You looked so fragile.
In my imagination
you lied broken on a hospital bed
filled with charcoal
to keep your pulse from fading

how ironic you said
when you could speak again.
how your nickname was “charcoal”
and that was what they used to save you
from all those pills you took

the pills you took when you decided
that a death by your own trembling hand
was better than the prison that your parents
kept you inside, waiting for you to become
who they wanted

you’d swallowed your sadness for so long
letting your liver be poisoned
in little pills as they told you you weren’t enough
and carved lines into your soul
as they showed their love was conditional

I wonder how many pills it took
to overwhelm your tiny body
and leave you lying on the floor
calling for help as you felt yourself fade, even
desperate enough to go to your parents

I wonder if your parents still thought
in that horrible moment, that you were still
a freak like they always treated you.
I wonder if they, for even a moment
realized that it was their fault

“I’m sorry”; a text you’d sent at 3am.
We didn’t know what had happened
didn’t even know if you were alive
for a whole horrible day,
black on my calendar; burnt in my memory

we had called to see if you were okay
and were met with your parents crying,
screaming that it was our fault
for changing you and poisoning your mind
like you’d poisoned your liver

but we thought we were what kept you going
every time your parents called you
evil, and wrong, for being who you are.
Trying to kill the you they didn’t like
until you tried to kill you

I imagined so many things the days it all happened:
a fight that proceeded you running to your room,
a feeling of aloneness and like tomorrow wouldn’t come.
So you texted…
when none of us, your charcoal, were awake

There was no room for peace.
In the chaos that she called life.
Then she set back and took a deep breath.
In the deep breath of life she realized.
The windows overlooked the golden hour.
The laugh of the kids in her life eased all struggles.
She photographs every chance she gets.
The music sets the tone of her story.
The writing tells the story, if you focus.
To the one who broke the shell five years ago.
To the one who came into my world three years ago.
To the few that finally showed her unconditional love.
When the breath was over all of this came to mind.
She may not be healed.
She may not have everything she wants.
Most importantly when she thought there was no peace.
She finally found part of hers.

I was getting ready for work. It was a cold December morning in 2017. It must have been a usual Monday morning for my neighbors. I could not say that with certainty, as I did not know who they were. It was not the usual Monday for me. With my mom in the kitchen and dad in the living room, the morning sun reminded me that today is different.

My parents and I had arrived the day before. Delta decided to have a ‘day date’ with our luggage, so we had to wait for another day to get those. It was my long-time dream to have my parents over and show them around this country. I was supposed to be beaming with joy. Except, I was not.

As I got ready to leave, my mom asked me to stay for breakfast. She made hot and fresh ‘idli’, a south Indian delicacy. My relationship with food had changed in the past few weeks. There was a sense of guilt. No, I am not talking about the type of guilt, that I usually carry, for not trying to keep that fat away. This was different. This felt heavier. Every meal since September 25th, reminded me that I am somehow selfish, to eat. To survive.

I got the car out of garage with the windows open to get some fresh air, my morning routine. Despite the chill wind and the grey clouds, I love going to work in December. Less people, i.e., less number of people asking ‘Hey, how are you’ 4 times a day, less “how was your weekend”s because I could never get used to answering that question every Monday morning. Sometimes even on Tuesdays. Yet, this mid-December Monday was not something I was prepared for.

I took the same highway. Same sign boards. Same exits. Same cars around, ok, maybe different, but you get the idea. But I felt different after getting used to 2 months of Indian traffic. Yes, it has been 2 months since I turned up at work. Everyone in my floor, knew very well, that I was out. That I had gone back to India and had not come back for the next 2 months. They picked up from where I left, the very same day I left. They had to. Because I had to.

As I parked the car and started walking across the parking lot, I felt a rising sense of panic. A sense of discomfort. To be accurate, can you imagine how it felt – to get on that stage for the first time? To experience flying in an aircraft for the first time? To be in the same room with your parents and your in-laws for the first time, sorry, every single time? A sense of entering unknown. A mixed feeling of fear and anxiety.

