Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.
— Oscar Wilde.
Together let’s find balance, motivation, and the rhythm of a healthier more mindful life. Every step we take, every word we write,m shapes the story of who we are.
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Cheers..!
As we began to pack,
the boxes felt heavier this time,
Not because of what they carried,
but because of what they remembered.
We have packed before.
Every two or three years,
another posting,
another city,
another home waiting
to hold our story.
The walls changed.
The addresses changed.
But our little world travelled with us.
Those familiar boxes
were never just boxes,
They held tiny uniforms,
school projects,
birthday decorations,
first achievements,
forgotten treasures,
They held
little voices,
and little moments
that quietly became a lifetime.
From childhood days
to teenage dreams,
from school bags
to suitcases ready to leave,
they witnessed a journey
only a parent’s heart can see.
We thought we were packing houses,
But we were packing time.
We were carrying memories,
one box at a time.
And then came this day,
The same boxes came out again.
But this time,
there was no voice saying,
“Ma, I have five boxes from my room…”
No one deciding
what to keep and what to leave.
Because this time,
the room was already empty.
No…
“Ma, I’m home.”
No…
“Ma, apple pie and cookies today?”
No guitar strings
turning ordinary evenings
into beautiful memories.
No excited voice calling,
“Ma, come listen to this…”
No footsteps in the hallway.
No laughter behind closed doors.
Only silence,
A silence so deep
that it carries every sound
that once filled these walls.
One beautiful soul
had already found her wings,
building a life of her own
and making us proud
in more ways than words can say.
And now another has crossed oceans,
carrying dreams we nurtured,
hopes we whispered,
and love that will always
travel with him.
This was always the prayer.
This was always the dream.
To see them become independent.
To see them find their own skies.
Yet no one tells parents
about the quiet that follows,
How pride and longing
can sit together.
How a heart can be full
and still miss a voice.
The one who spent a lifetime
answering the call of duty,
wearing the uniform with pride,
standing strong through every posting,
now returns home
to a different kind of silence.
A home with just the two of us.
For years, we were parents first.
Now we rediscover
the two people
who began this journey together.
And as we close
one more box,
we finally understand,
We were never packing houses.
We were preserving a lifetime.
The homes were temporary.
The postings came and went.
But the love inside those walls
became our forever home.
Because that is the quiet beauty
of parenthood,
To give your heart away.
To nurture them strong enough to leave,
And still have enough love
to let them find their way.
The house may be quieter now.
The rooms may feel bigger.
But every corner still whispers
A lifetime of love
was lived.
And then we smiled, with hearts full of gratitude
Simi
Which book have you read more than any other?
The oldest book, yet always new,
With every page, another view.
No final chapter comes in sight
Life keeps teaching, day and night.
Simi
A father’s love is rarely spoken aloud,
Yet it echoes in every moment we’re proud.
The hands that held us when we were small,
Still steady our hearts when life makes us fall.
Simi
What’s a common misconception people have about happiness?
Many chase happiness in distant skies,
Not seeing it where the sunlight lies.
It isn’t a prize at the end of the race,
But a quiet bloom in the present place.
If life were to offer me another chance
to nurture my children all over again,
I would not look for any different way,
nor wish away even a single day.
I would welcome the tiny footprints once more,
the laughter spilling through colorful rooms,
the endless questions, the sleepless nights,
the small hands reaching for mine.
I would pause for each story,
however many times it was told.
I would celebrate the ordinary days,
Completely knowing they were never ordinary at all.
I would watch with wonder as they grew,
not measuring time by years,
but by the quiet moments
that became, without warning, memories.
I would cheer their smallest victories,
make them kick away their disappointments,
and trust them enough to open my hands
when the time came to let them fly.
I would once again choose hugs over hurry,
presence over perfection,
connection over correction,
and love, always, above all else.
I would tell them once again
that being truthful is strength,
that courage and fear often walk together,
and that their worth was never something to earn.
I would marvel at the people they became,
each carrying their own light,
their own dreams,
their own way of being in this world.
And now, standing on the other side of those years,
I look back with a full heart.
Not because everything was perfect,
but because it was real.
Every challenge held a lesson.
Every season held a blessing.
The laughter remains.
The love remains.
The memories remain.
And each passing year only deepens
my gratitude for the privilege
of having been their mother.
So if life, in its quiet kindness,
were to place that choice before me again,
I would choose the same children,
the same journey,
the same lessons,
the same love.
And with a heart that has known it all
and chosen it anyway,
I would do it all over again.
Simi
If you could instantly master any skill, what would it be and why?
I’d master the language of hearts untold,
Where stories are treasured more than gold.
