am i the willow or is there a willow in me?

what do the willows know?

I sat beside a willow today. Its branches swayed with the wind, not resisting, not holding on too tightly—just moving with what came. There is a stillness in that motion, a quiet acceptance that connected to a part of me that i have been carrying for so long.

The willow doesn’t fight the seasons. It lets its leaves fall, lets itself be stripped bare, knowing that this, too, is life. Standing there, it feels no shame in its bareness, no desperation to hold on to what it once had.

It simply stands, rooted, present, alive.

And in that, I see myself.

Pain has a way of pulling you into its grip, doesn’t it? It demands your attention, invades your space, and tries to convince you that it will be here forever. I know this intimately. The past days, weeks, even years have felt like seasons where the leaves of my comfort and ease have fallen, one by one. I have learned what it means to live with bare branches.

But like the willow, I have also learned something else: the roots hold.

Pain is loud, it is relentless, and it seeks to strip you of everything. But beneath the surface, there is always something steady—a part of you that does not waver. In the quiet moments, I feel it. I see it in the small, unexpected joys: sunlight warming my skin after days of rain, the rhythm of a routine I’ve shaped for myself, a warm cup of coffee shared in conversations.

And I see it in creation.

There is something about bareness, about being stripped of everything you thought you needed, that gives way to a clarity you can’t access otherwise. i want to repeat

There is something about bareness, about being stripped of everything you thought you needed, that gives way to a clarity you can’t access otherwise.

In these moments, I have found that creation begins—not out of abundance but out of presence. The emptiness makes space for something new, for energies that feel raw and honest, like the first sprout breaking through soil after winter.

These moments don’t erase the pain, but they live alongside it, like the sun shining through the willow’s thinning leaves.

The willow teaches me that to live is not to avoid the ache, but to be with it. To sway when the wind comes, to let the rain soak through you, and to trust that even in your most vulnerable state, you are still whole.

It is not easy. I won’t pretend that it is. There are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable, when I look in the mirror and don’t recognize the person staring back. I feel the ache in every corner of my body, and I wonder how much more I can endure. But then I remember: the willow does not resist its bareness. It does not mourn the leaves it has lost. It simply stands, knowing that winter will come, and so will spring.

And so I stand too.

I wonder if you have ever felt this way—stripped bare by life’s storms, unsure of what remains. Perhaps you have been asked to carry more than you thought you could. Perhaps you have bent so far you feared you might break.

But here is what the willow shows me: there is strength in standing still. There is wisdom in trusting that even in your emptiness, something inside you is growing. Your roots are holding.

And from this stillness, something new emerges—creation, connection, life. The stories you tell yourself, the art you pour into being, the quiet spaces where your soul breathes and you are one with the infinite. These are your leaves, returning in their own time and space.

You don’t need to fight the seasons. Let them come, let them take, let them change you. And when the time is right, you will bloom—not out of defiance, but because it is who you are.

I think about this as I sit beneath the willow today. It sways with the wind, casts its shadows on the water, and lets the sunlight touch every part of it. It doesn’t hold back from living fully, even as it knows the seasons ahead will take from it.

And I wonder—what do you see in the willow?

Maybe it is a part of yourself you have forgotten. Or maybe it’s a reminder of what you already know but needed to feel again.

Whatever it is, I hope you find your roots. And I hope you stand tall, bare or blooming, knowing that to endure is to live.

Am i the willow or is there a willow in me?

am i in tenerife or is tenerife in me?

This is the time of year when the sun belongs to the south of Europe.

Tenerife—where the weather holds no loyalty, shifting between rain, sun, cool winds, hot winds. Sometimes you feel both at once, the warmth of the sun pressing against your skin while the wind wraps around you with a chill. A contradiction that makes complete sense.

Perfect, for me.

So I stayed out all day, whenever the sun decided to show itself. Holding onto it, knowing it wouldn’t last.

Oh, dear Tenerife,

May you always be honored the way every traveler honors you.

