The thin fingers that were keeping the pencil inside the compass box, were shivering hard. A classmate who observed this and , added to the scarlet me, and the memory stayed through the years. As a little girl in school, my language writing skills were good. I liked my national language, Hindi. I also loved English language, which was the medium of my education in my country, India. Teachers loved to read what I wrote, but sadly when it came to speaking in front of a crowd, I felt my world breaking. I would sweat, my hands would shiver, my feet went numb, and yet the worse was still to come. After a few lines I would end up breathless. My words would shiver. People around me would hear my shivering words and laugh. It was the same case everytime, infront of my class, a crowd or even a group of five friends. I grew to higher classes and my stage fear grew manifold. A few in the teachers knew about my situation. But everytime a new teacher asked me to stand up and read few lines, I would be in the same dark space, alone. At one instance a teacher asked me to surrender a beautiful essay I had written on happiness to another student as this student was a confident speaker and went on to read out my essay in a competition. She won it. She came and read out my essay in front of the whole school, beaming with joy and confidence. I stood in the assembly and heard every word I had written from her. For the first time I was not hungry that day at the lunch hours. I slowly progressed to higher grades, my shivering hands received awards for both English and hindi literature. Teachers would be astonished at my writing skills. And yet I looked back longingly at the kids hosting on mike, so comfortable as if they were speaking at home. The monster was there in my mind. Looking even more fiercely into my eyes. Sometimes I would blame myself, other times I felt it was my karma. I graduated, shying away from limelight, stage, people. It was time to do my MBA. The fear monster, was now a comfortable resident of my mind. My degree entailed giving presentations in front of class. I dodged my turn as far as I could. My nervousness made my classmates make fun of me behind me. I felt helpless. I had few admirers of my youth too in the class by now. It felt worse to speak nervous in front of them. A thoughtful friend in class understood my predicament and he advised me to practice hearing my own recorded speech. I practiced. It did help me in recognizing the words I was eating in my speech, but speaking confident was still far off. I spent on public speaking books. Strangely I knew the small nuances now in speaking, and yet feared stage. I opted for finance stream, as I knew marketing stream would mean more public speaking. This was it. The monster had won. It made me take a decision I didn't want. I hated desk jobs. Wanted to be the star, but … Done with MBA, I finally landed up a job at a small financing firm. Too much travel and work, I was in a happy space. The fear lived in me. Then there was an event at my workplace. All prospective buyers were the audience. A crowd of around sixty people. My team had four marketing guys and me. Being the only Female member, it was now my job to explain our scheme. My boss looked upon me to present. This was it. Back into the monsters battlefield. All those meditation techniques, all practice sessions felt faint. Can anything calm a thudding heart in fear? And then, I decided, something very small. This small decision which was going to effect the rest of my living. I decided that day that I woudn't bother at all. I will give my presentation the way I can. I was wary of the monster. Only I knew the words in my mind? So I woudn't let people laughing on me or looking at me bother me. I was feeling fine and anxious too in my crimson dress. When it was the turn of my company to present, I stepped forward and spoke about our schemes. I was tired and overwhelmed and just wanted to get done with the thing. I went slowly, was aware of what I was speaking, even enjoyed saying the last few lines. The audience clapped for me. I was on sweat but smiling. My team members felt I was good. My boss was less in words, but appreciative. I felt I had tasted something for the first time. The taste of a mild confidence. I was smiling all the way back home. That day and moment changed me a lot. Speaking now came easy to me. My world was changed. The stage felt friendly. The mike felt inviting. I thanked my gods and all those who helped me in their way. Public speaking became my strength. I knew the audience I wanted to boast in front of, my school and college class, was long gone. It came late. But I was happy. Today I get invited to speak at events. My perspective changed too. I now want my audience to listen to everything I say. Understand everything I have to say. I am not fearful anymore. And for me nothing in the world is as precious as this feeling.

