My sister, my grandma, and I spent our holidays in the village, like a little world of our own. Mornings were filled with sunlight on the fields, the smell of baking bread, and the gentle hum of our conversations. Everything felt simple, calm, and safe, until my uncle arrived. He was not harsh to me or my sister, but when he spoke, it was with sharp authority. If we did not do as he said, his anger flared. and my grandmother... she would shrink to herself, quiet and tense, as if trying not to breath too loudly. The happiness of our little world trembled the moment, he stopped through the door. My sister and I hugged him as though we had missed him, but the truth was different. Having known him for years, we had become good at pretending -and that was what I hated most. Pretending felt like a mask I couldn't take off. I smiled and laughed, because if he grew angry, his harsh words would almost always fall on my grandmother. Sometimes I wished I could run away, take a long walks , and spend less time inside the house. But I could never leave her alone. I did not know, what might have happened, if they argued again, and the thought of my grandmother's heart breaking under her son's words kept me by her side. The days in the village would pass slowly, almost painfully. I tried to avoid him in the large house, but somehow, he was everywhere: working in the garden, preparing two plates of food only for himself, or sitting with his friends who were just like him. Each corner of the house seemed to carry his presence. Being there no longer felt like living. It was only existing, waiting for more time to move forward, waiting for the silence to end. At night, when he was drunk, he would come to us, and begin long lectures about life. My sister and I would sit there, listening, smiling, nodding our heads at the right times, waiting for it to be over. Sometimes it lasted for hours. When he finally left, I would glance at my grandmother. She sat quietly, her face -unreadable, but her eyes told the story, her lips never did. In them, I saw exhaustion, sorrow, and something deeper: something unspoken that I could never forget. My uncle was not always this way. As a child, he had been kind, gentle, even a joy to be around. But when he grew older and fell in with wrong friends, something changed. He became sharper, harsher, almost unrecognizable. He began mocking his own mother, blaming her for every smallest disappointment and failure in his life. Every harsh word, he threw at her, left wounds that I could not see, but knew were deeper than any physical pain. My grandmother never answered back, but her silence carried the weight of it all. Not all words are spoken out loud. Some stay hidden in the pauses between sentences. Growing up, I learned to listen to those unspoken words. They taught me more than the loudest voices ever could, and they continue to remind me that kindness matters most, especially when silence is the only language, someone has left.

There are some people you don't just meet. You remember them. Even if you've never seen their face before. Even if the world insists you're strangers. There's a tug, soft but undeniable, somewhere deep in the chest. A flicker of recognition you can't explain. You meet their eyes and suddenly feel like you've come home from somewhere you didn't even know you'd left. It's not a myth or metaphor. Not entirely. It's a sensation, a truth that lives in the bones, even if the mind can't fully explain it. Two souls, connected beyond reason, beyond logic, beyond time. They don't just stumble into each other's lives. They return to each other. Again and again. In every form the universe allows. In this life and in a thousand others. I've known you as a childhood friend, the one who made the world feel like an endless summer. We climbed trees, invented secret languages, and made promises with sticky pinkie fingers that somehow never broke, even after years and distance and silence. In another lifetime, we were sisters. We shared blood, laughter, and matching bruises from protecting each other in a world that didn't always love us gently. You were the flame. I was the earth. We fought, cried, forgave and through it all, we belonged to each other in a way that no title could contain. We've been lovers, too. That kind of love that didn't need to grow, it simply was. A calm certainty. A gravity. Like we'd spent entire centuries learning how to hold each other. You'd touch my face like it was a prayer you'd said a thousand times before. And maybe it was. And sometimes… we were strangers. Only brushing past one another in a train station, or waiting at opposite ends of a crossing light. But even then, there was that pulse , a pause , a brief, unspoken “I know you.” And in that flicker of a moment, we remembered. What makes this bond so extraordinary isn't just its persistence, it's its shapeshifting. Love like this is not always romantic. It doesn't always look like holding hands or sharing beds. Sometimes it looks like support. Like staying up past midnight on a phone call. Like making someone laugh when they've forgotten how. Like being the one person in the crowd who sees them clearly. Sometimes it looks like distance. Like two people growing in separate directions but still thinking of each other when the moon is full or a certain song plays. Sometimes it's grief. The kind that sits in your chest not because something ended, but because it didn't quite begin. Not this time. But no matter the form, the connection remains. Stronger than circumstance. Stronger than timing. Stronger than memory. Some people are not chapters in our stories. They're the spine. The through-line. The thread that holds it all together, life after life. In one existence, we were revolutionaries on opposite sides of a cause. Debating fiercely across wooden tables, all fire and principle. And yet, beneath it all, a tenderness we couldn't name. I knew your ideals before you spoke them. You knew the break in my voice before I felt it. We argued like we were trying to remember something ancient between us. In another life, we didn't have voices at all. We were animals, wolves in