EpiphanyMoments

“Stay positive, David.” Look at the bright side, David.” “Make your day prayerful, David.” The world hurls these lines at me like flower petals at a wedding. Only, this isn’t a wedding. It’s more like being caught in a daily monsoon without an umbrella—and someone keeps yelling, “At least it’s good for the crops!” People mean well. That’s the most terrifying part. They say pain is a tunnel and there’s light at the end. But what if it’s a tunnel with a lazy electrician? What if the only illumination is from flickering platitudes and WhatsApp forwards about divine purpose and turmeric milk? Each morning, I look at Alka, and I pray. Sometimes silently. Sometimes aloud. Sometimes in words that would not make it past the parish priest’s editing pen. But I pray. Alka, my fierce, graceful, whip-smart partner of decades, now fights a quiet, relentless battle with her body. Her mind? Sharp as ever. Her tongue? Sharper. She speaks fluently, clearly—and with the precision of a poet who also knows...

Why should my happiness be anyone’s generosity? Why must it depend on someone’s kindness, approval, or presence? Happiness, like sunlight, should be mine to seek, to feel, and to live. But often, it’s handed out like a reward—when I please, when I comply, when I’m “good enough.” And if I slip, if I say the wrong thing, if I feel too much—then suddenly, that light is withdrawn. This world is strange. It celebrates smiles but hides from tears. We’re told to “cheer up,” “look at the bright side,” or worse—“don’t be so sensitive.” But what if I am sad? What if the weight of the day presses a little harder? What if the silence around me is louder than the words I long to hear? I am not broken because I feel. I am not weak because I cry. Sadness is not a flaw—it’s a season, a pause, a quiet note in the music of being alive. It teaches me to notice, to care, to sit still with my truth. I’m tired of waiting for someone to say, “You deserve to be happy.” As if it’s theirs to permit. As if my...