5:31 a.m. I'm sleepy.... NOTE TO SELF: Of course, there will be times when you become weary... Just keep writing! There will be times when words evade you and ideas get jumbled and twisted like the squares on a Rubik's cube... Just keep writing! There will be times when creativity clashes with reality and you are stuck in the middle.... Just keep writing! There will be times when the mother and the wife tango in confusion in the corridor between the laundry room and kitchen... Just keep writing! There will be times when your hormones spike and plunge in a matter of minutes and you are left bewildered and sweltering... Just keep writing... Oh, yes, there will most definitely be times when the numbers don't increase and your stats seem to stagnate... Just keep writing! And there will be moments, like this one, when you feel like you just can't.... But I promise you that if you JUST KEEP WRITING... The lines down the page will prove that you CAN! Just Do It! - NIKE P.S. Special thanks to Akos Peterbencze for your words of confirmation and encouragement in your response to Misidentification: Stepping Out of the Shadow - "You found your path and yourself. Use it! Keep writing!"

A lesson in Courage This past year I had made a drastic change in my life. It has been something that I have wanted for quite some time and I finally made the leap. I was working the corporate scene for over 13 years and the rapid growth that I helped to foster became very overwhelming and one-sided by the owners of the companies. I was putting in 12 hour days consistently and working weekends either at home or going into the office. I had reached the highest level possible for someone that was not a relative and the advancement opportunities were non-existent except for a yearly raise. The workload was more than one person could handle and they were loathed to add extra bodies I quote" to keep a lean department." I presented on several occasions that I am overwhelmed and made the comment that deadlines for projects and reports cannot be met due to taking care of customers first as has always been their motto. I was tired a lot and missed so many family functions that I am embarrassed now as I look back and ask why? My immunity was low from the lack of self-care or lack of balance and I caught every cold or infection that came into my office which made an already hard situation worse. I stopped doing things that I love doing like this blog or other hobbies due to exhaustion for the most part. I had a revelation on a quote that I had seen that I cannot credit the author but it stated thus: "In a battle of egos the loser always wins!" That rang close to home for me because I realized that it was my ego that kept me going for years and the main owners ego was what drove him, a lot of times correctly, however when it came to his eldest and most loyal employees it produced a very toxic environment for the last couple of years. I feel that he wanted to retire and the truth was his son and son in law enjoyed the customer side of sales and did not step up to take on more corporate duties making him feel that he could not pull back on being at the office full time, he is 79 years old. I understand that but I felt instead of yelling and belittling them all the time it was his management staff that he took his feelings out on. His mood swings got to be uncontrollable and after the acquisition, I completed for him for his 4th business in the same exact month that we were implementing a new accounting software program with no added bodies I had reached the limit of my will. I plugged along from June 1st of this year until the end of October when I provided notice of resignation. I presented a graceful smile and stood upright and confident as I laid my post office box keys and the key to the building on his desk as I handed him the letter of resignation. I felt a burden release from me that was immediate relief. I made sure to quickly say this is for me and has nothing to do with money and please do not present counteroffers I am not that type of a person. I made the decision and it was done in my mind and no going back. Well for 3 days I had to endure the owners and Vice Presidents and wives of each wanting to meet with me to talk and ask me to stay or help them thru this project or that extending my notice at one point thru until year-end closings. I finally just said look that only benefits you and not me. The Vice President looked at me and said I understand and yes you are right. After 3 days of silence, they finally let us announce it to my staff. The owners and staff were all teary-eyed and I was smiling at each one and wishing everyone the best and telling them I will miss them, I hugged the owner and did the best I could to train and close out some personal business that I did on the side for the owners and family at the same time. The last day I worked was November 13th, 2018 and I feel like I have had the weight of the world lifted off of my shoulders. I am appreciative of all I have learned and glad that It has opened me up to other opportunities that I can't wait to pursue. I feel like I finally understand what is more important now. Balance is the key. If courage is needed for you in your life also, it is my hopes that you are able to summon the worth that you deserve.

