Bali - 2025

I just experienced a beautiful reset. It felt as though a decade’s worth of deadweight—everything I’d unknowingly carried since 2010—was finally lifted. In that release, I rediscovered the softer me. The calmer, gentler version of myself I’d almost forgotten.

The mountains and the sea revealed themselves in their most ethereal form. The breeze carried a warmth that could melt even the coldest of hearts. Strangers offered the brightest of smiles, and the island moved at a rhythm of its own—slow, grounding, and impossible not to fall in love with.

Wandering through orange orchards, swaying to traditional dance forms, mesmerized in serene temples, pausing at picturesque waterfalls, walking through rice plantations, weaving through crowded markets, and standing in awe at the volcanic peak—every moment sang directly to the heart.

There were heartfelt conversations with people I may never meet again, and a complete digital detox that peeled away the chaos. All of it brought me back to my core. My inner self needed this deeply—and finally, it feels whole again.

I Release the Pain of Lifetimes: A Journey to Freedom

For ages, I carried pain—quietly, invisibly, and often without understanding its burden. This pain wasn’t always loud. Sometimes, it came in subtle forms: a lingering ache, a moment of hesitation, a tightening in the chest. Other times, it roared in anger, isolation, and despair. Today, I name it, confront it, and let it go. This is my release. This is my freedom.

I release the pain of being misunderstood—of speaking from the heart and being met with silence, skepticism, or scorn. I let go of the exhaustion of trying to explain myself in a world that often wasn’t listening.

I release the pain of bearing the projection of someone else’s wounds—the unjust burdens of others’ insecurities, anger, and unresolved trauma that were unfairly placed on me. Their pain was never mine to carry.

I release the pain of being unheard and not considered—of fading into the background when I desperately needed to be seen, to be valued, to be acknowledged. I reclaim my voice and my worth.

I release the pain of insecurity, of second-guessing my every step, of shrinking myself to fit into spaces I was never meant to occupy. I am enough, just as I am.

I release the pain of being manipulated, suppressed, and judged—when my truth was twisted, my light dimmed, my intentions misunderstood. No longer will I carry the shadows of others’ control.

I release the pain of being punished not for my actions, but for others’ expectations. The lies I was told, the betrayals I endured, the careless handling of my soul—they are no longer welcome in my spirit.

I release the pain of being left out in the cold—those lonely nights, the abandonment, the exclusion that cut deeper than any blade. I step back into the warmth of self-love.

I release the pain of being hurt by words and actions, intentional or otherwise. The wounds they left no longer define me. I choose healing over bitterness.

I release the pain of me betraying my own essence—of ignoring my intuition, silencing my desires, and molding myself to avoid conflict or gain approval. No more.

I release the pain of trusting the wrong people—not with anger, but with wisdom. Every misplaced trust taught me something about discernment, boundaries, and the strength to walk away.

I release the pain of hurting others because I was hurting within. I forgive myself for the harm done in survival mode, for reacting from a place of unhealed pain. I offer them peace, and I offer myself grace.

I release the pain of holding on to things that harmed me—grudges, memories, regrets, and toxic attachments. I no longer tether myself to what was never meant to stay.

Today, I release everything that weighs on my mind and heart. I unshackle my spirit from the grief of the past, the fear of the present, and the anxiety of the future.

I am free.

Not because pain never touched me, but because it no longer owns me. I choose liberation. I choose peace. I choose me.

This is not just a release; it is a rebirth.

A Place Called Home

The greatest gift my parents gave to me
Wasn’t wrapped in ribbons, nor beneath a tree
It was space - safe, sacred, free.
A quiet room within their hearts
Where I could simply be.

No judgement hung in the warm air,
No expectations, no silent glare
Just voices calm, an open door,
Just love that asked for nothing more
Than that I learn to trust my core.

They knew the world would bruise and bite,
That not all battles come with light.
So they armored me in gentleness,
In truth, in grace, in soft finesse,
A strength so deep, it fears no test.

My father, fierce in quiet might,
A shield of justice, clear and bright.
He taught me “right” is never loud,
But rooted firm, not swayed by crowd
And kindness wears no prideful shroud.

My mother watched with tender eyes,
For joy to bloom, for spirit to rise.
In a world that seeks to cage and mold,
She urged me always to be bold,
A quiet fire with a heart of gold.

