Hello my dear readers, welcome to another blog…. today my blog title expresses more than what I have to say.

This blog is a love letter, ripping off a band aid, or applying ointment to my wounds….
how many metaphors do I talk about? I believe I will always have another one to say.

My birthday was 2 weeks ago, I have finally entered my late 20s era. And while I was sitting with myself, receiving wishes and feeling all the feelings, I started thinking about how my last decade looked. What it held. What it taught me.

No matter what generation you are reading this from, we all have that one thought growing up, I will start dating or enter into a relationship when I am 18. None less to say, I was the same….
And then some people end up marrying that first person. In my case, I got an ex. And then another, and then another got adding in the list.

Today it has been a long time since I started dating but things are still the same. I always find someone interesting at first, we click, slowly the pages unfold and I understand, oh God, this is another lesson and not the forever.
And sitting here now, on the other side of another birthday, I think of the What-ifs. What if I had ended up with that ex? Or that one? And honestly, it feels like a nightmare in my head.

Not because they were bad. Trust me, I have not been with someone bad, and I know the terms of bad can mean different things. But none of them treated me badly. The normal human decency was always there. It just did not work out.

Sometimes in my head I relive those moments. I think about them. And my dear readers, I have to say if you have dated anyone and are now in your single era, I am not saying in casual way but those happy moments with your exes were good however there will be a list of reasons why you chose to end it. Please visit that list when the nostalgia hits.

I feel extremely lucky because of all those boys who came into my life, showed me why they should not be in my life, and were like passengers who waited for the next stop and got off. Or I made them exit a little earlier than they planned. Thanks to those who stayed through the hard times, guided me to listen to my instincts, helped me trust myself…. and then left again. You still taught me something.

And through all of it, quietly and loudly at the same time, there were my friends. The ones who carried the light for me when I could not find it. Who listened to me rant about the same guy again and again without once making me feel like too much. All of these situations showed me who my real friends are, why they love me, and why I should love and choose myself.
I will always be grateful for that.

While this blog is my vulnerable side, I cannot tell you how many days and nights I gave to writing this and finding the courage to actually post it. But here it is.

PS to the guys I dated I am glad it did not worked out and happier that we din’t get married.

I love reading books and yes, I have my own fictional favourite man. And one of my friends once advised me, please lower your standards, those men do not exist in the real world. I hear you. I really do.
My fictional men are probably not walking around exactly as written. But there are 7 billion people in this world. Somewhere out there, maybe someone ticks 90% of the list. And maybe, just maybe, that is my forever.

Till then, a promise to myself. Not to shrink for someone else’s standards. Not to regret the ones I dated, well, maybe one or two.
And a decade from today, when I come back to read this, I hope I have chosen myself still.

Also, PS. Its love letter to me and not to my exes.

Attachment. A single word. But it holds so many things.

Nowadays I keep hearing about detachment. You scroll through reels and there they are, tips and tricks on how to be detached, how to keep people at a distance, how to protect yourself by simply… caring less. And as a person, I genuinely cannot understand this.

How do you not get attached?

You are talking to someone every day. Texting them every day. Sharing your thoughts with them, your friends, your colleagues, your parents. And then something goes wrong, something shifts, and suddenly you are supposed to teach yourself to not be attached. And worse, maybe even act like you never cared at all.

Since when did this start? It is not like people were not hurting us before. But acting like they never existed, like it does not matter anymore, why?

Why has texting someone to say you miss them become wrong?
Why has showing love to people become something to be embarrassed about?

You might be thinking right now, why is she questioning so many things, she has never done this before.

But wait a second lets give it a thought first.
Since when we started being an inconvenience to our loved ones?
Since when did we start measuring whether we are too much before we even contacted them?

When I was growing up, I had great friends around me. And I never once thought, am I being an inconvenience? It never crossed my mind, and I don’t think it crossed theirs either. We just showed up. We walked a kilometre more for that friend. We stayed on a call for longer because they needed us. We held someone’s hand before asking too many questions. We cooked an extra meal or picked up their favourite thing from the supermarket just because we knew they liked it.

