. And that’s okay. Most people are carrying their own weight.

So, when support is missing, be your own calm.
Let people go gracefully.
Bitter words — once said — leave lasting damage. Hold them back.

Let this post be a reminder:
Let your journey shape you, not shrink you.
Let your actions come from love, not pressure.
Because when you act from love, burnout fades. When you carry only expectations, it grows.

Have you felt something like this?
What did you become after your storm passed?

On Rain, Expectations, and Sitting with Myself

It’s raining outside. I sat by the window with a warm cup of tea — feeling a little sad, a little lost.
Some days just begin on the wrong note. And lately, these kinds of days seem to visit more often.

I’ve been through difficult times before — some of the worst phases of my life, actually. But strangely, I never felt as vulnerable back then as I do now.
The so-called mature version of me seems to have disappeared. In her place, I now see a tired, irritable version — a mother who loses her temper too easily.

It’s not the chores, or even my little tornado (my child), that wear me out. It’s something deeper — something inside me that feels… broken.
And every time I try to fix it, I feel like I end up breaking a little more.

So today, I sat with myself — with compassion and gentleness — to just listen.

I realized that sometimes, it’s not what we do that exhausts us.
It’s the weight of unspoken expectations, the quiet loneliness we carry in crowded rooms, and the constant inner dialogue of “what should have been.”

Expectations are cruel like that.
They cloud what’s clearly said. They blur what’s right in front of us.
They convince us that something amazing is just around the corner — and then laugh at us when it isn’t.
They aren’t promises. They’re illusions. And when they break, they make us feel foolish.

So here I am, gently teaching myself to expect less and accept more.
To fear less.
To finally show up for myself.

As the rain pours outside, maybe nature is crying with me — washing something off.
And maybe, just maybe, the sun will rise tomorrow a little warmer, a little softer.

Because looking after ourselves is no one else’s job. It’s ours.

Tell me, do you ever feel like this too?
And what little things in your day make you feel a bit more whole again?

Not Every Day is a Vacation

Some days are messy, disciplined, and ordinary — and maybe that’s what keeps us moving.

Not every day is a vacation.
Most days are just… life.
Working. Living. Surviving. Breathing.

But try not working — try doing nothing — and slowly, everything begins to feel bitter.
What first feels like rest soon turns into restlessness. The days stretch long, and even the simplest tasks — bathing, eating, tidying up — feel like mountains.

I’ve lived both extremes.
Years of strict parenting and routines, followed by days where I had full freedom to do whatever I wanted. And honestly, I’ve lived my life in all the wrong and right ways during those phases.

On lazy days, the plans stay trapped in my head, and my body just sloths through the hours.
No structure, no energy, no spark.
And yet — oddly enough — I’m grateful for the job I once didn’t love.
Because it gave my day a skeleton.
It made me get up, have breakfast, leave my bed, see people. It grounded me in small ways I didn’t notice then.

And now, life has come full circle —

My little tornado, my baby, doesn’t let me stay in bed even if I want to.

He doesn’t know about discipline or productivity — but he is the reason I’ve rediscovered both.
His energy, his routine, his needs — they’re gently teaching me to respect time again.

He’s reminding me that while chaos is real, so is structure, and we need both.

Life isn’t always glamorous.

But there’s a strange beauty in showing up — in doing the basics, even when it’s hard.
In eating well. In taking a bath.
In moving from “just surviving” to “gently living.”

And maybe that’s all we need to do today.

Ripples from the Past, Strength for Today

Not every story has a sequel, but every chapter shapes who we are.

It just takes a pebble — something small, seemingly harmless — to stir ripples in still water. And sometimes, all it takes is a moment, a memory, or a breeze to stir old ripples in our lives, shaking emotions we thought were long buried.

Each of our lives is a storybook.
But not every story continues as a neat sequel.
Some chapters end abruptly, some fade out unfinished, and some leave behind more ache than answers.

And yet… they’re all ours.

Sometimes, we revisit those quiet alleys of our past — not because we want to, but because something pulls us there. A scent, a voice, a forgotten song.
And suddenly, we’re back — feeling everything all over again.
The sadness. The guilt. The loss.
We begin to wonder: Did I fail there? Did I choose wrong? Should I have done it differently?

But here’s something I want you — and myself — to remember today:

Taking a decision is brave. Living through it is braver.

No one else may say it, but I will:
You were strong then. You’re strong now.
Sometimes life doesn’t offer us the “right” choice — only the lesser wrong.
And in those moments, we do the best we can.

You may carry the weight of things unsaid or undone, but don’t let that drown you.
Hold yourself.
Breathe.
Place your hand on your heart and offer yourself compassion — the kind you so freely give to others.

This life — this one, imperfect, emotional, beautiful life — is still yours.

You don’t have to silence every ache.
You don’t need to erase old pages to write new ones.
You just need to remind yourself that you are a warrior of your own story.

Today, if you’re feeling weak, sad, or overwhelmed — it’s okay.
Hold yourself a little tighter.
Be gentle with your heart.
And whisper to yourself:
“This, too, will pass. I am healing. I am here.”

Planning, Failing, and Still Loving It

Maybe planning was never about the result — but about how it made us feel along the way.

Throughout my life, I’ve never really been sure of my planning.
But I’ve always loved it.

I’d make elaborate plans — color-coded tables, notebooks full of ideas, schedules that looked perfect on paper. And yet… most of them would fall apart before they even began.
I’d try. I’d fail. I’d try again.
But still, somehow, I kept planning.

With time, most of those big dreams and detailed roadmaps didn’t unfold the way I imagined.
Life had its own directions — sometimes far from what I intended.

There came a phase where I almost started believing that nothing is in our hands.
That everything is destiny, and planning is just a false hope.So I stopped.
I let things take their own course.
No pressure. No expectations.

But today — when I look back — I see it all a little differently.

Planning was never really about controlling the outcome.
It was about creating a process.

The part we often forget to value — the rhythm, the routine, the small decisions we make when we choose a direction.These days, my planning has changed.
It’s no longer about grand goals or impressing anyone — not even myself.

Now, it’s about:

Setting up a peaceful day.
Organizing a corner of the house.
Picking what to cook this week.
Making space for my writing, my baby, my breath.

Small plans. Flexible plans. Quiet plans.
But plans I truly enjoy making — and living.

Just a casual thought today:

We don’t always need to plan to win.
Sometimes, we plan to connect — to ourselves.

So…
What are you planning these days?
Even if it’s just a good cup of chai and a peaceful evening — it counts.