They spoke in gestures, big and small,
Of dreams, of doubts, they heard them all.
They never told me who to be,
They only helped me learn to see
The endless worth deep within me.

I owe them more than words can show
My calm in storms, my steady glow.
They're roots that hold, the wind that guides,
With selfless hearts and knowing eyes.
Their love and strength in me abide.

And as I stand, proud and whole,
I know their hands shaped my soul.
No treasure greater could there be
Than to be born from love so free
To be of them, and still just me.

Letter for Me

Dear Future Me,

You made it.

I know there were nights when the silence felt heavier than the air around. Mornings when you woke up, you wondered if the ache in your chest was ever going to leave. You questioned your worth because someone else couldn’t see it—but you see it now. And that vision was earned, not gifted.

The path to self-love wasn’t a soft-lit journey of affirmation and flowers. No, it was a war field. One where you had to defend your heart from manipulation, stitch your soul back together from every word that tried to unravel it, and walk away with nothing in your hands but your own truth.

You tried—God knows you tried. With patience, with compassion, with hope. You gave them more chances than they ever gave you peace. But love is not sacrifice if it only bleeds from one side.

You did the bravest thing: you stopped asking why they wouldn’t change, and started asking why you kept waiting. That question? It cracked open the sky.

And now, look at you. Breathing differently. Loving without apology. Choosing silence over chaos. Choosing peace over drama. Choosing you—not as a last resort, but as a first instinct.

You deserve to be met with gentleness, not judgment.

You deserve peace, not performance.

And love—true, steady, nourishing love—should never feel like a battleground.

You learned that self-love isn’t a one-time declaration. It’s a daily devotion. It’s saying no without guilt. It’s resting without shame. It’s remembering that your softness is not weakness, and your boundaries are not cruelty.

So whenever life tests you again—and it might—read this and remember:

You are not who they said you were.

You are not what they did to you.

You are the woman who said, Enough.

And from that moment on, everything changed.

With reverence,

Your Past Self

—the one who chose healing,

even when it hurt.

The One I Lost

She would have done anything for love. Absolutely anything. And that's where she went wrong. She wasn't meant to be so idealistic in relationships. She tried to craft a love story straight out of a fairytale, but eventually felt empty from the hollow, soulless responses. How much could one extremely sensitive being endure? She didn’t recognize her own limits or those of others. Small gestures seemed like grand offerings to her. She trusted people when they promised forever, when they professed undying love, and even when they vowed to commit after years of waiting—just hoping for the smallest bit of affection in return, given only at their convenience.

I’m torn between anger and deep compassion for her. But I can’t reach out. She didn’t disappear all at once—she faded, piece by piece. No one is to blame, not even her. But I will blame her faith in the power of love. It wasn’t meant to destroy her and create me. I could have existed without this, without her loss. They call this transformation, this growth. It’s meant to bring peace and acceptance, making life easier to live, but she was pure, the embodiment of joy and trust. I will always look back at her—those bright, emotional eyes that quietly longed for someone to hold her hand. If we could have coexisted, I would have fiercely protected her from the world that was destined to break her.

A Milestone!

My first anthology of poems is out!!!

I am so thrilled!

Get your copy here:

Dear Lavender

Addressing Toxicities

She is a beautiful mess. Sometimes it can be quite overwhelming. She wishes to understand herself better. Before dissecting her formative years, it is necessary to declare that she has no adverse feelings for people and events that were a part of it. She rather embraces them with a lot of love. She only wishes to pull out the hidden/repressed memories to understand her complexities. She neither blames the external circumstances nor her own internal changes. They were what they were supposed to be. However, the darkness needs to be purged out. The demons need to be acknowledged. She needs to make peace with those that can exist without scarring her and expel the ones that refuse to stop inflicting pain.

As a child, she used to feel a lot. She was hypersensitive to an extent that she would burst into tears even if a flower wilted in the garden. She was extremely loving and kind. When she was subjected to pain, criticism, and a lack of communication so that she aligned to the worldly version of a perfect girl, she began changing. She excelled in most things she took up, which did shut out a lot of negative words from her 'well-wishers'. Then there were other people who were not her 'well-wishers'. Her worldly achievements were looked upon as threat by this cohort. She became fiercely independent and stopped needing people. But, she was changing. Changing for the better or worse? That has no answer.

