Each memory I had in my twenties
opened my chest
and searched for what still felt alive—
like it knew where to stab.
All my screams
went unnoticed.
Cuffed trauma found its key,
unleashed the worst,
and devoured my memories.
Should I thank it
or cry—
for eating
what was eating me?
I will never know
until the last hope dies,
until my screams
are noticed.
All that I am feeling is—
a hyphen.
എന്റെ എഴുത്തുകളിൽ അവിടിവിടെയായി ഒളിഞ്ഞിരിക്കുന്ന നിന്നെ കണ്ടുപിടിക്കാൻ വരികളെല്ലാം ആവർത്തിച്ചു വായിക്കുമെന്നെനിക്കറിയാം….
കണ്ടിട്ടും മനസ്സിലാകാതെയും, മനസിലായെന്ന് തോന്നിയതൊക്കെ മുഴുമിപ്പിക്കാതെയും നീ കടന്നുപോകും…. വരികൾക്കിടയിൽ ജീവിതത്തിലെന്നപോലെ നീ അനിശ്ചിതമായി തുടരും… ആരെങ്കിലും വരികൾക്കിടയിലെ നിന്നെ ചൂണ്ടിക്കാണിക്കുമ്പോൾ, എന്റെ സ്നേഹം നിന്റെയുള്ളം പൊള്ളിയ്ക്കും…. ഒരു തവണപോലും സ്നേഹംകൊണ്ടെന്നെ തോൽപ്പിക്കാൻ കഴിയാത്തതിനെയോർത്ത് കണ്ണുകൾ നിറയും….
സ്നേഹത്തിന്റെ കണക്കുപുസ്തകം തുറക്കുമ്പോൾ എന്റെ പേരെഴുതിയ താളിൽ മഷി പടർന്നിട്ടുണ്ടാകും…. നിന്നോടുള്ള എന്റെ സ്നേഹം പ്രണയത്തേക്കാൾ എത്രയോ മുകളിലായിരുന്നു എന്ന് നീ തിരിച്ചറിയും…
ആ വേദനയുടെ ആഴം എനിയ്ക്കളക്കാനാകും…വേദനയിൽ മുങ്ങിത്താഴുമ്പോൾ നീയെന്റെ ഉയർത്തെഴുന്നേൽപ്പിന്റെ കഷ്ടതയറിയും…. കണ്ണുനീരാവാൻ കഴിയാതിരുന്ന വേദനകൾ ഗോളമായി മാറി മുള്ളുകളാൽ പൊതിഞ്ഞെന്റെ തൊണ്ടക്കുഴിയിൽ തങ്ങി നിന്നതിന്റെ വേദനയറിയും… എന്റെ ഹൃദയത്തിൽ ആഴ്ന്നിറങ്ങിയ വാരിയെല്ലുകൾ, ഞാൻ ചുമന്ന ഭാരം, ചിതറിയ രക്തം എല്ലാം വരികളിൽ തെളിയും… നിനക്ക് മാത്രം വായിച്ചാൽ മനസ്സിലാകുന്ന പോലെ….
നിനക്കെന്നോട് സഹതാപത്തിന് പകരം വാത്സല്യം തോന്നും….. പ്രണയത്തിന് പകരം സ്നേഹം തോന്നും…. നീ ചിരിക്കും…. പറഞ്ഞ കളവുകളോർത്ത്… വാഗ്ദാനങ്ങളോർത്ത്…. എന്നെയോർത്ത്….
പറഞ്ഞിട്ടും, എഴുതിയിട്ടും, വായിച്ചിട്ടും മനസ്സിലാകാതെ പോകുന്ന ചിലതൊക്കെ അങ്ങനെ അവശേഷിക്കും….