The last time I swiped my badge there was 2 months ago. It was a Monday too. The next day, I was gone to India. Usually, our vacations are planned. This was our first unplanned one. And this was also the first time I took a vacation for 2 months. What was different, among many others, is that my manager asked me to take as much time as I needed. That does not happen very often, does it?

Lost in thoughts, I reached my desk. There was a ‘Welcome back’ note from my team. I was not ready to be back. But the questions I kept asking was that would I ever be ready to be back? Back to being my old self? Back to the time when my family was complete? My manager came running to see me. I wanted to hide myself. Like a turtle going into its shell. Slowly, without anyone noticing. Her desk was right next to me, darn, she came too fast. No time for the lazy turtle to react.

She gave me a big bear hug and said, “I cannot event imagine what you must be going through. I am here if you need anything ”. She handled 40% of my workload so I could get some time with my family, so I will not be stressed. I felt warm. After 2 months of being in the love and compassion of friends and family, it was hard for me to leave and come back to this new place. I had no friends. Friends who could relate to me. Friends who knew my language or my culture. Friends, with whom I could share.

As the day progressed, several people stopped by and welcomed me back. So many of them offered to help and made sure I felt at home. After what felt like the longest day at work, I started packing my bag. Just when I was about to leave, I noticed the picture on my desk. A small frame, the size of a match box, that carried a picture of my brother and I. He gifted this to me when I left India in January to come here. When I met him for the last time, in Mumbai airport. The next time, I saw him, on September 25th, he wasn’t breathing.
As the sun set that evening and I looked at that picture of my brother, healing from his loss felt impossible. I went back to my car and cried for I cannot even remember how long.

That was where my story began. And then many sunsets have gone by.
On a windy cold day that winter, I made my mom wear jeans for the first time in her life. Sun set that evening and I cried.
On another snowy day, I made my father dance in that pretty white snow for the first time in his life. Sun set that evening and I cried.
On a ‘supposed-to be’ impossible but ‘totally possible in Minnesota’ type of cold day in May, my American manager moved a critical meeting by a day so I can spend that extra night with my family on a cabin. Sunset that evening too and I cried less this time.
On a different sunny day, my friend’s mom from Mexico who I met for the first time, made dinner for me. She and I never spoke a word that we both mutually understood. Sun set a bit later that night and I cried, maybe a bit lesser.
On a bright June morning, my parents left back to India. As sun set that night, it was clear that life will never stop for anyone. Anyone. I cried lesser again.
On a chilly fall afternoon, I met my Minnesotan therapist. She listened endlessly and spoke to me like she grew up with me. I wanted to cry every single time I came out of her office. But it became harder to cry. I don’t know if it was healing or running out of tear supply.
On a random day, our not so close Indian acquaintances invited us for dinner and became family-like very soon. Sun set that night too, I again had tears on my eyes. But this time, it was out of laughing non-stop for a silly joke.

Time will help heal, many told me. I don’t know about that. But, HUMANS around me did. This place, these people, with whom I thought I had no connection, welcomed me with wide open arms and proved me that grief does not need language to be understood and love does not need color to be shared.

As I narrate this story today, I am still not sure if I have healed fully. But I am HOME and hence, there is HOPE!