While most students were traveling the world or enjoying their time off from school during summer vacation, I was at home. Sitting in my room with the curtains closed, frequently refreshing my phone in hopes of seeing my schedule for the upcoming school year. I sighed and picked up a glass of orange juice to try and settle my nerves, praying that I wouldn't have the misfortune of getting the toughest teacher in my school: Mr. Smith. Throughout the previous school year, my older sister would come home every day and attempt to frighten me with anecdotes about Mr. Smith's seemingly impossible history tests or endless amounts of homework. “So what?” I responded cockily, “I get far better grades than you, why should I worry?” She paused for a moment. “You might,” she said, leaning towards me menacingly, “But he requires every student to participate in class, or else he'll get super mad. And we all know how much you love using your voice.” I grimaced. She was right. I hated speaking up. From asking questions in class to even calling my grandma on the phone, I never had the courage to speak my mind because of the fear that I would say something wrong. And whenever I did try to raise my hand to answer a question, the butterflies in my stomach would take over, and the overwhelming feeling of nausea would force me to put my hand back down. And I despised myself because of it. The fact that I couldn't start conversations with people, or order food by myself, or tell people what I really thought about their new haircut. So when I refreshed my phone for the millionth time and saw that my period three history teacher was Mr. Smith, I dropped my glass of orange juice and screamed. What if he asks me a question? I thought while walking closer and closer to his classroom, Or makes everyone stand up and share something interesting about themselves? But before I could answer myself, I turned a corner and arrived at his classroom. I peered inside through the open doorway and saw twenty or so kids sitting straight up like statues, their visages completely void of any emotion except for fear. Their brightly colored outfits contradicted the concoction of angst and misery in their eyes, along with the dismal atmosphere of the room. Large, colorful flags drooped down the achromatic walls as if they were trying to cover up the bleakness of the room. I sneaked in, careful not to make any noise, and gently set my bag down next to a seat in the back of the class. Suddenly, the bell rang and Mr. Smith slowly prowled into class, his tall figure looming over all of us while he glared into each and every one of our faces, until he took a seat on a stool in the front of the class. He stayed quiet for a minute before talking about his class expectations. “This class will not be easy,” he said, still scrutinizing our frightened faces, “besides having difficult tests and homework assignments, I require every student to participate.” I sighed and waited for him to say more. “I understand that most of you are scared of speaking up, but I'd like of you to think of it this way. Your voice is the most powerful thing you will ever own, and if you don't use it, you're simply letting yourself down. Who cares if you're right or wrong? What matters is that you tried.” I froze. And in that moment I had an epiphany that changed my life for the better. He was right: what's wrong with being wrong? I was born with the most powerful weapon in the known universe and for the past fifteen years of my life I failed to take advantage of it. Whether it was expressing my political opinions or asking questions about biology or astronomy or literature, I never once used my voice without the fear of saying something wrong. I never once considered that my voice was a unique gift that should be heard. I never once stood up for the ideas that I believed in. I never once truly used my voice. “Hey, you in the back,” I heard Mr. Smith say, stirring me back to reality, “What rumors have you heard about me and my class?” I smiled and eagerly began sharing with the class the stories my sister told me about Mr. Smith's rigorous history class. During the course of that year, I debated whether his class was fitting for me. After all, staying up late studying history is not the most ideal way for me to spend my weekends. But after receiving one of the highest grades in his class from actively participating, I can say that his class was the most enlightening I'd ever participated in. He taught me that a person's voice is more powerful than any weapon or army on the planet, and to not use it is the greatest harm one can do to oneself. I was recently assigned a school project asking what -- in my opinion -- the worst disability is. Blindness? Paralysis? It took me a while, but speaking from experience, I can say with certainty that the worst disability would be to have a voice, but not the courage to use it.