To heal with words in a gentle way,
And leave behind sunshine where shadows stay.
What’s your favorite meme?
My favorite meme? The dog saying, “I’m fine,”
While everything around him walks a crooked line.
It makes me laugh when days don’t go as planned,
A little comic reminder that life is wonderfully unplanned.
Two arrows.
Two horizons.
The first left years ago, and I saw her becoming a streak of light,
I watched until I couldn’t…!!
And now the second
is all set to light up
his share of the vast sky…!
I know they never belonged to me.
They were only ever passing through,
two souls I got to love, to keep them cuddled in my arms,
before the wind claimed them.
Yet it overwhelms me, each time I realise, it’s the empty nest moment..!
And here I stand,
bow lowered,
heart breaking open
in the most beautiful way,
not empty,
just fuller than before, with gratitude
What a blessing it is
to be their mother.
Motherhood is truly the art
of aiming carefully,
loving deeply,
and releasing gracefully.
Simi
She carved with love, she carved with care,
With the softest hands and whispered prayer.
Each subtle touch, each measured art,
Was shaped from pieces of her heart.
“I want for you what I never knew,
Wide open skies and a colourful view.
The strength to stand, the choice to roam,
To shape your dreams and call them home.”
The daughter heard, yet longed to fly,
To test her wings in the open sky.
For every bird, however dear,
Must fly from the nest it holds most near.
The mother watched with anxious eyes,
Remembering her own roads and old goodbyes.
She dreaded the storms, the hidden bends,
The quiet wounds that living sends.
The daughter said, “Believe in me,
The woman that you helped me be.
Your love has made my soul much strong,
Your lessons will guide me all along.”
The mother smiled through silent tears,
And saw beyond her countless fears.
For what is love, if not grace,
To let another find their place?
And what is youth, if not the art
Of carrying home within your heart?
So be her daughter, be her friend,
Before the seasons reach their end.
And while the moments still allow,
Stand for each other, starting now.
Let guidance walk with freedom’s hand,
Let trust and tenderness both stand.
Loosen up the rules, that you have made,
Live each day creating memories that never fade.
The sculptor’s gift was never stone,
Nor keeping what she called her own.
It was to nurture a soul so bright
That body and mind could not keep her away, from walking into the light.
And the daughter’s gift, before goodbye,
Is not to cling, nor drift, nor fly,
But to turn around and let her see:
“The strength you wished for lives in me.”
Simi
An army family doesn’t just live together,
it learns, quietly, how to live apart.
Our children did not grow up by calendars.
Birthdays, festivals, small celebrations,
they arrived not on dates,
but with his leave,
with the sound of a door opening,
with the presence we had been waiting for.
I still remember that sound,
the sudden tring-tring of the landline,
and the rush of little feet and even faster hearts.
Three minutes.
To gather a month of love into a few trembling words.
To speak, to laugh, to belong.
And sometimes, in the middle of it all,
the line would fall silent.
We learnt early,
love does not always get the luxury of time.
And yet, there were moments when life took us closer to his world.
Places where we learnt to breathe,
and then to breathe a little deeper, just to find enough air.
Places where ice had to be melted
just to gather a handful of water.
Places of harsh, unrelenting heat,
and places of quiet, breathtaking beauty.
And sometimes,
just absence.
But we also had our share of joy,
a few years of togetherness,
greener pastures,
moments where life felt almost ordinary.
In his absence, two little children continued to grow,
while in his heart, they remained the same.
But time does not wait at borders.
It carried them forward,
into strength, into dreams, into wings of their own.
Until one day, without announcement,
they outgrew the waiting.
And somewhere between those years,
a quiet voice seems to echo
“Papa, I’m not a kid anymore,
I just grew up waiting for you.”
Today, he returns.
Not to the noise he left behind,
but to a home gentler in its silence,
to an almost empty nest,
to me,
With the years I have lived, stories I have gathered,
and moments I now hold softly, ready to be told.
Yesterday, as I saw him in his uniform for the last time,
something within me stood still.
There was pride, deep and unwavering.
There was an ache, quiet but undeniable.
And there were goosebumps
the kind only our flag can awaken.
And in that moment,
my heart whispered a quiet gratitude to the Almighty,
for every unseen protection,
for every answered prayer,
for bringing him home, safe.
For those who have loved the nation not as a word,
but as a way of life,
this moment is never easy.
But perhaps service was never just the uniform.
Perhaps it was always the spirit,
finding new meaning, new purpose, new paths.
So today, we do not stop.
We simply learn to walk differently.
Because a soldier may step away from the field,
but the nation never steps out of him.
And some duties,
are not left behind,
they are carried, for life.
Simi
Simi says... 