the same pack, or whales calling across oceans. And still, we moved toward each other, without question. As if even instinct remembered what lifetimes forgot. In another, we were only energy. Flecks of light colliding in the cosmos. But we danced then, too. A choreography older than time. We always find the rhythm again. There is no force , not death, not distance, not time , that can sever a connection born in the soul. People like to say that nothing lasts forever. But this does. This one rare thing. This sacred string. It stretches. It tangles. Sometimes it goes quiet. But it never breaks. And that's the most beautiful, terrifying part of it , no matter how much we lose each other, we will find our way back. In the next town. The next decade. The next lifetime. The next world. Because some people aren't just people. They are mirrors. They are echoes. They are the other half of a sentence you were born trying to finish. If your heart is tugging right now… if someone came to mind before you even finished this sentence… It's probably them. Maybe you're with them now. Maybe you've lost them. Maybe you haven't met them yet. But you will. Because love like this doesn't ask to be found. It just is. And it always will be.

As I was driving home from our Young Women's Christmas party last night, tears began streaming down my face. Those tears soon turned to sobs, and I let myself cry freely. My eyes turned Heavenward as I realized that my tears were not those of sadness, but of immense gratitude. I have experienced intense pain and anger this past year, but I have also experienced profound love. The Book of Mormon says there must be opposition in all things; that without pain there is no joy. I know this is true; sometimes it's not a matter of recognizing opposites but cause and effect - there must be pain in order for there to be joy. If I had to put a label on this past year, I would call it the Year of Relationships. Or maybe the Year of Human Connection. I feel like I have rediscovered a lost treasure - something that existed in abundance long ago but has been lost with the passage of time and the advent of technology in our ever-increasingly fast paced world. It is something that I didn't realize I was missing until I experienced it, and then it was so profound and so lovely that I can't believe it's real. It is simply the human relationship. I know that sounds weird but let me explain. This past year, my therapist and church family have shown me that my view of relationships is inaccurate. Because of my life experiences, I have a very hard time accepting favors because I feel like a burden, I'm fearful that those favors will be used against me, and I don't want to be a disappointment or a failure. But it turns out that none of this is true, as long as you're dealing with genuine people. Genuine, kind people will never expect something in return or use those favors to cause you shame and guilt. And they will never cast you aside because of your mistakes. This is the meaning of unconditional love, and I didn't truly understand what that meant until this past year. It turns out that when people are truly genuine - when they are kind, loving, altruistic, and have Christ in their lives - they will love you despite your flaws. They will love you because of your flaws. They will engage in deep, long, heart-felt, engaging, intense, emotional conversations with you. There will be prolonged eye-contact, and laughter, and tears, and they will not be distracted by their phones, or looking for a reason to move on. There will be tough questions and vulnerable answers, and there will be love - so much love. There will be love despite the pain, and sometimes the pain will make the love stronger. The pain is what many people turn away from, which is very unfortunate, because they are missing out on the amazing love that comes afterward. We live in a world of disconnection, depression and anxiety. We live in a world where we place our orders with screens instead of people, where we have our groceries delivered to our doors instead of going to the supermarket, where we get the majority of our news and relationship advice and therapy from influencers on social media. We teach ourselves what we need to know on YouTube rather than asking for help. We even take our college courses online. The cases of depression, anxiety, self-harm and suicide among people under 30 is the highest it's ever been in all of human history. Why? Because we've forgotten how to have relationships with people. Genuine relationships. Relationships that involve love and laughter and vulnerability and trust and dependability. I cried with gratitude last night because of the love and beautiful human connection I experienced at the Christmas party. I witnessed a room full of teenage girls sitting together - talking, laughing, hugging, expressing gratitude, singing - and not a one of them on their phones. I witnessed adults smiling and laughing and helping each other with children and dishes and carrying armloads of items to cars. I also cried because of the therapy session I had been to earlier that day with a close relative, where we had finally surmounted all the pain we'd suffered this past year. This was how it used to be! This is how we as the human species are supposed to be! We are supposed to be out in the world, interacting with each other, rejoicing with each other during the good times and working through the tough times. We are not supposed to be sequestered inside, spending the majority of our waking hours staring at screens. As much as I love my beautiful relationships here and this discovery of what healthy, genuine relationships look and feel like, I know it was preparatory work for moving to Kentucky. I am moving to Appalachia, where life moves a little slower, where there is more emphasis on human connection and less on keeping up with the world. It will be a culture shock, but I know it will be beautiful. My wish for the human race this next year is that we learn to reconnect, to rediscover what it means to be in healthy relationships with one another. It is the only way we're going to survive and thrive.