സ്നേഹത്തേക്കാൾ പരിഗണന വേണം…. ആളുകളെ പരിഗണിക്കുന്ന മനുഷ്യരെ ശ്രദ്ധിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ടോ? അവരെക്കാൾ ഭംഗിയുള്ള മറ്റൊന്നും ഞാൻ കണ്ടിട്ടില്ല… അവരോളം ബഹുമാനവും മറ്റൊന്നിനോടും തോന്നിയിട്ടുമില്ല… ഞാൻ അധികം കണ്ടിട്ടില്ലാത്ത, അറിഞ്ഞിട്ടില്ലാത്ത ചുരുക്കി പറഞ്ഞാൽ വംശനാശം സംഭവിച്ചുകൊണ്ടിരിക്കുന്ന ഒരു കൂട്ടരാണ് ഈ പരിഗണിക്കുന്നവർ… സ്നേഹമുള്ളിടത്തെല്ലാം പരിഗണന കാണാറില്ല… പരിഗണിക്കപ്പെടുന്നതിലൊക്കെ, പരിഗണിക്കപ്പെടുന്നവരിലൊക്കെ സ്നേഹം കുമിഞ്ഞുകൂടുന്നത് ഞാൻ കണ്ടിട്ടുണ്ട്… ചേർത്തുനിർത്തലിന്റെ ഒരു വകഭേദം… ഒരുകാലമത്രയും ഞാൻ കരുതിയിരുന്നത് സ്നേഹിക്കപ്പെടുന്നതിലാണ് എന്റെ സന്തോഷമെന്നാണ്… അല്ല… പരിഗണിക്കപ്പെടുമ്പോഴാണ് ഞാൻ ഉള്ളു തുറന്ന് ചിരിച്ചിട്ടുള്ളത്… മടികൂടാതെ എന്റെയുള്ളിലെ കുഞ്ഞിനെ പുറത്തുകൊണ്ടുവരാറുള്ളത്, സന്തോഷം കൊണ്ട് കണ്ണുനിറയുന്നതും അപ്പോൾ മാത്രമാണ്… ഏറ്റവും ഭാരം കുറഞ്ഞ എന്തോ ഒന്നായി തോന്നുന്നതും പരിഗണിക്കപ്പെടുമ്പോൾ ആണ്… ചില മനുഷ്യരെങ്ങനെയൊക്കെയാണ് മറ്റൊരാളെ പരിഗണിക്കുന്നത്… എത്ര നിഷ്കളങ്കമായാണ് സ്നേഹിക്കുന്നത്… മറ്റുള്ളവരേക്കാൾ ഒരു മിട്ടായി കൂടുതൽ കൊടുത്തുകൊണ്ട്, ചുറ്റുമുള്ളവരെപോലും മറന്ന് ചേർത്തുനിർത്തികൊണ്ട്, ഒരു സ്നേഹാന്വേഷണം കൊണ്ട്, ഓർമ്മപ്പെടുത്തലുകൾ കൊണ്ട്, അങ്ങനെ എങ്ങനെയൊക്കെയോ പരിഗണനകൾ… പരിഗണനകളില്ലെങ്കിൽ പിന്നെ സ്നേഹമുണ്ടെന്ന് പറയാനാകുമോ… സ്നേഹങ്ങൾ പലപ്പോഴും ആഘോഷങ്ങൾ ആണ് പരിഗണനകൾ ആശ്വാസവും… സ്നേഹമെല്ലാം വലിയ വാക്കുകളായും വാഗ്ദാനങ്ങളായും വരുമ്പോൾ, പരിഗണന ശബ്ദമില്ലാതെ നടക്കും…. കുറവെങ്കിലും ഭൂമിയിൽ പരിഗണിക്കാനറിയുന്ന മനുഷ്യരും ഉണ്ട്… അവരോളം നന്നായി മറ്റാരും സ്നേഹിക്കില്ല… അവരെയാണ് കണ്ടെത്തേണ്ടത്… അവരിലൊരാളാവാനാണ് പഠിക്കേണ്ടത്…. മനുഷ്യൻ മനുഷ്യനോട് ചെയ്യുന്ന ഏറ്റവും നിശ്ശബ്ദമായ നീതിയാണ് പരിഗണന.
To that one Beautiful human who inspired me to write this note: Thank you so much for being inspiring enough to give me the courage to take back one of my beautiful pieces and embrace that part of myself again. I had stopped writing for a while, but I have now started writing again…. especially to people who are less known to me, yet still my favourites. I started with you. Thank you. ❤️
My humans… The ones who came into my life when I was at my worst, my best, my coolest, even my weirdest. They have repeatedly shown me something very simple, yet profound, “emotionally secure people are not afraid of sincerity”.