You are wild—

Beautifully wild,

Untamed,

Beautifully, wildly resilient.

Because you created yourself from the ashes.

Literally.

Volcanic soil beneath you, fire-born, yet you breathe life into everything.

You do not just withstand destruction; you embrace it, you learn from it, and then—

You begin again.

Walking through the remnants of prehistoric forests in Anaga, I felt the weight of something ancient. Trees that once stretched across all of Southern Europe, now standing here, whispering their stories to the mist.

Moss-covered trunks, ferns that curled like secrets, mist weaving its way through everything, turning the path into something more than just a walk.

Every sense awake, but moving in its own rhythm.

The silence wasn’t just heard; it was felt.

The quiet carried weight. It lived in the branches, in the fallen leaves, in the air itself.

Soft sounds—birds, insects, the wind shifting through the trees, the occasional drop of water sliding off a leaf. The kind of sounds that don’t demand attention, but are felt in the body, recognized by something deeper than hearing.

Light playing through the trees, filtering through branches in ways that made time feel fluid.

This was, this is, this will always be.

The texture of logs, rough yet softened by time.

They have withstood everything—storms, fires, wind, change.

They have adapted, learned to hold both the past and the present, already knowing what the future will ask of them.

The air smelled like untouched earth, damp and fresh. It didn’t just enter the lungs; it opened something. Like a gateway, like a memory, like a feeling that doesn’t need words.

Anaga was not just a place.

It was a presence.

And then, the lava rock formations—raw, porous, broken yet whole.

Shaped by fire, carved by ocean waves, softened by time but never tamed.

Where lava meets the sea, the sun plays with the water, and suddenly, the waves take on a color that exists nowhere else.

Succulents—growing from the cracks of volcanic stone, roots holding onto places that should not sustain them. Yet they grow, they thrive. A reminder that life will always find a way, even in the most impossible places.

The mountains—standing still, holding the island together like an embrace.

Tall, unmoving, steady in their existence.

Dramatic cliffs plunging into the Atlantic.

Deep ravines cutting through the land like stories carved over millions of years.

Rock formations shaped by time, by heat, by destruction, by rebirth.

Tenerife’s native pine, standing as proof of survival.

Its bark thick enough to withstand fire.

Its needles pulling moisture from the clouds, feeding the land, giving back, always giving back.

Resilient. A lesson in stillness and strength.

The waves—wild, restless, alive.

The wind moving through them, the light playing along their crests.

Foam forming, dissolving, forming again, like a rhythm that existed before us and will continue long after.

The waves reached for me before I reached for them.

Salty, cool—alive.

The ocean moving through my fingers, slipping between the spaces, wrapping around my skin, pulling away only to return.

Light scattered across the water, glistening, shifting—like a quiet conversation between the sun and the sea.

The foam, delicate yet relentless, dissolving and forming again, never truly gone.

For a moment, I stood still.

I am here, I am alive, that I am part of all of this.

Bare feet pressing into the black volcanic sand, hand in the water, the weight of the world dissolving in the tide.

an offering.

an acceptance.

an exchange of energies

Am I in Tenerife?

Or is Tenerife in me?

And then, my beautiful partner for life

Hands steady on the wheel.

Music filling the car, not just as sound but as feeling.

And when the song touches something deep within him, he sings—not because he thinks to, but because it moves through him.

A voice flowing freely, carried by the road, by the moment, by something beyond words.

And I sit beside him, watching the light shift on the road ahead, feeling the wind tangle in my hair, knowing that some places don’t just exist in memory.

Some places live inside you.

Returning, yet never leaving

Taking you on some Journey within Journeys

I had a beautiful trip back home—deep conversations, some meaningful moments, and love in its most tangible forms. But for the first time, I noticed something different.

Everywhere I went, I seemed to trigger a response. A worry. A concern. Almost everyone I met was taken aback by my weight loss, by how I looked.