Since when did showing up for people become the extraordinary thing?
Since when did caring become a favour we are doing someone?

I still feel all of this because I live it every single day.

I live abroad. The people I grew up with are spread across different countries now. Some came here and have since moved back. And every day I make a choice, to still show up, to still text, to still ask how they are doing, to still care. Not because it is easy. But because the distance never made them matter less to me. It never will.

Leaving people behind to go after your dreams is already hard enough. I refuse to make it harder by pretending I stopped caring about them too.

I understand, truly I do, that doing things while your boundaries are being crossed, staying in relationships where you are not respected, that is wrong. That needs to change. I am not arguing with that.

But acting detached just because you don’t want to feel anymore?
Acting nonchalant as if nothing touches you? That is a different story, and a ridiculous one in my head.

We are humans. We care. It is in our nature. Think about it, if you give a prompt to any AI today, it asks you follow-up questions. There is care even built into that. So how can anyone tell me, with a straight face, that the answer is to be detached from people?

If you truly want to be detached, be detached from cruelty. Be detached from relationships where you are not respected. Be detached from the habit of disguising your fear and calling it self-protection.

But do not be detached from people who show up for you. Do not be detached from love, from missing someone, from texting first. Do not let the internet convince you that feeling things deeply is the problem.

It never was.
Feel free to comment below your opinions, voices, thoughts. Would like to know insights of my readers!

To begin with, I want to ask you something, my dear readers.
When someone dislikes you, what do you instantly think? Is it that the person doesn’t like you because you have a particular flaw? Or do you think there might be their own reason, something completely unrelated to you, and that is why they don’t like you?

If your answer is the first one… then my next question is this.

Why do we, in a matter of seconds, already know exactly which part of ourselves is to blame? Oh yes, I know I am not great at this. That is why they don’t like me.

Why do we always think that because of this particular flaw, we won’t be liked? Or that if we just fix this one thing, we will finally be desired, accepted, or chosen? Why are we so fixated on our flaws?

Especially for those who grew up feeling a little… too aware of ourselves. Too visible in the wrong moments. Too invisible when we wanted to be seen.

Since childhood I have noticed people who carry things that the world decided were worth making fun of. Someone who stutters. Someone who cannot pronounce certain words, might have slip of tongue. Someone with stage fear so deep it lives quietly inside them even when no one else can see it.

Believe me…. I was one of them.

In school, speaking up was rare for me. Having an opinion out loud felt almost impossible. While others raised their hands, I sat with mine folded, hoping no one would call on me.

And then I met the teachers who changed that.

They questioned me, pointed things out in front of the class, not to disrespect me, but to challenge me. To urge me to find a voice for myself. They helped me choose to build my confidence instead of questioning my silence. They gave me patience. A chance. And that chance became everything.

But what made it even more special was the people sitting beside me. My peers, not one of them laughed. Instead they said things like you can do it, go for it, take your time but say what you wish to say. I know that is not what happens everywhere. I know that is not the reality for most people. And I hold that as one of the most quietly beautiful things that ever happened to me.

But here is something I have learnt, and I hold onto it still.

Sometimes, it is mostly all in our heads. Maybe nobody is thinking about our flaws as much as we are. Maybe while we are shrinking in our heads, they are shrinking in theirs too.

I am not saying this is the only scenario. But it is one of them. And it is worth remembering more often than we do.

When I think about that little girl who was afraid to speak, and then I look at where I am now, writing her opinions openly and putting them out into the world, I feel something that is hard to describe. Pride, maybe. Gratitude, definitely. These thoughts still come. The self-doubt, the second-guessing, the old familiar voice that wonders if this is too much. But every day I choose to keep going anyway. And I think that is what choosing yourself actually looks like…not the absence of fear, but the decision to move despite it.

I did not get here alone. My childhood teachers, my friends, my parents, the support around me made more difference than they will ever fully know. A kind word here. A nudge there. Someone choosing to stand beside me instead of laugh.

