I’ve been thinking about this post for quite a while now. With my 30th looming closely by, I wanted to channel and really appreciate the moment. If I look back 10 years, I barely recognise the young person I was; our experience of life can either harden us or make us grow – and I’m glad to say I’ve grown.

The biggest change I’ve made from my early twenties to my late twenties is undoubtedly my group of friends. I have been blessed in meeting a handful of people who have enriched and shaped my life for the better. Within them is a beautiful soul and they each allude a real sense of security in who they are. They have embraced me for being myself, and in doing so, given me the confidence to love myself, warts an all! They have also taught me life’s most valuable lesson – through them I can see what it means to be content. And to some extent, it is because of them that I am willing to hold out to find my own piece of happiness. Like all good friends, they have listened to me whine, made me laugh and made me feel like I matter. I can only hope that I have been able to provide the same in return.

As I enter a new decade I feel confident in saying that I do so, being the best version of myself to date. Of course there is always room for each and every one of us to improve, so what I’d like to say is that I’m ready in waiting! For now though, I am more comfortable in my skin, less hard on my character and more appreciatative of what I have got – not bad for a decade’s work 🙂

Recently work has been tough. I find my myself working longer hours and feel like it’s getting me no where. So when the Christmas holidays arrived I thought I’d finally have the chance to breathe, if only for a little while. Instead I find myself in the midst of a family who are slowly suffocating me. The atmosphere in my house is sucking very ounce of happiness from me, and on most days I can rise above it, I can close myself off to my happy thoughts, but there’s only so many bullets I can dodge, some days my family are right on target and they manage to drag me down with them. 

I’ve really tried to make sense of their behaviour. To understand why they act like monsters and put all their energy into breaking each other’s spirit instead of looking to better themselves, but truly, no sense can be made of it. They have not only ruined each other’s lives (namely my parents) but they are in the process of doing that to each of their children. They are completely selfish – only seeing their own hurt and not even realising that they are the prime cause of it. Never for a moment have either of them considered another person’s perspective – and if they have, it clearly hasn’t been important enough for them to change their ways. My dad has never asked himself ‘how might my daughter view men having witnessed years of me verbally and emotionally abusing my wife?’ and my mum has never asked herself ‘what kind of message do I send to my children having remained in an unhappy marriage for the past 35 years?’. Is this the life we should expect for ourselves – a life of misery and heartache?  Should I expect my husband to swear at me or about me, and accept that as my lot? These are the daily lessons I am taught within my household, by the two people who claim to love me the most.

This holiday my parents have destroyed me. Their behaviour has drained me of all my positivity and reduced me to floods of tears. Do I believe that by writing this (and potentially showing it to them) that something will suddenly change? No, I don’t. What I believe is that I can change, that in fact, I have to change. I have to remove myself from this environment and discover a part of the world which embraces and encourages people to seek happiness and find fulfilment. Life is a choice for us all, and we either choose to sink or to swim..

So there is a guy at my gym that I think I’m in love with. What’s weird is that this guy has been at my gym from day one, and although I’ve always thought him attractive, I’ve never had the strange feelings that I’m having now! I literally want him to pin me against a wall and..

Well I’m sure you can imagine the nature of my thoughts – and as you may well know, they are causing me much frustration!!

So I ask myself the question ‘what’s changed’? Why have I suddenly developed these intense feelings towards this man? Is it because I’m finally starting to realise that time doesn’t stop for anyone, and I need to find myself a husband? Or is it simply just physical? Maybe I just need somebody to make me feel alive again..

Please tell me that, like me, others run away with their thoughts too. I’ve already envisioned our romantic first date – the way our conversation will just flow and how after eating dinner we’ll go for a slow walk in the still and starlit sky – not to mention our secluded wedding in Bali. Is this deemed normal behaviour or do I need to be sectioned under the mental health act?

I often think my biggest downfall in life is that I’m a romanticist – I believe that there is somebody out there for me who will just get me, and accept me, and want to be with me forever. And maybe the horror stories should give me a reality check – some people cheat like there’s no more tomorrow – but I’d like to believe that that won’t happen to me. That I will be the one to end up with a gentleman. I want to feel electric sparks each time he touches me; I want that first kiss to melt me; I want to be held by him and feel like I’m finally home..

Maybe I’m being greedy and asking for too much, or maybe, just maybe, I’m being brave by not settling for anything less than I deserve..

If people were asked to state the most important four lettered word, it is highly likely that they would opt for the word ‘love’. Love is universal. It does not discriminate. We are all capable of feeling love and quite often it is an emotion that drives us forward and protects us from a grave alternative. And yet I find myself toying with a four lettered word which, when placed next to the word love, may pale in comparison. The word ‘hope’.