I hold deep gratitude for every person who showed me care in the most beautiful ways. Your love gives me energy to return to the journey I am meant to be on. And while I will keep coming back to the conversations and moments from the past 15 days, today, I just want to let my thoughts flow as they come—backwards, as I reflect on this journey.

Phase four : Last leg of the trip: seeing the world through new eyes

By this phase, I was a mix of calm and impatience. My energy was dipping, but food-wise, I was doing better than I was in phase three.

Spending time with Neeraja and Omnath, and their beautiful creation in the form of their daughter, was a gift. It was a joy to receive love through a three-year-old’s perspective—her clarity, her articulation, her way of seeing the world with such conviction.

“Abhigna, I’m making four slides for four of my friends.”

And she went on to draw them with bold colors.

Thank you for the care you showed me in Bombay—feeding me whatever I demanded, giving me the comfort of home. As you enter a new phase, I wish you love, luck, and the most wholesome moments in what you are creating. Because home will always be the place that gives you the energy to keep going.

In these moments, love felt tangible in its simplest, most effortless form.

Roshan and Rima—watching you as parents filled me with warmth. The way you both care in the form of cuddles, of saying “I love you” every now and then, of the safety your energy creates. I deeply adore Roshan as a father—the way he exists in a state of pure love, surrendering to it fully. I hold gratitude for witnessing that.

Also, I have to mention the brilliance of Noah—his ability to name jazz musicians from just the first three notes of a song! Pure magic.

Both three-year-olds. Both reminders of how we once experienced life—with complete presence, with unfiltered love.

Phase Three: kinship

This phase was challenging for me in terms of food, but I know I will take my time to understand, articulate, and find solutions.

I noticed it everywhere I went - concern in the eyes of those i love. Thier care came through words, gestures, pauses in conversations. I know it comes from love. I know they want me to be okay.

Time with Mili Bhabhi was precious—this year, I realized something that fills me with joy—she has become my constant person to go to (after Akash). A relationship that proves the joy of pure love. She listens with curiosity, shares with equal openness, and carries a love so pure that it fills me with the energy I need to keep going.

Diki, Karishma, Akshat, Anshul—what a beautiful moment of reflection. A moment of seeing, accepting, and showing care for each other in ways that were free from ego. Friendships that evolve, friendships that stay for life.

Santosh—four or five years ago, we sat in my balcony, talking about the universe, about everything that intrigued me. You were among the very few who truly believed in what I was saying. Somewhere in between, life took over. But seeing you return to that space made me very happy. I look forward to our next conversation.

Navendu and Astha—the power couple. Energy givers in their purest form. Simple, humble, balanced—no malice, no hangups. Just lightness. Thank you for the warmth of your home.

Hanging out with cousins colony is always the most enjoyable time—constant randomness, laughter, the kind of joy that only comes from being around family. Time feels lighter, easier. I feel blessed to be surrounded by such beautiful people.

There’s something about these gatherings that reminds me—joy doesn’t always need to be profound. Sometimes, it’s just in the way time slows down, in the familiarity of shared histories, in the effortless way we pick up where we left off. In these moments, I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t have to be anything more than who I already am.

Phase Two: the home that created me

Food. Food. And home food. Nothing like ghar ka khaana.

Watching my baby brother grow into someone I am truly proud of. I see his maturity deepening, his curiosity expanding, his openness to understanding how to be better. You make me proud my baby brother ♥️

Riyanshi, darling—your managerial skills amaze me.

Kanav—your calmness and your art leave me in awe.

Shine on, my dear kids.

Dear family

I want you all to have faith.

Akash and I are doing everything we can, and we are on the right path.

Believe in us. Trust that we will be fine.

Your blessings give us strength.

Your own care for yourself is all I need to continue with all my strength.

If you are fine, I will be fine too.

Phase One: spiritual

Rajiv and Bhakti, you both are truly changemakers, givers, believers, and everything that can be counted as a blessing for the people you love. Being a part of your home is truly a blessing.