Couples therapy is focused on enhancing communication and resolving conflicts between partners in a romantic relationship. It helps strengthen the bond and intimacy between two individuals. In contrast, family therapy addresses the broader family dynamic, including how relationships between parents, children, and extended family members impact each other. #Therapy #Relationships For more info visit here - https://innerclarityllc.postach.io/

Rae stood on the threshold, peering down into the eyes of her beloved dog, the dog she had adopted one year ago and promised to love forever. His eyes broke her heart. He knew she was hurting. He knew she was leaving - and that almost tempted her to stay - again. She wished she could make him understand why. “Why does this feel like you're leaving for good?” her fiancé asked her. Because it is, she didn't answer out loud. She offered a weak smile through her tears and kissed him one last time. “I'll see you in a week,” she lied, and closed the door behind her. With her head held high and fists clenched, she silently got in her car and backed out of the driveway. It wasn't until she was around the corner that she let the sobs escape. Once released, they came forth in violent waves – months and months of heartache, frustration, anger, despair, anxiety, depression, confusion, fear, grief. She cried so hard she gasped for breath and her tears blurred her vision, but she couldn't stop - not this time. She had to keep going. She had turned around so many times before. It had to be for real this time. Episodes from their 14 years together replayed in her mind – scenes she'd replayed over and over again, analyzing every harsh word exchanged, wondering for the millionth time if she had over-reacted. But even if she had, did his words and actions have to make her feel so horrible? She'd let it slide for 14 years. She'd made up excuses for him – he'd been neglected by his father and bullied by peers, so it made sense that he always had to be right, that he was constantly trying to prove himself. She could forgive that. She could forgive his bossiness, his need to be in control, his double standards. She could forgive that he sucked at romance and thoughtful gifts. She could forgive a lot of things, and she had, for a long, long time. But then they bought a house, and got a dog, and they both had careers they loved, and she'd asked him (again) if they could get married…and he said no. That's when she finally started to realize that there would always be excuses, because he was a controlling, emotionally abusive, narcissistic asshole. That's when Rae had come to the incredibly painful realization that she had to leave. She had to somehow let go of the last 14 years of her life and find a way to move forward on her own, no matter how terrifying it might be. An hour later she arrived at her cousin's, who greeted her with a kind hug and showed her to the spare bedroom. A twin air mattress and small table had been set up in between the closet and the rabbit cage. This was going to be her living space for the next several months. Deciding to embrace it, Rae set down her luggage and drove across the street to the Walmart to pick out some bedding. Standing there in the aisle, viewing all the options, she couldn't help but smile. Is this what freedom felt like? She couldn't remember the last time she'd gone to the store by herself, let alone picked out something she wanted, without his opinions and insults of her tastes, and his disgusting misuse of the word “compromise". There had never been any compromising with him – it had just been him convincing her why his idea was better. Nothing had ever been good enough for him if he wasn't the one to make the decision. Selecting a blue and purple sheet set and a small lamp, Rae made her way to the check out with a little skip in her step. Back at her cousin's apartment, she reflected on how amazing it felt to actually have a space to call her own - just hers. She realized that this feeling she was experiencing - this feeling of inner peace and safety, of self-expression - was what she had been missing for so long. Was it the absence of this feeling that had driven her to therapy and antidepressants? Was it really as simple as just having your own space? Rae didn't sleep that night. She was too anxious; excited for the new sense of freedom and positive experiences that lay before her, but also dreading the grief and despair she knew she would have to endure in order to heal and move on. A few days later, she drove two hours to the airport. She parked her car in the long-term parking lot and boarded a shuttle. She checked in for her flight, received her ticket, and found her way to her gate. All by herself. After boarding the plane and finding her window seat, she sent a selfie to a friend. They responded, “You look happy.” Gazing out the window, Rae realized that she was, in fact, happy. Deeply, authentically happy. More than that, she knew that this was the first of many amazing adventures she was going to take herself on. She was a strong, amazing, independent woman, and she was going to be okay.