For me, hope is a word so full of potential. It has the ability to lift our spirits and comfort us when nothing seems to be going right. Most importantly, it is a feeling that doesn’t depend on another person but instead on something less tangible and more powerful – the ability to have faith against all odds. When there is nothing else, hope keeps us going. It provides us with a strength we didn’t even know existed, and leaves with it a calm that allows us to finally breathe. For the most unfortunate of people hope can be the difference between choosing to live instead of living to die. It can provide individuals with courage and guidance when facing their lowest ebb. And for those more fortunate, hope simply reminds us to keep believing! Because when the time is right, everything will fall into place.. 

So I am hopeful. I am hopeful that one day our planet will live in peace. I am hopeful that eventually my work at the gym will pay off and my thighs will slim down. I am hopeful that love and marriage will fill that missing piece in my life. But in this very moment I am most hopeful that my cousin’s beautiful baby girl will live a long and happy life – this post is dedicated to her swift recovery 🙂

When most people think of domestic violence I’m sure their initial thoughts turn towards physical abuse. The outward signs of cuts and bruises allow us some insight into another person’s home environment – we may feel sorry for them, we may even try to offer advice and provide a practical solution for them. But what happens when the form of domestic violence is emotional abuse. Who is going to notice the impact it has on an individual? After all, just because there aren’t any physical signs it doesn’t mean that the person isn’t hurting or doesn’t need a hand healing.

Having grown up in a family dominated by arrogant males I have witnessed several forms of emotional abuse – most common of all unadulterated swearing. I’ve had to witness my mum take the brunt of the harsh words spoken and shouted by both my dad and my brother; and I have always felt so pathetic and helpless not being able to shield her from it. Yet it is in those moments that I see the people in my house for what they truly are. The men are weak. Unable to exercise even the slightest bit self control over their own emotional state, they let rip aiming in the direction they believe to be the weakest link. But my mum in actual fact is the strongest person I know.

I realise now that men may have more physical strength than us women but what they lack, and what is even more crucial, is mental strength. On so many occasions I have watched my mum take abuse and not say anything in return. This silence is not driven by fear but by defiance. She refuses to react; because shouting or swearing back would be easy, it’s what any abuser is waiting for – a reason to justify and reaffirm their actions. So instead my mum just holds it together. She is our glue.

I always think my mum rather brave having left everything she had known to come over to the UK to get married – and not I hasten to add, to the love of her life, but instead to a man she had met for no more than five minutes!! It clearly couldn’t have been easy to leave her entire family behind and then have to adjust to a new one who were by no means welcoming. Having to deal with this alongside a new country with a new language and an entirely different way of living is enough to make me believe she was superwoman!

And here’s me, a generation later, childless and unmarried – when at this very age my mum had accomplished both milestones. So what’s changed from back then to now? Why am I finding it so hard to follow in my mum’s footsteps? My theory is simple. I don’t quite know just who I am yet and what it is that I really want – and unlike my mum, I actually have a choice in deciding these!!

I’ve realised that being exposed to both western and indian values has left me feeling incomplete. I’m not completely indian, and I’m not completely western. I share a mixture of the norms and values offered up by both – yet they are a stark contrast from each other. When I think about marrying an Indian man I can’t help thinking that I’ll never be Indian enough to immerse myself into what I consider to be a suffocating culture. And yet when I consider the potential alternative e.g. an English man, I feel like there’d be a clash of cultures – I’d be far too indian for them!

It’s weird that even though my mum hasn’t had even a near perfect marriage, I sometimes envy her. She has this singular identity of an indian woman and based on that, has fulfilled the duty of a faithful daughter and wife. It has never crossed her mind to do the things that make her happy because that option has never existed for her. A generation later the likes of me is tripping over the amount of options I have at my feet and yet I still feel so empty..

There is an age old question that, in my view, has long gone unanswered – well to be more accurate, it’s been answered many times over but I’ve never quite been satisfied with the response! I’d like to think that most people have considered this question, at the very least, as a passing thought; others, no doubt have deliberated for hours on end, never reaching a comforting conclusion.

What is the meaning of life?

It’s one of the rare things the entire human race shares in common – we’ve all been blessed (or maybe even cursed) with a life, albeit in different shapes and forms, and yet the majority of us go on not really knowing why.

So I have come to a decision. The purpose of my life is to experience, observe and reflect – but most importantly, to share..

..welcome to my world of white noise 🙂