But did she really change? Not in essence. But she stopped crying. Did she stop feeling? No. She learnt repressing. She always remembered who she was but she would lash out at the world when provoked. She realized she walked out on people without communication, and was unforgivingly cold. She justified it by saying, she was only avoiding the toxicity of the world but it did get extrapolated. Self-defense turned to paranoia. She wonders, if all those who hurt her too underwent such transition. It is a scary thought because she has always wished to not be like them.

Now, in the present, she confronts her past, shedding tears reminiscent of her younger self. Some regressions prove cathartic, offering hope that she can rediscover her capacity for compassion towards humanity, not as a result of meditation but as a natural expression of her being. Yearning for love and acceptance, she finds solace in the realization that she's not alone. She embraces her purpose and the lessons that shape her soul's evolution, knowing that in the end, we are all fundamentally the same.

Home - A Secret Wish

At 7, home meant the cozy, warm house where mother in her pink cotton saree would be preparing potato fritters while father, in his white kurta pyjama would be busy calculating the monthly expenses. While brother played with his 'hot wheels' in the living room, I would be watching the newly hatched baby sparrows on the electrical box at the verandah with dreamy eyes, fantasizing about a new home.

At 19, home was the shared hostel room where I would be lying inside a blanket, embraced by white noise created by the rain, reading the mushiest romantic novel of the time and fantasizing about a new home.

At 29, home was a cozy apartment, with a partner. A warm abode where school friends and family came over to play poker, and remember old days over a drink and a warm meal. Home was a space which was carefully created with a lot of love knitted into every corner. But this time, I did not fantasize about a new home.

At 37, when I handed the reins to the divine while I rested to heal; it took me to a new home, yet again. Home was stillness, but this time it was within me. Can I say I am finally home? Not yet. I wish for all of the above in this new abode. When I say all, it means the warm, fuzzy shared love, dreams and companionship, along with the stillness within.

Twin Souls

Million births, a million deaths

Uncounted heart beats

Incessant breaths

This arid journey would soon end

When our parched souls will blend.

Fuel of the dreams, of every beating heart,

The unconditional love kissed the earth

And melancholia embellished the azure sky

When the souls were torn apart

To watch life, its Delphian mysteries unfold,

To reach the destination left untold.

The Dreamer's Dream

Faint glimpses of us

Gladdens my heart

Like the tranquil moon,

Its fleeting presence

When the clouds part

On a dark, stormy night.

Underneath the willow

On a huge boulder,

We sat by the river

Looking quietly into the night

As the flowing water sighed

Twas love at first sight.

                                                                                 

In a rainy spell, we laughed,

The joy brightened the sky

Colouring the grey canopy

With soothing pastel hues

The moistened lips quivered

As we had the exquisite first kiss

Staring at the setting sun,

Beside the window we sat,

The vermillion sky witnessed

Our promise, to hold each other

In the warm embrace of love

Together, like the flower and its nectar

Seasons changed, time flew

The spirit of love remained.

We walked on a mossy path

Fingers entwined, souls smiled

Reflecting the bliss, the calm eyes

Spoke of a love that could engulf the skies.

We walked together, grew together,

Withered together,

Sitting beneath the willow,

On the huge boulder, by the river

After seven memorable decades

We held each other and slept forever.

Tis this dreamer’s dream,

To love and be loved

In a way that’s pious and true

Protected by the soul of the Nature

Blessed by the soul of the Universe

Nurtured by the souls of Love and the Lovers.

Thank you!!

A year would end tonight. Tomorrow is a new beginning. Hopefully, a beautiful beginning. I’d like to thank some people for the way they have touched my heart.

Being the introvert that I am, I don’t usually have a lot of people around me and I wouldn’t prefer it anyway. I am not writing this with an intention to talk about my complicated or simple (that’s always subjective) self.  It’s just an effort to express my happiness and gratitude for having  those people in my life. Their presence makes it calm and serene. It’s because of them, my life’s journey has been ‘so far, so good’. I am not an expressive person and too much of intimacy seems awkward to me. Pretty much like ‘Sheldon Cooper’ here. Anyway, I’m sure the ones I love, know it and love me despite it. I share a soul connection with all of them and hence, they are very precious to me.