Divya Siva Prakash is the sister of Sasi Krishnasamy and she was born on January 31, 1988 in Coimbatore Tamilnadu. Divya has been married to Siva Prakash since August 23, 2011. They have two children Named of Jai Hari and Sudarshan. Divya Siva Prakash is the one of entrepreneur in Tiruppur

Sasi Krishnasamy Teachings about Relationships Sasi Krishnasamy is a spiritual guru and social activist who founded the Ayngaran Foundation, an organization that aims to empower and uplift the underprivileged communities in India. He is also a mindfulness teacher who has helped many people find inner peace and happiness. His teachings on relationship are based on the principles of mindfulness and self-awareness, and he believes that true happiness and fulfilment come from within. Some of the key aspects of his teachings on relationship are: He encourages people to cultivate a deep sense of self-love and self-acceptance, as this is the foundation of any healthy and harmonious relationship. He says that by loving and accepting ourselves, we can also love and accept others without judgment or expectation. He advises people to practice mindfulness and awareness in their relationships, as this helps them to be more present, attentive, and compassionate towards their partners. He says that by being mindful and aware, we can also avoid unnecessary conflicts and misunderstandings, and communicate more effectively. He suggests people to embrace the imperfections and differences in their relationships, as this is what makes them unique and beautiful. He says that by accepting and celebrating the diversity and uniqueness of our partners, we can also enrich and enhance our own lives. He urges people to nurture and support their partners' growth and development, as this is what makes them happy and fulfilled. He says that by encouraging and empowering our partners to pursue their dreams and passions, we can also share in their joy and success. These are some of the main points about Sasi Krishnasamy's teachings on relationship. I hope this summary helps you to understand his perspective and philosophy better.

Sasi Krishnasamy is a spiritual guru and social activist known for founding the Ayngaran Foundation in Palani, Tamil Nadu. He was born on January 22, 1984, in Palani and later moved to Coimbatore. Sasi Krishnasamy is married to Gokila Sasikrishna, and they have two children: a daughter named Sowmiya Sasikrishna and a son named Gowtham Sasikrishna. He has a strong family background with his father named Krishnasamy and his mother Nageshwari. Additionally, he has a sister named Divya Siva Prakash. The Ayngaran Foundation focuses on meditation, education, research, and cow donation to support families in need. For more information, you can visit his website at www.sasikrishna.org

I look over the students one at a time: there sits the one with yellow blouse, long dark hair, there the two (seem to be intimate friends) one with yellow short hair, blue eyes, with a short with a knot and the one with black curly hair with imposed facial expression, engaged in an animated conversation in low tone, looking over me once in a while. With Black hair, like a straw, and an oddly matched blouse and a skirt, I feel intimidated inside ‘will i ever get to be friends with them?'. Part of me propels me to think so, because it craved for such friendship so long after the lockdown. My storming thoughts are fueled by Tim – our English teacher at this education center – as well as the founder, leaving me with the question ‘Will I ever get to be a good student of his?'. ‘I'm not coming for the next lesson' I say, with fear piercing through my mind. ‘I wanted to try out another education center, but if I don't like it, can I come back?' Maybe because I was trying my best to be a responsible, honest, and loyal student, or maybe because I expected him to confirm that he is okay with that because he is sure of the quality of education he is providing for students, I was struck when he said ‘no' that easily. ‘You can go, but then you have to leave, we don't take back students who left us'. While part of me grew outrageous for his unfair and biased judgment, I couldn't resist the fear of losing a teacher, even if he doesn't seem to be promising. ‘Why not?' I go on. ‘Because this is how it works'. I had sort of promised myself not to expect anything from anyone after my big disappointment from my other education center teacher, whom I overly respected, who I saw as one of the closest people to myself that I expected him to care about. At least I was his best student before quarantine. At least he had taught me for 2 years. At least for the sake of all the laughter and jokes we shared with my groupmates and that teacher. But when the quarantine started, when my world