So if you ever encounter someone who is struggling, someone who does not speak the way the world decided is correct, someone shrinking in a room full of people, give them a chance. Stand right beside them.

Your support, the thing you might shrug off as nothing, might be the thing that changes everything for them.

What feels small to you might be the biggest thing that ever happened to someone else.

A NOTE
Some of the things mentioned above, stuttering, difficulty pronouncing words, stage fear rooted in something deeper…can be present from birth. They are not flaws to be fixed or jokes to be made. They are simply part of how some people exist in the world. So rather than finding it funny, why not choose to be kind? It costs nothing. And it might mean everything.

I picked up the pen twice this week thinking I would write something. Both times, nothing came.

Not because there was nothing to say, but because I think I am still recovering from my trip to Albania. Still somewhere in between the version of me that left and the version that came back.

So let me try again.

The past week I travelled to Albania…. and honestly, even now when I look back at the photos, it feels like a pinch me moment. Did that actually happen? Was I actually there?

Back in my teenage days I used to travel to the near by places of Mumbai…local, familiar, close to home. I never once imagined that ten years later I would be travelling to other countries. Dreaming about it? Yes, all the time. But actually doing it… actually being there… that feels so different from the dream. So much more real and so much more than you expected.

The day I started living in Ireland I made a few plans…just like most people do when they move somewhere new. And I started travelling from Dublin. While everyone hopes to visit the more touristy, well-known places, I have always wanted to see the opposite. The places people are still discovering. The roads that are not yet crowded.

Last year it was Georgia, and it was amazing. But Albania felt like a step up from my normal kind of travel.

The person I am when I travel is different from all the other roles I carry in my daily life. There were moments where I thought….no way, this cannot happen. And then somehow it did. There is a particular kind of freedom that comes from being in a place where nobody knows you. Where the people around you are people you will probably never encounter again. That anonymity… it ignites something different in you. It gives you permission to just be.

Whenever I felt doubt creeping in…. oh no, what if…. I would catch myself and think… another opportunity will find another way. I do not fully know how I built that in me. Maybe it came from travelling before. Maybe from knowing that in the past I have faced things that felt impossible and found my way through. So I can do it here too.

The scenery was something else. I still find myself going back to the images just to look at them again. A few of them are below.
If you ever get the opportunity to travel…. please travel. The way it opens your mind is something no article, no reel, no description can fully prepare you for.

That spark of living the way you want, going where your heart says, just following something without overthinking it….it is different. In the middle of a normal 9 to 5, we get so stuck in our own routine and our own heads. A break like this gives you perspective that is bigger than anything you were worrying about before you left.

And I want to say this too….I know it is a privilege to do what I am doing. I do not take that lightly. But the more I travel, the more I see the world, the more I feel that kind and good people are everywhere. In every country, in every corner. That alone makes it worth it.

To more travels!

Well! Spring is here and the days are getting longer.
I love being out, walking, and capturing sunsets…. there is something about that light at the end of the day that just makes you stop and feel things.

I was recently on a call with my mum while out on one of these walks, and we got talking about how things move when someone flies out of their home country. How life shifts. How people adjust.

And then she mentioned that one of her friends had been telling her about her son. About how he had moved abroad and was struggling. And the way this friend spoke about it…. it was with so much worry. So much sympathy.

Poor thing, she kept saying. He is managing so much on his own.
And I just listened. And then I started thinking.
Let me tell you what exactly he was struggling with because this is where it gets interesting.

He was cooking his own meals, looking for a job, doing his laundry, cleaning his own dishes, figuring it all out quietly. Far from home. Starting over.
Now I want you to hold that image in your mind. And I want you to imagine the exact same situation, same city, same struggles, same quiet courage it takes to start fresh somewhere new.

But this time, it is a woman.

The reaction? Well, she chose to go. She could have stayed. What was the need?
Same life. Completely different story told about it.