Greetings to you! Walk with me as I reflect on one of my greatest experiences…
In 2018 I auditioned for a nation-wide talent search. Hosted by “A premier modeling agency and talent expo that discovers, develops, and launches top talent.” There are multiple categories: modeling, acting, dancing and singing. I auditioned for singing and acting (tv commercial). I was chosen top 10 out of roughly 100 participants. The next 6-8 months were composed of raising money to attend the out of state event, building self-confidence, and facing any fears I had about being a star in my own right. Mind you, I did not do my research (ALWAYS DO YOUR RESEARCH) on the company prior to the audition. I was under the impression that this was primarily a model call. A talent search on a smaller scale. Once I really gained an understanding of what was in front of me, I shifted from a small and confined kind of mindset, into a mindset of immediate expansion in every facet of my life. This was instantaneous! Massive amounts of positive and prosperous possibilities began to make larger what I was already envisioning. The stage has called to me for as long as I can remember. Performance and entertainment have been a part of my journey since the age of 6. This experience, however, made it real! I was no longer merely doing what I love, I was officially stretching the muscle and making an impact on a consistent basis. This was confirmation of my PURPOSE! The overall investment cost was about $3,500. This is relevant because at that time I didn’t have it like that and for someone who struggled to ask for help, this was no small task. That following spring, I made it to the expo. There were all kinds of contestants at this large event. From different cultures, locations and upbringings. The thing that I enjoyed the most about this experience is that no one carried negative energy! We were all there with the same goal, to shine, learn and gain an understanding of what it truly takes to be great in this industry. Also learning that it’s important to be highly confident in our personal strides fore it’s the foundation for whatever we set out to accomplish that is bigger than us. For some, this was their opportunity to showcase the hard work they’ve put into every day of their lives! The blood, sweat, tears, and the don’t call us we’ll call you. For others, it was a wakeup call to go farther and do more. I transparently fell somewhere in the middle. Attending workshops with some of the best actors/actresses, agencies and modeling coaches in the business showed me how being in the right place, at the right time, having the right conversations, with the right attitude, can propel your life into the most aligned direction for the best outcome. You’ve got to have heart to put yourself out there! By the end of the weekend, we all had clarity on what we were made of, what level of potential we had and how to make seamless connections for ourselves. By the time I made it home, I had a whole new fire burning in my spirit for my goals and aspirations. Trusting my faith, trusting my journey, led me to an experience that truly changed my life for the better!

The other day I told someone about you
what you left for me
what you left of me
their wet stone tone replied: I’m so sorry
and like a sprout through concrete
so instinct and automatically
I told them: don’t be.
I’m not.
Because
there are no words
for gifts this big
what you taught me
what you brought me
in our innocence like daisies
how your sacrifice had saved me
better than Christ himself
anyone can say
my lover
anyone can say
my partner
anyone can say
heartache
and break
and suffer.
But for me—I know it’s real.
Far beyond what children feel.
We learned what
passion was,
what freedom was,
what making love was
as if we were human
and nothing else
as if being human
was enough
and when you stopped
being human
the world didn’t notice
night fell
dawn broke
and how I tantrumed in contortions
in rebellion of this earth
to be so brash
betraying me
to keep turning, turning, turn.
And I learned that living takes effort
even just to breathe
and eat
and move
and speak
I wished my ribs would splinter
wished the cars would halt their noise
and every morning
I would touch myself
and pray I’d hear your voice
and the sensation
of forgetting
the way you sound and smell
was a wicked type of torture
—it’s own dynasty of hell.
You’re just as incomparable
as the pain you left behind
and how living was unbearable
and yet, somehow, I survived.
I couldn’t follow you
for the honor of our love
for the wittiness to the horrors
and all the pain that I had felt—
I needed it.
It’s my evidence, my proof.
I was a runner—not a warrior.
A deserter—not a soldier.
Yet, I learned trust
and kindness
bravery beyond—
birthed in ashes of despair
I bloomed into something else.
And that something is so pure
even moreso than our love.
Patient. Understanding.
I am gentle and I’m strong.
I am wise and I am generous.
All the things I didn’t have to be
until you were gone and out.
Wish you could see me now.
And what your death had brought me—
is so much more profound
than anybody’s life
and I know it’s strange to say,
but I’m not angry at you anymore.
I’m glad you got away.
Because I always have you,
and I’m more beautiful like this.
Overcoming losing you—
the most amazing thing I did.
And I don’t need your voice, or scent,
to remember how to love
out of all we learned together;
being human is enough.