turned upside down, I realized that it was all my fantasy – a teacher caring for a student. It was only after I fought with my bias and realized that a teacher is just a teacher and a student is just a student – expect no more, and if you don't pay, you're now not even a student, you're an outsider. Therefore I had sort of promised myself not to expect anything from any teacher other than just the lesson, but still the easiness that that ‘no' came with once hit me hard, extinguishing my last bit of hope towards intimacy, kindness, and caring for others. As I go home, I nail to myself over and over again my father's words “in this world, nobody but your family (parents, grandparents and siblings), cares for you”. ‘Well, maybe this is becoming strong – you accept there is nothing like proximity, kindness, and care in your relationships with others''. I was totally tired. Tired of believing in the existence of love of teachers, friends, other than family members. I accepted. In this world, everybody is for themselves. This black and white is what the world is. I learned to be cold and keep the distance with others all the time. Until I met my other English teacher, who is now a motherly figure for me. She melted the ice in my heart and convinced me that we're not just teacher and student in the classroom and strangers outside it, but we remain teacher and student anytime, anywhere, and in any case. She convinced me that I could actually turn to my teachers, friends, not just my family when tough times come. I was hesitant as to her intimacy in the beginning after it all happened. But over her closeness with her other students, caring for them like their mother, and trying to bond the students and make them like siblings, I felt love, care, and kindness. The image that my father described, my experience with previous teachers echoed, the one that is black and white became full of color – vibrant colors. Today, I look back and always try to remind myself, when I'm struggling with my academics, that there is love, care, and kindness; life is not just black and white. True, not everyone can paint it, but that doesn't necessarily mean people who can bring colour don't exist. They do, you just need to keep believing in and meeting them someday.

Before the pandemic, I lived in New York City. On one of my mom's visits, we were sitting side by side on the subway heading downtown. I think we were talking about what to do about dinner that night. Suddenly she turns and asks me, “so, how many men have you slept with?” I'm used to questions like these coming out of the blue. Luckily, she says it in Greek. I began to argue with her, also in Greek, in a half-empty subway car, in the middle of the afternoon… about sex. Particularly how it wasn't really any of her business. “You came out of me,” which is her argument whenever I ask for privacy. Which I'm certain is a Greek thing. “Just tell me that there have been men!” She shouted. Was she asking if I was a lesbian, or if I was a virgin? “It's just sex, it's like a sausage going in and out, it's no big deal.” She was calling me a prude. “Okay, please stop talking, I have had sex,” I might have shouted in English, my mother then sighing in relief and going quiet. I would be remiss if I didn't say this is how most of our conversations go; me exasperated and mortified, she going silent or moving on to some sort of small talk. Our relationship has always been a tug and pull, mainly between my mother's traditional Greek ideas and values, and my yearning to be just like any other American Girl. My mother only come to the country in her early twenties, newly married, and not knowing one word of the language. Even so, she adapted to some American thinking and raised her three daughters with notions of getting an education, being independent, and never having to rely financially to anyone; especially a man. But some of the greek traditional ideas leaked through now and again. And then the entire world stopped. I was in New York when the pandemic came to the United States. We quickly became the epicenter of the crisis, sirens wailing at all hours, make-shift hospitals being pitched up in Central Park, and millions of people all around us completely devastated. It became too much for me. I started having panic attacks, not sleeping, and worrying about how I was going to survive. New York is expensive at the best of times, so I decided that it was best to move back home to save money. So I'm back in my childhood bedroom living with my mom and our cat Violet. I'm 30. I quickly had to set some ground rules. See, mom doesn't really know what a closed door means. She comes into my room without knocking. This would not work if I was in the office in the middle of a zoom meeting or filming a self-tape or