When happiness whispers don't be afraid to beckon its call. Run with your heart facing outwards, You will go on, you have the soul. Take the wild ways not the right ways. You should heed the advice you dream of in between twilight and sleep. Hear your heart assuredly tell you that all will be more than fine, You will be wonderful. Sing yourself a song using only the good notes And in the intricate episodes, when you smile inwardly to your beautiful self, Shake off the guilt like a dandelion shakes its seeds And realise happiness is your heritage as much as Spring bequeaths unto summer. In the windmills of your mind you see mocha hearts, sepia tainted memories of children's shoes and strawberry fields, Laughter shading the soft hum of the midday heat. Heed the women before you and listen to the brag of your own heart; You are, you forever will be, let your mind mend, It is all all right, it is not the end. The only weight you need to feel is the one being lifted off your shoulders, and replaced with another body next to yours. There are no lucky ones. Only the undulating optimism of love, of hope. Contentment arrives at the doors of the humble, the vulnerable, The ones whose hearts plead more at the perishing of others Than the affliction in their own. Affection lacks originality so don't dwell on your verbal incompetence, But instead take pleasure in the blessing that whatever you say will be yours, As words belong to you

I believe every journey has its destination, including our life's journey. We seek something to achieve as our life´s goal i call it as our life´s destination. Some of us will see popularity, wealth, and power, as a destination, meanwhile some others are trying to reach happiness, family, or even passion as the end line of their journey. Our destination could be something that makes us feel safe, satisfied, and just like finding a home to stay. There are nothing wrong or right in setting the destination of our journey, but there will be a right or wrong way to reach it. As times goes by, when we realize what important in our journey is, it could affect our destination too so that we will change our destination from one point to somewhere else. I would like to share a bit of my journey to reach my life's destination. I always think about how I can help others. That was a reason behind why i took Psychology as my major in university. I reached my destination as a Psycholog, but things didn't run as my will. Actually it was so hard to work as a young clinical Psycholog without any relations and also experiences in my country. Some conditions also changed, i had to move to another country with new language that i haven't known before and with a totally different culture too. I really don't have any talents in language, but i keep trying to learn it. Unfortunately and honestly, because of other barriers also, i lost my passion to have a carrier as a Psycholog, i feel like i am facing a high wall that blocked my way and i don't have any energy more to climb or even to destroy it. After a while, it makes me think a lot what i want to do and where i should go. Then i realize now what i really want to do in my life. I change my destination. I love writing since I was teenager and it makes me feel alive and excited everyday. I thought before writing was just a hobby for me. I love to think what kind of writing that could inspire people.. So I set my final destination as a writer from now on. Every destination has its own distance. For some people, perhaps their destinations are only few steps from them, but for some people, included me, our destinations are like a million miles away, so it might need years to reach it and it might also seem impossible, but i believe nothing is impossible if we want to try. What we need to do is just taking a single step day by day. There will be no journey started without any single step. Just like building a house, it starts by putting brick by brick on the ground. It may take months or even years to finish it, but if we keep walking, we will reach our destination. We might lose our hope or even spirit to reach it because of the distance seems so unreachable. I remember something that makes me stronger and encourage me. Have you ever heard a story about "Footprints in the Sand"? It tells about two people walking on a beach, one was the writer and the other was God. At the first time, the writer saw two pairs of footprints in the sand, the writer´s footprints and God´s. But then, after a while, especially, the most hopeless moment in the writer´s life, she saw only a set of footprints. Then the writer asked to God, why was there only be a set of footprints in the most troublesome and saddest moments in the writer´s life, as if God left the writer walk alone while, but God already promised to walk with the writer when the writer decided to follow Him. Then God answered that it was because He carried her during that hard moment. This story reminds me that I am not alone in reaching my destination. There will be hard times, but I will keep remembering that I never walk alone. It´s not only God who always carries me, but also some people who support me, they are my family. The other important things that i learnt from the story is they keep moving forward, no matter how hard the moments were. I believe that there will be those moments in our life, that we we lose our hope in reaching our destination. It´s okay to take a rest for a while, collect our energy by trying to find something interesting in our journey and remembering the feeling when we decided to start our first step and also the feeling that we will feel when we reach our destination. It´s also important to find a travel companion who will always support and encourage us. After that, we should keep moving forward. At the end, I believe that my journey is quite far, but I will keep moving forward. That´s why I keep writing, even though none reads it. I believe that one day people will see it and those people will lead me to reach my destination. I know that there is a possibility also about failing to reach it, but what important is I do my best to reach it so I will never regret the result. I will leave my footprints everywhere as a sign of my journey so that people will notice my journey and my effort to reach it.  