Ma ( Mommy or Meemow is how I call her when nobody’s around)

My Mother. I am not sure if there can ever be a Mother better than her. But then, most of the children think about their Mothers like that. She’s perfect, absolutely perfect. Unlike me, she smiles all the time, talks a lot, laughs a lot, would surprise me at times with a quirky waltz or her soft humming of a song from some ancient era. That’s her picture in my heart. She’s what a wonder woman is in my ideal world.  Beautiful, lovable, intelligent (she topped in Mathematics and Physics throughout her academic career), progressive, sensitive, a perfect teacher, a perfect home maker, a wonderful cook, an extremely creative lady. She’s all that and so much more. It’s definitely the good karma of past lives that I am her daughter. I have never told her that I love her and I don’t think I can do that any day. All I can do is continue fooling her with the self made medical facts so that she allows me to skip meals and not force me to drink milk (that’s a sensitive topic so let’s just leave it and now this write up is off limits to her). I’ll always yell at her when she hugs and kisses me and I’ll always call her all the silly names I can think of. Thus, I'll express my love for her from the moment I wake up and see her busy completing a Sudoku, going to the school where she is the headmistress, till the time she goes off to sleep after watching some silly(subjective) television series. Thank you Universe, for her.

Papa

My Father. If you think, I am a little grumpy most of the times, that’s because I am my father’s daughter. Well, that’s my poor attempt at humor. We aren’t grumpy. We observe, think more and talk less. We are scared to get hurt or hurt others. That should explain the tough exterior. Softness has to have a tough shell. I am very much like my Dad if not just like him. We are the two quiet people who hardly talk even when we are in the same room for hours together doing the same thing. Yet there is a strange communication, an understanding of vibes so strong that it’s inexplicable. He’s the best father one can have. Ethical, honest, trustworthy, strong, motivational, protective, down to earth, impeccably polite, generous, considerate, extremely intelligent, a good orator, very well updated with the latest technology and an avid golfer. He’s all that and much more. He’s the strongest emotional support I have. Even without my saying anything, he gets to know what I feel. He is the father who’ll leave everything and fly a thousand miles to be with his child if he realises he or she is in pain. I've never been denied anything I've asked for. He has always trusted me and has been supportive in just everything. Though he'd make sure I'm humble and down to earth at all times, he walks around proudly declaring to the world, 'Look, that's my daughter, my pride.' 
It’s because of him and Mom, I know what Unconditional love is.

Pupun

My brother. He is the best human being I know. One would kill to possess a heart like his. I’ve never heard him speak or wish ill for anyone. He forgives and forgets so easily that even I get awestruck at times. I won’t be exaggerating if I say he is a masterpiece of creation. He’s loved by the people wherever he goes. He’s someone who is extremely artistic, sensitive, generous and affectionate. At times, he might be unmindful and slip into a world of his own(he almost got drowned in the Indian Ocean once because of that and is worse than me in receiving his calls) but otherwise, like any other guy of his age, he loves to eat good food, experiments with music( he’s a good guitarist and a good vocalist as well. He almost worships Chris Daughtry.), dresses well and socializes. He has a strong zeal to help people in need. I have seen him going out of his way to extend a helping hand, giving away everything he has even for complete strangers. The little kid, he even helped a thief once, who had been beaten up badly by some people and was bleeding profusely. He missed an important appointment to take the man to a hospital and even managed not to faint (He faints at the sight of blood). When I asked what made him do that when he was running out of time to reach a certain place, he just said, 'It's because that man needed help and I could help him. That was the most important thing to do at that moment'. I was stunned for a moment and felt so tiny in front of him. Yet, it disturbs me because good people like him are always taken advantage of. Anyway, as long as I am alive, I'll take care of him like I did in school. Bash up anyone who'd hurt him :). He trusts easily, which can get disappointing at times but he never stops believing in people. He has just stopped believing that he still has hair on his head.

Thank you for being my perfect little brother. I know I bully you at all times but that's how I am capable of showing my affection. I just hope you forgive me all the time and let me know if I cross the line. (Goodness! I sound like a psycho!)

Friends

Jimly.

My best friend throughout the school life. She was the quietest child in the class and perhaps that’s why we were such good friends. I didn’t talk much. Neither did she. We would sit under a tree during the recess and stare at the people around, content with each other’s company. The other thing which we did was collect resinous exudates from the barks of  trees around the playground. We’d discuss the different shapes excitedly. That’s all the conversation we usually had. But there were days, a conversation would never end and it would invariably be about something which touched our hearts intensely. She is miles away now, yet she is very dear to me.