You heard right. They don’t flinch at honest words… They don’t judge when emotions are expressed without calculation, They receive sincerity the way it should receive. Not as a demand, pressure, but as truth. But I have seen how sincerity is often misunderstood, confused with emotional dependence, boundary violations, or neediness. In those times I have wished things were different.… I have wished people would take sincerity for what it is. I have observed this through others, through myself and through the quiet lens of a third person.
What I understood is that sincerity becomes uncomfortable only to those who struggle to receive care, love, and affection without suspicion, who connect vulnerability with risk, or who have learned often through experience to keep emotional exchanges purely transactional.
A few people have told me that I love and express “too much.” Yet I have never felt it that way. I usually feel the opposite. I feel that I could have said this too, that I should not have missed saying that. I do not feel expression as too much. To me, expression is presence. It is just showing up fully, honestly, and without the quiet regret of unspoken words.
There is a subtle but important difference here. Loving people deeply and expressing it to them freely is not the same as demanding reciprocation. Sincerity does not compel or force… it offers…. It is not about crossing boundaries but it respects them. When sincerity is genuine, especially when it is non toxic, it leaves space for the other person to receive it in their own way… or maybe not at all. That freedom, that space is what makes it healthy.
Human beings are extraordinary, especially those who are emotionally intelligent. These are the people I mean, my people, who can hold honesty without preventiveness, affection without fear, and vulnerability without suspicion. I genuinely wish the world were filled with such people, and everyone could experience the quiet, grounding happiness that comes from spending time with people who see emotional expression not as a threat but as a bridge…
And my people… They mean the world to me. They are the ones with whom joy feels on cloud nine and silence feels safe. I wish everyone were told clearly and often how much they matter, how deeply they are valued and how profoundly their presence shapes another life, without the fear of judgement but with the happiness of celebrating and being celebrated.
Put in the effort.
People notice it.
And people value that.
My whole life, I have been known as the strong one, independent, stubbornly doing everything on my own.
The one who never needed anyone. But I don’t want that for my sister.
I don’t want her strength to trap her until she finally bursts. I don’t want her independence to make her suffer in silence. I don’t want her to carry everything alone when she has the right to share the weight.
I don’t want her kindness to turn into sacrifice at the cost of her own joy. I don’t want her to believe that asking for help makes her a burden. I don’t want her to shrink just to fit into an environment that doesn’t deserve her light.
I don’t want her to fly just because others expect her to, or to fall just because they tell her she must. I don’t want her to know heartbreak so deep it keeps her in bed for years, fighting battles no one else sees.
All I want is for her to be who she wants to be not who society wants, not who our parents want, not even who I want. Whatever and whoever she becomes, I will be her number one cheerleader. My love will never depend on who she turns out to be, only that she is true to herself.
Because if “strength” comes at the cost of her happiness and peace, then I’d rather she be nothing at all than become something defined by the world.
Loving people.
Yes, it’s become a habit, one of the most beautiful ones.
Whoever they are, however they are… I just love them as they are.
Not because they did something for me.
Not because they’re “mine.”
But because to love is to feel truly alive.
There’s something magical about how we all grow and glow in love.
No labels. No expectations. Just pure human connection.
Sometimes, we build families without relationships or blood.
And some relationships? They don’t even need names.
Are you my sister? My friend? A classmate? A stranger?
None of that matters.
You are you. And I love you as you are.
This kind of love isn’t for possession, it’s for the happiness it spreads.
In a world where love is often given only for what we receive in return,
I’ve found joy in loving for nothing.
Not for validation. Not for attention.
Just… love. Because it enriches the soul.
This one habit changed me,
my heart, my perspective, and my world.
So if you ask me what brings me joy?
It’s this,
Love yourself.
Love the people around you.
Not because they’re perfect,
but because love itself is.
”Too much.” That’s what it feels like when I love people.
I feel too deeply. Too intensely. Sometimes I don’t even know why or what makes me love this much.
But I do know this, if I didn’t let even a little of it out, I think I’d suffocate in my own love.
Only recently have I started wondering about the people I love, the ones I’m pouring all this into, just through words.
Are they ready for it? Can they hold this much?
It’s not about whether they deserve love. They do.
But not everyone is used to being loved like this.
Some people are already full. Overflowing.
And that’s okay too.
I think this era of my life is meant for being there for others, in small ways or intense ones.