Helping my little brother getting ready for school on a Monday morning, you wouldn't think anything was wrong. He chatters about something on telly, whilst we look for gloves and then we have a lively debate about when his spelling test is. We look through the mounds of paper in his bookbag, it's in two days. My brother isn't too fussed and goes back to watching his YouTube show. Typical school day morning, right? This morning, as the little guy woke up, bushy hair and bleary eyed, he notices his mum rushing around grabbing bags and toys. ‘Are you going?' he asks, his voice cracking. ‘Yes, sweetie.' Immediately, his face crumples and a cry build up, tears already brimming. She grabs him in for a hug, tells him she loves him and that he must brave just like his brother. This is the routine, this is our normal. I hope to God it is not yours. Our youngest brother has cancer, lymphoblastic leukaemia, this is the second time he's gotten it. This time round, the treatment is more aggressive, requiring more lethal drugs and a stem cell transplant. We just found out last week that the little dude is a perfect stem cell match for him. This filled us with both relief and dread. Relief – a stem cell transplant is the best way to treat him and should be most effective, it means there is less chemo and probably no radiotherapy for him and it could've taken us months to find a match from a stranger. On the other hand, the little dude, who is 5 years old, will have to be put under for surgery – which is not without risks – to help his little (3yo) brother. That's a lot of pressure to put on someone who's main concern now is learning the phonic: ‘i_e.' Can you imagine the guilt? Taking your perfectly healthy little boy and intentionally cause him harm to help the other. He wants to help his brother, but it was still his parent's choice in the end to say yes. No parent should have to go make that decision. But then, they've had to face a lot of decisions a parent should never have to. My dad and my step-mum are good parents, they try their best and they fail sometimes too. They take it in turns to stay with J at the hospital when he's going through chemo. Living half your life in a hospital is not ideal. For obvious reasons. You are surrounded by sick and dying children for one, plus the WIFI is crap. J had been home for the past week, to rest up since the last bout of chemo had given him severe illness – he stopped eating and had to be transferred to the high dependency unit for a few days as his nutrient levels dropped dangerously low, there were lots of problems with his guts and there was a suspected infection. Once he's home, he's a little happier, but it can be an edgy time for my parents, especially my step-mum. In hospital you're surrounded by nurses who can help if things go wrong and can tell IF something is wrong, at home, it's your own judgment. Despite this, home makes a nice change, we can all be together like a family should. The little dude, P, can be picked up by a parent from school, instead of a sister or nan or a friend's mum, so it's more stable for him. We can all sit together and talk or play, most importantly, the two brothers can play together, not always nicely, but together at least. Whilst J was home, he still had to go in one day this week, so the Doctor and nurses can check his observations (weight, heart rate etc), to give my parents some home supplies – feed for his NG (nasal-gastric) tube and some various drugs to be given at home (a lot of anti-sickness/laxatives) and finally a big dose of steroids. Have you ever heard of ‘roid-rage? Try working with a chubby three-year-old with a Smeagol-hairdo shouting at you, whilst you're making him macaroni cheese, about his EXACT specifications (which change constantly). Gordon Ramsey eat your heart out. However, that was the middle of the week, I come home at the weekend, and within half an hour upon my entrance, a cheeky chappy emerges from the grizzle. I like to think its my cheery disposition that's perked him up, but I can smell for the fact he's just removed a load of concentrated anger. For the whole weekend he's like a dream, yes occasionally his bottom hurts as he feels the chemo-poo brewing (there is nothing like it, I can never eat korma again!), but he's laughing, making jokes, (why did the banana cross the road? To get squished!). On Sunday we all make biscuits, blue and sprinkle flavoured, we've visited Nanny in our very special blue car and played with their puppy, sweet eh? Sunday night, his mummy explains that they are going to hospital together tomorrow. J says he doesn't want to, he doesn't want any ouchies. Mummy promises no ouchies, but they have to go in to hospital. J thinks for a second or two, then says: ‘I want cuddles all night long and forever.' Wow. Heart wrenching huh? They hug and continue a jigsaw puzzle with some accompanied inane toddler chatter about Blaze and the Monster Machines….