2008 didn’t just take away my company.
It took away people.
A partner I once called my best friend.
A love I believed was real.
Both gone.
Both unreal, as I painfully discovered.
That phase didn’t feel like loss.
It felt like being cut open… slowly… while still alive.
I still remember one day very clearly.
I got ready like any normal day — neatly dressed, wearing my Woodland shoes.
I told myself I’ll go watch a movie at Mayajaal. Maybe that would help.
I reached there.
But I couldn’t walk in.
Something inside me refused.
Instead, I just started walking.
No plan. No destination.
From Mayajaal… all the way to Mahabalipuram.
Tears didn’t stop.
Thoughts didn’t stop.
My mind kept replaying everything —
Was it all fake?
Was I living a dream that never existed?
How did everything collapse so fast?
At times, I don’t even remember parts of that walk.
There were moments of blankness… like my mind was shutting down to protect itself.
I don’t know how I walked that distance.
I don’t know how I came back.
I just did.
Years have passed.
Today, I have accepted what happened.
Life moved forward.
People moved on.
Even karma, in its own way, has done its job.
But acceptance is not the same as understanding.
Some questions never got answers.
Why did it happen?
Why did people change?
Was I blind… or just trusting?
I don’t carry anger anymore.
But I carry those questions.
Silently.
Because sometimes in life…
you don’t get closure.
You just learn to live without it.
Tag: Emotional Healing
The Man at the Dining Table
It was a quiet suburb somewhere in New Jersey.
White fence. Two kids. A modest home bought with years of sacrifice.
For ten days, the house was fuller than usual. Her parents had come to visit. The air had been tight from the beginning — polite smiles, forced laughter, old opinions sitting heavy at the table.
One evening, the argument started.
It wasn’t about him.
It was between a daughter and her parents. Old wounds. Old control. Old authority trying to reassert itself in a house that no longer belonged to them.
He stayed silent.
It wasn’t his battle.
Then suddenly, like a chair kicked across the floor, the words came.
“If you’re a real man, why are you sitting here living off your wife’s salary?”
The room froze.
The children looked up.
Time slowed.
He felt heat rise from his chest to his ears. Not because of money. Not because of truth. But because of humiliation — delivered casually, like a glass dropped on tile.
He owned rental properties.
He built assets.
He carried responsibilities quietly.
But none of that mattered in that moment.
What mattered was dignity.
He could have shouted.
He could have listed numbers.
He could have broken the evening into pieces.
Instead, he breathed.
He chose silence — not because he was weak, but because strength sometimes refuses to perform.
The insult lingered in the air like smoke. But smoke clears.
That night, he lay awake — not angry at the words, but at the realization that some men only understand power through volume.
He understood something different.
A man is not defined by who earns more.
He is defined by how steady he stands when someone tries to shake him.
The children went to sleep in a house that did not explode.
And sometimes, that is victory.
Lost and Found: My Journey from Heartbreak to Healing
I don’t know if I’ve ever shared this, but after my breakup, I hit the lowest point in my life. I was completely lost and drowning in my emotions. I started drinking heavily, trying to escape the pain. One night, after having too much on ECR, I blacked out. The next thing I remember was waking up in Port Blair, confused and disoriented.
I couldn’t figure out how I got there. Later, I realized that in my drunken state, I had booked flight tickets, reserved a hotel, made my way to the airport, boarded a plane, and flown for three hours—all of it a complete blank. I vaguely recall arriving in Port Blair, stumbling around aimlessly, before losing consciousness again and waking up in a hotel room.
I stayed there for a month, roaming the islands aimlessly. I drank more, met new people who unexpectedly became friends, and wandered without purpose. It was a chaotic and emotional time—full of grief, anger, and confusion. Yet, somewhere in that month, something changed. It wasn’t an instant solution, but slowly, I began to heal. I started to come to terms with what had happened and found the courage to move on, step by step.
AnandNataraj 