Somewhere along the way, I forgot to look at what’s happening in my life. But maybe that’s okay, too.
Because so many good people came into it.
People I thought I’d never even get the chance to say “hi” to.
And for me, it’s never about what people are… but who they are.
In that sense, I am so blessed. With the most beautiful human beings on earth.
This era… this light, this warmth…
Feels like the most beautiful time since childhood.
To the women and the men in my life,
Thank you for being the reason for my too much.
You see it. You hold it.
And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
What can I even say about Indira Mani Ratnam’s soulful creation?
She’s not just a “film mom” to me.
She’s not even my favourite mother character.
She’s something beyond that. Something deeper.
Indira is one of the most beloved women ever written into cinema.
A selfless, possessive mother, fiercely protective, yet tender where it mattered most.
When it came to Amudha… I don’t think even Shyama, her biological mother, could’ve loved her the way Indira did.
And it’s not about loving “more.”
Indira didn’t necessarily love Amudha more than her sons.
But the way she loved her, was different. Sacred. Specific.
She went through hell and came back for Amudha.
She was even willing to let her go… for her sake.
If it wasn’t Indira, Amudha would’ve never met Shyama.
That takes a kind of strength very few possess.
There are moments in the film where Indira’s silence screams.
Her eyes carry the grief, the fear, the quiet ache.
A look here, a note in the background score there, it’s all there, if you pay attention.
And when Amudha began to pull away, when she created distance,
Indira didn’t fight it.
She didn’t cling.
But she never let go either.
She gave her space… and still held her hand.
That? Even real mothers sometimes struggle to do.
There were moments when I felt angry at Amudha.
For choosing Thiruchelvan over Indira.
But maybe that’s the beauty of it.
This isn’t just a story of love or sacrifice.
It’s a story of not leaving. Of standing beside each other.
Of fighting for each other, even in silence.
Of creating space to return to.
Motherhood, in its quietest, most painful, and most resilient form.
Indira isn’t just a favourite character.
She’s a feeling.
One I’ll never forget.
I was talking with a friend, as always, our conversation circled around the women in our lives. We are both incredibly proud of the kind of women we are surrounded by. Strong, kind, vibrant. But even in this shared pride, we are different.
She has many best friends. I don’t have any.
She has a few close friends. I have many I am close to.
She celebrates with her people. I celebrate my people.
Her friendships are gatherings and get togethers, familiar faces and family ties. They go out often, their families know each other, it’s warm, visible, and rooted in presence, beautiful in their own way.
But me?
I believe in emotional richness, not necessarily physical presence.
Many of the people I call mine… I haven’t even seen.
I might not know the name of their sibling, or what city they live in.
But I know what makes them smile when they’re breaking.
I know what irritates them, what helps them recover, what brings them back to life.
I have learned their silences better than most people learn voices.
It might look low-key, but to me, it’s everything.
Because when I say someone is mine, their emotions become mine.
I love each of them differently, deeply, quietly.
Not everyone gets the same kind of love from me.
I have favorites, yes.
But not one favorite for everything.
Each bond has its own place, its own rhythm, its own kind of light.
And if there’s one thing I believe it’s this,
The foundation of every real connection is giving the other person space to be fully themselves.
Not just accepting, but welcoming.
Making room.
Seeing them not as they should be, but as they are.
Because we are what others make space for us to be.
And when I love, I choose to make space.
To witness.
To celebrate quietly.
To feel deeply.
Even if the world never sees it,
my people will always know it.
Sometimes, I don’t want to disappear.
I want to learn German,
to know the roots of words that once felt foreign
and make them my own.
I already read, write, and speak in four languages.
And I write with both hands,
in reverse,
in every single one of them.
I paint,
I speak the language of love,
not just in words, but in gestures,
in the way I stay, in the way I see.
I collect memories
like seashells in my pockets,
cry at sunsets that remind me
how endings can still be beautiful.
I run, not on beaches,
but through the pulse of busy streets.
I bake cakes.
I light candles and even make them.
I read and write until the world quiets.
Sometimes,
I scream until I get ice cream.
That’s how life works for me,
equal parts chaos and comfort.
All nothingness isn’t the same.
Sometimes it’s heavy.
Other times, it’s hollow.
But even when my thoughts find no home,
I build one.
Aalmaa