writing. So I had to explain if the door is closed, you cannot come in. No, you cannot come pee while I'm showering. Have I mentioned my mom is bad with boundaries? She thinks I'm messy because I leave plates in the sink and she has accused me of loving Violet more than her. We've had a lot of difficult talks. Some even about sex. I told her about a guy I invited to stay over after we stayed out really late; how he offered to sleep on the floor and that nothing had to happen. “So he slept on the floor, did you give him enough blankets?' “No Mom, he slept in my bed because I wanted to have sex.” My mom shuttered. “I thought you wanted me to tell you about this stuff?” “Yes, but not all at once, Niki.” She's learned about online dating which she calls appointments for sex. Which I encourage because it's hysterical. On our family trip to Greece the summer I was 13, my aunt, my older cousin Eleni and I were sitting in a cafe. A really obnoxious sports car drove by, I think it was lime green, and my cousin said how much she liked it. Without a second thought, my aunt told my cousin, “if you marry a rich man maybe he'll have a car like that and you can ride in it.” I was shocked, so I asked my aunt, “why couldn't Eleni get a car like that for herself?” She looked at me with pity, “that's harder for girls to do.” My mother would never have said that to me. If I wanted a fancy lime green Ferrari she would say, “you'll have to work very hard.” I realized how different the two women were. My aunts do not know how to drive a car, they don't own their own property, do not have a bank account separate from their husbands, and don't work. Leaving in her early twenties made all the difference, not just in how she carried herself and lived her life, but how my mother raised her daughters. I'm brave because she was. I'm moving back to London in September and my mom is not very happy about it. She's just always going to worry about me when I'm somewhere alone with only me looking out for me. That's just the way it's always going to be, because I'm her kid. We keep having our hard talks, she keeps walking into my office without knocking. But we make sure we have an outing every Sunday, and she makes me laugh because she's the funniest person I know. And we talk. I haven't told her how many men I've slept with but I put the dishes in the dishwasher now. She's still learning about boundaries. And that's okay.

I'm a female manipulator Something I've come to terms with It's easier than you think Call a boy pretty once He's yours forever I feel justified in my behavior Man after man lying to me when I didn't know better I lash out and retaliate after pain I take it out on others But I'm not hurting the ones that hurt me After years of constant disappointment I'm wounded I feel justified in my behavior Because my type is not-great people Almost a vigilante Except I forget I'm perpetuating a cycle People hurt people because they were hurt themselves By someone else in this pattern of abuse I feel justified in my behavior I'm open about this fact Right away I warn that I'm a bad person Run, if you don't want to be led on because of my confusion I don't feel justified in my behavior Some of them are innocent Great people But they give me the attention I so desperately crave So I hold the carrot and push them away with the stick I don't feel justified in my behavior Because I don't feel anymore Any remaining shred of vulnerability, trust, and whatever the hell else Has been stripped away from me I wish I could fall in love Instead of constantly doubting if I even like this person Allowing for vulnerability, even to myself It is even worse to not know how you feel Than to feel it I would sacrifice myself to constant disappointment For even half a chance of some kind of emotional stability I'm consciously aware of what I need to change Except I can't It feels better to inflict some of my misery on others I don't want to process it Relive and put myself through more trauma A knife in a wound can't be pulled out Otherwise you're gone Be patient, wait for a doctor I've been stabbed Some of the wounds so old they've begun to heal around the blade I haven't arrived at the hospital yet Only loaded onto the EMS gurney I'm a female manipulator And I'm sorry for those I've hurt

If you're lying, You are incredulous You allow penny truths to spit off your tongue Into my slot machine heart The rush of a gamble on love, The rush of winning or losing Why aren't you perfect? You showed me you were perfect. What did I do to change things? The wrath of my embarrassment is closing in I thought I'd want you to own my flesh and bone Soul, body, and mind I don't know if I believe you I do know I love you Without you I am not me