We did not change the situation. We only changed who was living it. And somehow, that changed everything.

I have been asked many times why I think or act a certain way, and when I share my perspective, people say… but that is not reality. And I always wonder… whose reality? Defined when? And by whom exactly?

Someone once told me I was a very tough woman. It was meant as a compliment, and I took it as one. But later I sat with it and thought…. would a man doing the exact same things simply be called capable? Would it even be worth mentioning?

Because here is what I have noticed. If a woman is self-reliant, direct, not particularly soft in the way society expected her to be, she is difficult. Too much. Not acting like a woman.

And if a man is gentler, more emotional, a little outside what society decided men should be, he gets a different kind of silence. A different kind of judgment.

Nobody is really winning here.

A society built by us, questioned by us…. and yet the moment someone steps outside the expected script, we are the first ones to say…that is just not how things are.

But I genuinely want to ask…who set these standards? Who decided what things are supposed to look like? And when did we all silently agree to stop questioning it?

Patriarchy, and I want to say this clearly, it does not actually favour anyone in the long run. It puts everyone in a box. It just makes some boxes look more comfortable than others for a while.
And I am not saying every country or every culture thinks the same way… but you will find instances of this bias everywhere. In some form or another, it does shows up.

I do not have a perfect solution wrapped up neatly at the end of this post. I never do, honestly.
What I do have is a small question I want to leave with you.
The next time you react differently to someone’s choices, struggles, or strength based on their gender… just pause. Not with guilt. Just with curiosity.

Ask yourself: where did this thought come from? Does it still make sense to me?
And before I end, I want to be honest about something.

I am the same. I grew up in this same society, absorbed the same conditioning, and yes…I react differently too sometimes, without even planning to. You and me are the same.
But I think that is exactly what makes it worth saying. These are not flaws to be ashamed of. They are things we were taught. And anything we were taught… can be unlearnt.

The days are getting longer. There is more light now.
Maybe it is a good time to look at a few things we have been keeping in the dark.

One thing life quietly teaches you, sometimes gently and sometimes painfully, is that not every chapter is meant to last forever.

Some chapters end loudly…. with arguments, tears, and unanswered questions. Others close quietly, almost unnoticed, until one day you realise that a person, a place, or even a version of yourself is no longer part of your story.

And that realisation can feel strange.

We all have ended some chapters in our lives… maybe some friendships, maybe some connections we simply outgrew, or situations where we realised they were mentally draining us more than energising us.

Most of the time, though, the hardest chapters to close are the romantic ones.

Those are the chapters where we spend the longest time deciding whether to stay or leave. However draining it becomes, we often stay a little longer with the hope that maybe things will change tomorrow. Maybe suddenly a miracle will happen and we will be chosen.

But that is rarely the reality.

Sometimes in relationships we see potential. We imagine what things could become. But reality is often very different from what we feel in our hearts.

And in that confusion, we start questioning ourselves.

Was it all in my head? Did I misunderstand things? Did I feel more than what actually existed?

But let me remind you of something important.

Your gut rarely lies. It whispers the truth long before your mind is ready to accept it.

If your inner voice is quietly telling you that it is time to close a chapter, believe it.

Closing a chapter will hurt. It has to. If it did not hurt at all, it would probably mean the connection was never genuine to begin with.

Pain and hurt are not signs of weakness. In many ways, they remind us that we are human, capable of feeling deeply.

What hurts more in the long run, though, is not choosing yourself.

Ignoring your needs, your peace, and your self-respect will slowly drain you far more than the temporary pain of letting go.

Your life is your book which belongs only to you. Some chapters are beautiful, some are difficult, and some simply need to end.

You might feel tempted to re-read a chapter again and again. And yes, you can do that if you wish. But if you do, make sure you truly understand what the chapter was trying to teach you.

Because the purpose of closing a chapter is not just to move on, it is to prepare yourself for a better one.

This blog is for anyone who has lost a friendship, stayed in a situationship, been led on, or believed in something that never fully materialised.