The energy you create together is powerful.

Only love and gratitude to be receiving your care towards us.

Your home found space for me and Akash, and I have immense gratitude in my heart.

As I go backwards on my trip to India, I recall the most surreal experiences from the first ten days of my trip—moments that keep finding their way back to me.

My arms, shoulders, and neck experience surreal energy as I type.

A moment in Rajiv, Bhakti, Simba, and Nitaara’s home.

Where I felt my energy both at its strongest and its weakest.

Where I experienced the energy of divine creation.

As they moved in their daily rhythm, just being in that space, I felt something shift inside me. Words cannot fully express it, but something happened that day.

A path inside me cleared.

It terrifies me, this knowing.

But I trust it. I have already started walking it.

And something in me knows that the direction will find me.

All I have to do is be.

I share what I see with all the honesty I know in my being.

I met my Guru—Prof. Prahalad.

Can any amount of words do justice to an experience that carves the path towards a journey of spiritual energy and faith?

This is something you have to experience to know.

There is nothing that can explain it.

Someone who comes in the form of extraordinary powers, someone who sees and creates based on past knowledge, present situations.

Sir, You helped bring clarity and direction to my journey.

It is a privilege of a lifetime to gain so much knowledge, to find understanding in all that I seek.

To be blessed by your energy.

It is truly a privilege of a lifetime.

The Body, The Reactions, The Trust

Returning to Routine, Being Home

As I return to Berlin, I feel the weight of this trip on my shoulders.

I know I triggered a lot of my loved ones.

I know I have never seen this level of stress in their eyes before.

I want to articulate this because it pains me to see this reaction.

I don’t like it.

It makes my body uncomfortable to know that I caused this.

Yes, you too are witnessing an honest bodily reaction to my disease.

I know it hurts you to see my physical appearance change.

I know I look a little sick.

My body is in pain, i won’t lie, but I have mastered the art of detachment.

And my second visit to Pema reconnected me to my body in a way that felt new again.

While you see my body change, I am experiencing the purest, most honest, most hopeful connection to it for the first time in this journey of chronic migraines.

I want you to know—I am on top of this.

For the first time in four, maybe five years of treatments, I see that I am on the right path.

It will take routine.

It will take time.

It will take solitude.

I have learned to love my own company.

Because in my own company, you all exist too.

Your conversations find me.

Your love lingers in my being.

Your energy moves through my shoulders and arms.

Chronic illness is a difficult path.

Chronic migraines are a lonely road.

But these sessions are taking me somewhere.

India has strengthened my belief in my energy.

I didn’t even realize that I have already been on this path for three years.

I know I am meant to be on this journey for a reason.

the past few days, the past few conversations, the past few moments—

They have shown me why.

I am learning to love like a child does—without fear, without doubt.

I sit with purity in my heart. I stay present as much as I can.

I listen. I believe. I am one with my energy.

Everything—happenings, people, experiences, pain—has brought me into the space I am in today.

Somewhere vast.

Somewhere filled with knowledge from the past, present, and future.

I keep forgetting. But also knowing more.

I keep flowing, but in calm continuity.

As I sit here and type this, I am back at my coffee shop.

My physiotherapy session just ended.

My shoulder and back pain have intensified since the last leg of my trip.

I have returned to routine.

My routine will help lower the intensity.

I exercise.

I do my breathing practice.

I cook meals.

I unpack at my own pace.

I drink my coffee.

I write.

I go back to the knowledge I seek.

And I let the cure find me.

And then, the knowing comes—

The knowledge that my breath holds within me.

The knowledge that flows through my being.

Pain and joyfulness can coexist together.

They do coexist, a lot, in me.

There are multiple energies I can experience, but they all come back to being one.

How does one put in words…

oneness.

This is an experience.

An experience of creation for me.

An experience of truly being home.

Am i Home or Is there Home within me?