I scrolled up to reload my Instagram feed, only to be disappointed by the same post I had already liked and an array of grey, unlit profiles on top. I've officially ticked off one of my ridiculous quarantine goals, which was to swipe past every Instagram story of almost 300 people that I followed. It was oddly satisfying to have nothing left to browse on Instagram, for now, I could tuck away my phone knowing the lives of all the people I knew were as uninteresting as mine was. I switched off my phone and stared blatantly into space. Once upon a time, I would have covered up my feelings with an unwavering gentle smile. Nowadays, I let myself bathe in the complex emotions of the world. My eyes watered after seeing videos of old couples trying to sense each other's warmth through layers of plastic and frowns appear on my forehead when looking at the number of Covid cases rising by the minute. Laughter also came more easily as I realized the foolish beam spreading across my face everytime the leaves rustled to the wind. It was idiotic to bury down these overwhelming but pure emotions. Undoubtedly, I felt more at peace at home. No small talk, forced laughs or lame excuses to escape from social gatherings anymore. My introvertedness loved the pandemic a bit too much for me to admit. Yet, I despised it. The absence of chaos outside was so loud that the storm inside my head raged stronger. I could hear every penny of my thoughts, smell the saltiness of my tears and taste the darkness of my nightmares. It was the quietness of no new text messages, no deadlines to be met, rare greetings and farewells during online classes that threatened my happiness during times I'd thought would be healing. Yesterday, I dreamt of her again. She was holding my hand and wondering if I knew how much she loved me. Like every other dream I've had in the past week, she appeared so gracefully and erased all my worries. Even when dreaming, I knew it was just an illusion created from my longing to see her, but I firmly held onto the vivid imaginary moments of affection. If only we were as close as before, she wouldn't be lurking at the back of my mind. The random conversations we used to have about whether ketchup was better than mayonnaise or what the best Harry Potter house duo was seemed so distant. Everyday, I'd revisit our text messages and reminisce about the light-hearted talks, only to be reminded by the most recent text I'd sent, which she'd left hanging. That was six days ago. Like any other introvert, I prefer deep conversations to awkward chats. Until I found the perfect conversation opening, I held back from texting her. Scared I was, that if the text chain ended abruptly, I'd be even more skeptical of our bond. Would we ever again have those conversations where you simply can't text fast enough or where we keep talking over each other? Whilst waiting on the one person that could make me feel better, I lost touch with everyone else. People stopped asking me how I was doing after my absentminded responses, and for the first time, I felt alone and lonely at the same time. For someone who had occasionally avoided messages for days with no remorse, I didn't fathom how empty it felt to be out of touch with the world. The 'tranquility' of quarantine made my mind run wild with doubts. With no one to talk to, I overthought every detail of my life and visualized the worst possible scenarios from what could only be a perfectly normal situation. If silence had always kept me anchored amongst the fast-paced beat of the city, this kind of stillness rocked me like a ship on the perilous sea. I started to miss the bus tickets that led us to the city outskirts, where birds chirped and flamboyant trees grew as quickly as wildflowers and as passionately as the heat of summer. I convinced myself that I was just trying to escape from the tragic news headlines and my phone, yet, deep inside, I knew I was nostalgic for that one time she coaxed me into hopping on a random bus to see where it would lead us. Our spontaneity had guided us to 'our spot', which we immediately claimed the moment we laid eyes upon it. Maybe, I desired to be my old self again, the one that was so proud of her introversion and wasn't afraid to express her love to those that meant the world to her. The one that wasn't frightened of silence. To the eye of many, introverted people lived through quarantine as if it were their honeymoon, but social distancing tore us away from what kept us sane: stability. To feel uncomfortable in our own skin left our souls homeless. Nonetheless, it got better. The corners of my mouth twitched in amusement as I saw the notification for a new message. It said, "I miss you loads, wish Covid never happened", with a sad emoji on the side. It was the perfect text, for I also yearned to tell her the same.