In today’s world, relationships often feel more complicated than they used to be. Sometimes you are left wondering where you stand or whether what you felt was ever truly real.

But at some point, you have to decide how long you are willing to stay in a place where you are not valued, cherished, or adored….where your presence feels more like a formality than a priority.

Leaving may feel lonely at first. It may feel suffocating in the beginning.

But staying somewhere you are not appreciated will slowly drain you in ways you may not even realise right now.

Choosing yourself is not selfish. Choosing yourself is growth.

And sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is close a chapter, turn the page, and allow yourself to bloom into the next one.

Because when you start choosing yourself in a healthy way, you do not just move on.

You begin to bloom.. slowly, quietly, and beautifully…like a flower finally receiving the light it deserves.

And sometimes closing a chapter is not the end of the story.
It is simply the moment you begin writing a better one.

Happy International Women’s Day to my readers.

As we celebrate the empowerment of women, I have realised something: if you are ambitious, a dreamer, an achiever, and someone who wants more from life, you must also learn to be comfortable being disliked. People’s opinions are often just noise….not your reality.

When I was in school, I often saw the idea that being liked by everyone was important. From a young age, we are taught to maintain harmony, to adjust, and to be agreeable. Slowly, that idea becomes part of your identity.

We start believing that being liked by everyone is a sign of success. We begin craving attention and approval. Over time, it becomes ingrained in us to be liked by most people.

But as I grew up, I realised that given my personality, being liked by everyone was never going to be realistic. And honestly, it shouldn’t be the goal either.

There will always be people who misunderstand you, judge you, or feel uncomfortable with your confidence, your boundaries, or your ambition. Sometimes people will question your choices simply because they are different from their own.

And that is okay.

As women, especially ambitious women, we are often expected to soften our edges to make others comfortable. We are told to speak less, demand less, and dream within acceptable limits. But the moment you step outside that box, criticism follows.

And if your mindset is like a diamond…congratulations…you will need stronger filters. Also, not everyone can afford a diamond.

The truth is, growth often comes with discomfort…not just for you, but for the people around you. When you start choosing yourself, protecting your peace, and building a life that aligns with your values, some people may not understand it.

And that is part of the journey.

Being disliked is not always a sign that you are doing something wrong. Sometimes it simply means you are no longer shrinking yourself to fit into spaces that were never meant for you.

Harmony is beautiful. But harmony that costs your peace is expensive.

Learning the art of being disliked is really about learning the art of being authentic. It means standing by your values even when others disagree. It means trusting your path even when it looks different from everyone else’s.

So if someone thinks you are too ambitious, too independent, too opinionated, or too different…take it as a compliment.

Because sometimes being disliked simply means you stopped abandoning yourself to make others comfortable.

How many times have you tried to step into something that could make you grow, make you better, make you feel alive… and then suddenly you spiral?

The what ifs start.
What if it does not work?
What if I am not ready?
What if I fail?

I strongly believe something… whenever you try to move out of your comfort zone, everything feels like it is working against you. And maybe that is the point.

Because if everything felt easy, if everything aligned smoothly, you would never leave where you are. You would stay comfortable. You would never shift into a new motion.

Growth needs friction.

Yes, it will be uncomfortable.
Yes, there will be too many options.
Too many rights and wrongs to analyse.
Maybe even anxiety. Maybe even panic.

But that does not mean you are doing something wrong.
It simply means you are shifting gears.

Things only change when there is force and willpower.

Otherwise, look around. Many people stay in the same place for years. Same mindset. Same routine. Same fears. Not because they cannot move but because they choose not to.

Not everyone will do it. But whoever truly wishes to can.

One thing that has helped me is a simple mantra:

Everything is working for me and for myself.

Some days it makes no sense.
Some days it feels like a lie.
But then two years later, something clicks. And you realise why certain things did not work, why certain doors closed, why certain paths felt painful.

You limit your capacity more than the world does. I say this again it is you who limits your potential.

