As the calendar flips once more and I stand on the threshold of a new year in my life, I find myself pausing—not to celebrate loudly, but to listen softly to the whisper of time. Birthdays are no longer just about cake or candles for me. They’ve become quiet markers—where I look inward, trace the lines time has drawn on my soul, and whisper thanks for the journey so far.
This past year wasn’t just a passage of time. It was a deep journey inward. Another trip around the sun, yes—but one that carried me into caves of self-awareness, across fields of solitude, and over mountains of quiet resilience. If I had to give this year a title, it wouldn’t be about accomplishments. It would be about depth. About how much further I travelled into myself.
The Year of Becoming
There were days I bloomed, and there were days I barely breathed. But through it all, I never stopped becoming.
This was the year I stopped running. Not in a literal sense, but in an emotional one. I stopped sprinting toward a future I couldn’t see and began sitting with the present, no matter how uncertain or uncomfortable it felt. I permitted myself to feel deeply, without apology, without performance.
I learned that becoming is not about adding layers, but often about peeling them off. Shedding expectations. Letting go of what no longer feels like home. This year, I unlearned more than I learned—and in that, I found clarity.
The Quiet Teachers
What shaped me this year wasn’t always the obvious. It wasn’t just the wins or the breakthroughs. It was the quiet moments—the mundane Tuesday afternoons, the long drives, the books that kept me company when no one else did.
I was taught by the wind that no matter how strong it blows, it eventually settles. I was taught by the trees that letting go is essential to growth. I was taught by silence that not all answers come in words.
And perhaps, most of all, I was taught by time—that it is both the softest healer and the sternest teacher.
Some friendships faded, and new bonds bloomed unexpectedly. I understood that people come into our lives for a season, a reason, or a lifetime—and every single one leaves behind a lesson. Some lessons hurt. Some heal. But all are necessary.
The War Within—and the Peace That Followed
This year also brought internal battles. Anxiety and self-doubt —the usual suspects. They arrived, uninvited, in the dead of night and whispered fears in my ear. But for the first time, I didn’t run. I sat with them. I heard them out.
And when I did, something remarkable happened. They lost their grip on me.
I realised that peace isn’t the absence of struggle. It’s the gentle decision not to let the battle define your joy. I stopped chasing perfection and started celebrating progress. I stopped waiting for the world to validate me and began validating myself.
Even on the days I felt lost, I showed up. I wrote. I created. I dreamed. Not always confidently, but always honestly.
A Year of Words and Wonder
As a poet and a writer, words are not just tools for me—they are lifelines. This year, I wrote more than I ever had. Not always for an audience. Sometimes, just for me. Sometimes, to make sense of the chaos. Sometimes, to honour the calm.
And in those words, I found wonder.
I explored themes of nature, healing, memory, and femininity. I revisited my roots and listened to the little girl I once was—the one who found magic in trees and stories in the stars. I wrote about pain, not to relive it, but to release it. I wrote about hope, not because I always felt it, but because I needed to believe in it.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, my soul travelled a little deeper. Into truths I had long buried. Into joys I had forgotten to claim. Into love, I hadn’t yet learned to receive.
Gratitude—In Its Purest Form
What holds everything together is this: gratitude.
I am grateful for the people who stayed. For those who saw my light, even when I forgot I had any. For the ones who challenged me, lifted me, and taught me.
I am grateful for the moments that humbled me. The times I failed. The times I doubted. The times I broke. Because they softened me. They reminded me that vulnerability is not weakness, but a form of strength too often overlooked.
I am grateful for the art I created, the silence I embraced, and the solitude I cherished.
And I am grateful for myself—for choosing to show up, every single day, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.
What Lies Ahead
As I step into a new year, I carry no grand resolutions. Only quiet intentions.
To be present.
To be kind—to myself, and others.
To listen more than I speak.
To create without fear.
To rest without guilt.
To grow slowly, softly, soulfully.
I don’t know what this new chapter holds, and that’s okay. Because if this past year taught me anything, it’s this: we don’t have to have it all figured out to move forward. We need to trust the process. And honour the path.
Final Words
So here I am—another trip around the sun older. A little more scarred. A little more healed. A little more whole.
If you’re reading this, thank you for being part of my journey. Whether you’ve been here from the start or just found your way to my words recently, your presence means more than you know.
Here’s to life. To love. To lessons.
And to the soul’s quiet journey toward becoming.
With gratitude,
Shalini Samuel