It is not my right to say that I have come to conclusions about everything in life. However, there is a thing that keeps me always alert about relationships. It is a simple but very delicate thing called trust. There is always a part of our heart that goes with the person we trust to. Here I do not mean only our life partner or friends. Our siblings, parents, blood relatives, and all people we have known for the longest time could be the people we end up concealing our feelings from. Things like we crave to share, meanwhile realizing they will misunderstand us. Ironically, we trust our feelings or thoughts to some strangers on social media by sharing Instagram stories about our state of mind, composing heartfelt posts on Facebook, or via other means of social communication. Some of us block a family member on social media in the first place just because we do not want to explain the reasons why we do not trust them. Sometimes, the people we care about the most turn out to be the people we cannot wholly trust. Just think about it.

4 YEARS OF HORROR LIVING A TOXIC LIFE It was still a mystery how something good turned so sour in just a few years. It felt almost like a switch was flipped off and his humanity was automatically turned off, turning him into a monster of the worst kind. How had I endured all of this for so long?? I felt drained and exhausted from constantly checking my actions to avoid any flaws or mistakes that would unleash the demon in him. Being mentally frustrated was not enough to explain how dehumanized I felt; I was practically scared of my own skin and was always wired to bolt from the slightest scare. How could a man drag a woman's pride in the mud, destroy her self esteem, brutalise her personality and still expected her to love him completely ?? What a toxic world I lived in. My name is Neni and I was trapped for four years of my student life. 2015 *** Stepping into my biology class for the first time felt good because it meant I was grown up enough to handle my life and take care of myself. I have been set free from the shackles of my parents and I had the world at my feet and the heavens just above my head. In my euphoric state I was ecstatic and crazy enough to think if I just reached out my hand I could touch the heavens above and make my wishes come true. More like my worst fears came to life. Meeting Simon was not as dramatic as first love's seem to emphasize. He was my lab partner during computer class and we sort of bonded over trivial discussion while I admired how beautifully created he was. He was very funny, goofy, knew how to charm a woman and make her swoon,very persuasive in a romantic way and was as considerate as any first year student could be. We made time to see each other outside of classes which proved difficult because of our different time tables, class schedules, hostel rules and everything beyond but we tried as much as we could to hang out during games in the evenings. He asked me to be his girlfriend on matriculation day and I gleefully accepted with all my immature heart fluttering and goosebumps lining up my arms which sent chills down my spine, making me feel I had found my missing rib. Four year down the line and it still remained the worst decision of my entire adult life. 2016 *** "Simon, have you seen my ATM card"?, I can't find it anywhere. I lamented bitterly because I needed to use the money my parents sent to me to pay off my school debts. "Yes babe" I have it with me and I need to use some of the money to clear up some stuff I got tangled in, he replied casually. What!! Exactly what are you talking about?? How can you even say such a thing. Please hand over my card I said with my hands outstretched. The vibration from the slap I received gave me nosebleeds and I literally fell to the floor. "Don't you ever question my decisions in this relationship ever again" he yelled and stomped out. I sat down on the cold tiled floor in my shorts and bloodstained white tank top feeling like a hammered drunk, dazed and too useless to move. Ladies and Gentlemen, that was the beginning of many more scary abuses to come. I was currently leaving with simon because we couldn't bear to be apart from each other even for a minute and he didn't want the restrictions the hostel presented so I partially moved in with him in my second year. I remember how loving and caring he was during our first year together, how he lavished me with tenderness and love. He holistically adored the ground on which I walked and worshipped at my feet. He loved my body like it was his, he adored every part of me, reverenced my core, bowed before my gates, asked permission before taking charge and took me on a ride of ecstasy and over the edge with a mastery that only he could perfect. We understood each other perfectly well, we didn't envy others and were content with everything we had until he wasn't. Simon became more cranky, lost interest in school, pilfered some money here and there, made excuses for his absences and spent all his time in the gambling den. The days he didn't win were the worst of them all. Full Story Here: https://www.dropbox.com/s/o04shq93hkaftha/4%20YEARS%20OF%20HORROR%20LIVING%20A%20TOXIC%20LIFE.docx?dl=0