If you truly wanted to, you could walk on the moon. Maybe not literally. Or maybe one day, who knows. But the moon does not have to be the sky.

For me, the moon is achieving what I once only dreamed about.
The moon is living a life I once imagined quietly in my head. The moon is walking in my own reality.

So go beyond what you think is possible.
Challenge yourself. Shift gears.

Do not let your doubts decide your limits.

Try yourself out. And try not to limit yourself.

Disclaimer:
This post is based on my personal experience with PCOS. I am not a medical professional, and this is not intended to replace professional medical advice. Every body is different, and if something here resonates with you, I encourage you to speak to a qualified healthcare provider you trust.

When I first started writing The Unsaid Diaries, I had a reason — to talk about things we usually do not say out loud. The experiences we whisper about, avoid discussing in groups, or are taught to quietly endure.

Today, as I mark an year of writing, I am opening a chapter from my life that has stayed with me for over 10 years — and will stay with me until the day I die.

This chapter began when I was 14, I got my first period.

No one had really prepared me for it. I knew it would happen “one day,” but nothing prepares a child for the sudden sight of blood and the fear that follows. I can still describe that moment in detail — and anyone who menstruates knows this truth: you never forget your first period.

It was already overwhelming as a child. But what came next, years later, was something I was not prepared for at all.

In 2018, when I was 19, I missed my period.

At first, there was a strange sense of relief. No bleeding. No discomfort. No disruption for a few days.
I remember thinking, Wow — no blood for the next four days. But relief did not last long.

When I went to see a GP, instead of investigation or concern, I was repeatedly asked one question:
“Are you pregnant?”

No tests. No scans. Just assumptions.

Imagine being a young woman — barely out of your teens — being told you might be pregnant simply because your body did not behave “normally.” As if missing a period automatically meant sex, secrecy, and dishonesty.

I will always be grateful for my mother in that room. She stood beside me and said firmly, “Before you assume anything, can you please check what is actually wrong?”

That moment mattered.

A few months later, I was diagnosed with PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome) — also known as PCOD.

Back then, it affected one in every five women. I was not ready for what came with that diagnosis.

Words like infertility were introduced casually — as if a 19-year-old should be worried about whether she could get pregnant someday. As if that was the most urgent concern for a young woman who was still figuring out her life, her career, and herself.

I remember thinking, How considerate — worrying about pregnancy when I am 20 and not even thinking about it.

In 2019, if you searched for PCOS online, you would barely find a few pages of research. There was — and still is — no cure. Just different ways which doesn’t 100% sure anything.

And the explanation often felt worse than the condition itself:
that PCOS exists because women did something wrong.

Too stressed. Wrong lifestyle. Poor choices.

Living on this planet for 20 years and suddenly being told your body is malfunctioning because of you — while you are just starting to earn, dream, and build a life — is not easy to digest.

People around me spoke about how dreadful their periods were. I had not had one in 6 months.

And this is where it gets misunderstood — no period does not mean no problem.

PCOS shows up differently for everyone:
irregular or delayed periods, heavy bleeding, mood swings, weight gain, excessive hair growth, hormonal imbalance, mental exhaustion.

You are expected to function normally — work long hours, manage family expectations, keep going — while your body quietly struggles.

The response is often dismissive: “Take these medicines, you will be fine.”

Most of them were birth control pills. Pills that induce periods, regulate hormones, but also prevent pregnancy, I urge to read the side effects of them and you will never suggest them to anyone.

Pregnancy was never my concern. Understanding my body was.

At some point, PCOS started being compared to conditions like cancer or other major diseases— not in outcome, but in uncertainty.

Those research took decades to evolve. Even today, there are multiple types, treatments, and unanswered questions. PCOS sits in a similar space of neglect — under-researched, under-funded, under-explained.

And people often respond with, “But it is not fatal.” As if death is the only measure of seriousness.

Death is inevitable for everyone — diagnosed or not.
What matters is how you live today, with a condition that affects your body, mind, confidence, and future without clear answers.