Thank you for being the sweetest friend a child could have.

Mayurakshi Ba. 

I consider her my elder sister. Not all bonds are formed by blood, there are some where the souls connect in a way that it’s impossible to undo them. I met her in the beginning of my second year in medical college. We were two shy people who opted to occupy the rooms in an isolated part of our hostel, situated on the hill amidst the huge trees. This wing was almost cut off from the rest of the hostel. I was a little terrified of her initially, thinking she too might be one of the sadistic seniors who mentally tortured  the new entrants of the hostel. Later I came to know, she was new in the hostel as well and was anything but intimidating. The first thing I noticed was her really huge collection of books (not the medical books) and lots of music cassettes. That's how we began talking. Books and music brought us closer. When I look back, it seems like she was some sort of a protective pad for me out there. Whenever I landed up in trouble and had no one around, she’d miraculously appear and save my day. She has seen me at my best and my worst. My appendicitis pain, emotional vulnerabilities, my panic attacks, crankiness, silly crushes.. she has seen them all and has taken care of me in my weakest moments. I haven’t met a warmer person. People like her reinforce a believer's belief in angels. She’s one of the finest doctors, well balanced, empathetic and extremely intelligent. She writes really well. She is one my favorite writers. Whatever she pens down is just so perfect that one can actually see what she sees and feel what she feels. She loves potatoes, soy bean and rice. She is mostly a vegetarian except of course she has prawns and crabs at times. The reason I mentioned this is, that's one of the many things I'll remember about her. She’ll scold me if I talk about her eating habits anymore. So I’ll stop here for now.

Thank you for being my angel.

Moitreyee.

Moitreyee is the beautiful epitome of friendship. She is the perfect lady. A little cranky, somewhat paranoid and extremely affectionate. She is the people’s person. Loved by the old and the young alike. Now what do I say about her! Perfection doesn’t need too many words to be described. We share our intense fondness for Romance, Bon Jovi, Chinese food and Good Etiquettes. She would be a mother to me most of the times (she’ll kill me for this). I’ve never met a person who has the courage to love and give the way this girl does. It’s amazing the way she holds people together. The intensity with which she can love, the way she can love without fear, is laudable. She gets hurt too but I’ve seen her rising quickly without letting the fall affect her in anyway. She is one of those people who believe that the only significance of the scars in life is that they indicate how many times you have survived the blow of fate.

Thank you for never judging me.

Mitu Ma’am

My favorite teacher. I lost her to leukaemia 6 years back. I remember the way I would be spell bound when she would throw light upon a topic. History seemed like the most interesting thing on Earth because of her. She’d take out all the illustrative books and explain things in a manner that one would remember them forever. Not only her words, the way of talking, I loved everything about her. That easy smile, the encouraging pat on the back, the air of confidence when she walked, the music she listened to, the collection of books she had, the delicious food she cooked, just everything. Sub consciously, I tried to mirror her. Since she was my Mom’s friend, I was always welcome to her place if I had a doubt in social studies. Almost everyday, I’d invent a doubt and run to her when the other kids would be busy playing. I just loved to hear her talk and listen to all those stories. She would even let me borrow her books. How I miss her today.

You were and you still are one of the finest ladies I know. Thank you for inspiring me to value myself.

Grandparents

Baba

My paternal grandfather. He stayed with us in Assam during my early years. The dreamer inside me was nurtured by him. When I think of my childhood, I think of him. I was a spoilt brat since he pampered me too much and protected me from the wrath of my mother all the time (my mother was a tyrant during my growing up years).  I could get away with just anything. He was my first friend. I’d trouble him, cling to him, ask him hundreds of questions everyday and in the evenings, I’d drag him to a nearby shop so he could buy me chocolates. He used to tell me lots of stories. All sorts of stories but mostly the ones with a good moral teaching. I loved listening to him attentively and had even picked up his Ganjam accent( People from the Ganjam district of Orissa have a certain accent). Dad says I sounded really hilarious. It was because of Baba, I spoke Oriya  with a good clarity  and had a good vocabulary . It amazed people when they were told that I was living in Assam. There’s another memory which makes me smile when I think about him. He used to trim his own hair. Once,  I offered to help and he trusted me with the scissors. I made a real mess. He looked almost bald. All hell broke loose as soon as he saw himself in the mirror. I ran away before he could bash me up. The whole day, he was muttering under his breath that I was the devil in disguise and I wisely stayed out of his sight. These are some vague memories of my dearest Grandpa who left for his heavenly abode in the year 2003.