As a 20-year-old, I was suddenly expected to manage questions I did not have answers to. My mother thought it was temporary. Doctors were unsure. Information was scattered. Fear was constant.

Eventually, after persistent searching, I found a better OB-GYN.
Then books. Then support groups. Then women who were walking the same confusing path.

That was the real beginning of the journey. One thing PCOS does confirm is high testosterone.

So if you live with it — pick up those dumbbells. Strength training helps. Not just physically, but mentally.

It teaches you that your body is not broken.
It is adapting. It is responding. It is asking to be understood, not blamed.

This is just the beginning. The Chapter One.

If you see yourself in any part of this story, know this:
you are not alone, your body is not a mistake, and your experience is valid.

Sometimes, saying the unsaid is where healing begins. More soon. Stay tuned.

No one really prepares you for the day you move out of your parents’ house.
There is no ceremony. No official announcement that says, “You are an adult now.” It happens quietly — through packed suitcases, folded clothes, and one last look at a room that held every version of you.

It has been three years for me now since I moved out of my parents’ house and started living alone.
And in these three years, I have heard many opinions.

Some people my age and older still live with their parents, well into their thirties. And often, the explanation given is culture. “That is how Indian culture is.” “Moving out is a Western concept.”

I have always found myself questioning that.

Is it really?

Because if that were true, how did my grandfather — and so many others from his generation — move from small towns to big cities like Mumbai, dreaming of a better life, better work, and bigger opportunities?
How was that not part of our culture? How was that not courage?

I sometimes feel that culture becomes a shield — not to protect values, but to avoid discomfort.
To avoid confronting the fear of independence, loneliness, or self-responsibility.

Moving out takes guts.

It means choosing a lifestyle where you are responsible for everything — groceries, rent, cleanliness, laundry, bills, repairs, emotions, and silence.
And yet, in society, it is often described as “cutting ties” with parents.

That part confuses me the most.

Because the more I have lived alone, the closer I have felt to my family — just in a different way.

I remember my mother’s cooking more now than I ever did while living at home. I call her to ask for recipes I never bothered to learn earlier. Sometimes those calls turn into one-hour video calls just to make sure the dish turns out right.

I call my father to ask how to fix a pressure cooker or tighten a tap — even though the internet exists. Somehow, asking him feels easier, warmer, more familiar.

I ask my grandmother how she used to drape her sarees because I want to wear them the way she did. I talk to my sibling — maybe not for practical help, but for gossip, comfort, and shared memories.

Living away has not distanced me from my family. It has made me notice them more.

Yes, living alone means handling everything yourself.
Yes, it is exhausting at times.
Yes, staying with parents is financially easier.

But living independently teaches you things that comfort never does.

It unlocks parts of you that you did not know existed. It holds up a mirror — showing you your vulnerable side, your impatient side, your capable side.
And I think many people are afraid of meeting themselves that honestly.

When someone has never handled groceries, never paid a bill, never cleaned a house, never cooked a full meal — not because they cannot, but because someone always did it for them — independence feels threatening.

And no, this is not gender-specific. It should not be. But we all know reality is not always that balanced.

Imagine two people.

Person A lives with their parents, which is perfectly fine, but has no idea how the household functions. No idea what groceries cost, where to buy essentials, how to manage a home independently.

Person B lives fifteen minutes away from their parents. Knows how to manage a house, host people, take responsibility, make decisions, and still shows up for family when needed.

Who is really more independent? Who is really more prepared for life?

Choosing where and how to live is personal. There is no single correct path. Staying with parents is not wrong. Moving out is not rebellion.

But having the option to live on your own, to experience life independently, while still having parents by your side — that feels like balance to me.

Moving out is not about rejecting where you come from.
It is about becoming someone who can stand on their own feet and still bow their head in gratitude.

You do not leave home to escape it. You leave home to understand it better.

And maybe that is the real growth no one talks about.
I would love to know your thoughts.
If you had the choice, would you move out and live alone, or does living with parents feel right for you?