Thank you for nurturing the good in me.

Bou

My paternal Grandmother. She stayed in Orissa throughout and we would meet her only during our annual vacation. She was an amazing story teller, an extremely knowledgable lady, quiet, kind and very pious. It was her logical mind which appealed to me the most. It was rare for a lady of that generation to be so progressive and tolerant to changes. My mother says, she is the ideal mother-in-law one can have. It is because of her, education has been the most important thing in our family. My Granny encouraged everyone to think, question and then decide for themselves. She was the epitome of strength and was immensely loved by everyone. The day I entered the medical college, she was the happiest person. She told, ‘Nothing else matters if you are a compassionate, hard working and a generous doctor. I don’t expect anything less than that from you. When you are serving mankind, you are serving God’. That’s what she told me everytime she saw me. I hope I live up to that expectation. I lost her to death a month back. I really miss her.

Thank you for inspiring me to be strong and independent.

Aai

My maternal Grandmother. She is one really adorable person.  A hardcore feminist, progressive and loves experimenting with everything (her hairstyle, clothes, shoes, etc).. She is the real star, the style icon in our family. I absolutely love my Aai for she still has that spark, the zeal to grow, a will power that is rare in these times and the positive outlook. She has kept the child in her still alive and the child is so lovable. Often she tells me, ‘Your Grandfather was mean. When I wanted to work, he asked me to sit at home and look after the kids. I feel I supressed a part of me because of him.’ Then when I scold my Grandfather, he’d smile and say,’Those days, it was like that’. Then if I just say, ‘Grandpa, you’ve put on weight’, my granny would yell at me, ‘You shouldn’t say like that, he looks so weak. You should rather ask him to eat properly.' That’s the love between them after 52 years of togetherness. My Aai has a habit of worrying about silly little things. One fine day, I was reading something while she was busy knitting. All of a sudden, she kept aside her knitting kit and said, 'These days, almost all girls have boyfriends. Why don't you have one? What's wrong?' To say I was petrified would be an understatement. I lifted up the book so that it covered my blushing face and I mumbled, 'I am normal, that's all you should know. It's just that I don't have time.' 'Okay', she said sounding unconvinced and melancholic. Therefore, my brother calls her, 'Dukhi Aatma' (translated as the sad soul). She has got another name as well. This one is given by my younger sisters. 'Subhuchi' (translated as 'do you hear me?'). The reason behind this nomenclature is, every time she receives a call, she'll say, hello, subhuchi? (when that's something the other person should ask because she refuses to use the hearing aid that she has been prescribed since a few years)

Thank you for inspiring me to keep the child alive in me.

Aja

My paternal Grandfather. He is a wonderful man, one of a kind.  A thinker, philosopher and an avid reader. It was because of him I had read Osho when I was fourteen years old. (Though it was a delightful read, my Granny was devasted as she thought fourteen was the age to read lighter stuff). My spiritual quest began with that. He was the first person to share his insight on death with me. Me and my Aja have long discussions on lots of things specially about the books we read. What I love most about these discussions is, he is always open to new ideas. It amazes Mom because he never talks to anyone else that much. It’s just me and my elder sister. Other than reading books, he loves eating. He’d often ask me to bake a cake for him, especially the Lebanese cake. I love the way he relishes it saying, ‘very good’ with every bite. He gets upset when he has to share the cake with others. Then he also loves the Oreo biscuits, chocolates and MAGGI (I find him absolutely adorable when he would sit on the table with a bowl and a fork while the maggi is being prepared. He'd excitedly say, 'Now I'll have the two minute noodles.'). He’s a person who has to follow a routine. Exactly at 1 pm everyday, he’ll be walking around the dining table laying down the table mats, indicating that it’s lunch time. Our biggest similarity is, we are very clumsy. Well, he's a little more than me. No wonder my Granny is so paranoid. Even my Dad would sigh when Grandpa bangs hard the car door as he steps out. When I see his picture in my mind, I see him wearing a faded pair of jeans, a colorful t shirt, a pair of glasses in a black retro frame, sport shoes and a perfect smile. Rather a hearty laugh till tears spill out.

Thank you for inspiring me to love my quirks.