At the beginning of the year, I wrote that surviving 2024 felt like a big achievement—it was an incredibly exhausting year. The last couple of years have had a rough beginning, and this year was no exception. Even so, I have to say 2025 felt much better and a lot more productive. And somehow, it still ran away at a back-breaking speed.
Travel returned to my life in a way that felt personal and long overdue. The Netherlands, especially Keukenhof, was a long-pending dream. I’ve wanted to visit since 2001 and have planned and replanned multiple times but somehow always missed the short window during earlier trips. We even planned it seriously in 2020 Apr, and then COVID happened, followed by our self-imposed isolation the following years to safeguard acchan. So finally making it there felt like a big achievement. Even the Middle East was a first for me—despite how close it is and despite countless transit stops, this was the first time I stepped there as a traveller.
We also continued our driving trips (not just the kochi-thrissur-palakkad circuit), and I also saw Ram take the initiative to visit his engineering college mates. Since he usually stays away from social media and WhatsApp groups, it came as a pleasant surprise when he went to Mysore and Kannur to meet his friends after like 34 years (perhaps Revibes99 played a part😄).
I also found my way back to the Northeast after a long time. Being there felt like returning to a place that once held a younger version of me. It was like reconnecting with a part of myself I hadn’t visited in years. This was also something me and my friend Malar have been planning for last couple of years and finally materialized now. For this trip, I ditched Ram and our driving trips and chose something I hadn’t done in years—a group trip, much like how I used to travel long ago when my usual travel gang wasn’t interested in certain destinations I wanted to explore. I went in with strangers(except for one known friend), the way all good journeys begin. Somewhere between shared meals, long drives, and unplanned conversations, they became friends. I’ve been on group trips before, but I’ve rarely seen everyone in a group connect as beautifully as this one -probably small group size matters 😀
This was also a year of returning to books and reading. I went from someone who once forgot meals and finished two or three books a day to someone who barely managed two or three books a year (blame it on the screen distractions) That shift was gradual, but it was also something I knew I wanted to change. So this year, I made a conscious decision to read at least a couple of pages every day. I didn’t manage it every single day, but I did on many—and slowly, I found myself returning to that familiar comfort of curling up in a corner with a book, lost to the world for a while (and even staying up through the night to finish an interesting book).
I also began exploring new writers, including Malayalam authors. I had rarely picked up Malayalam books unless I already knew the writer from blogs or trusted reviews (blame it on the extremely bad library books from school) Ram had been nudging me for a while to explore Malayalam literature, and I’ve finally started. Most of what I read so far has been light and easy—not from his list yet—but it still feels like a new beginning. I am a bit slow to read malayalam but I didn’t realise I could relate so much. One of the books I read was set in Thrissur- the municipal stand, shaktan stand, ollur church- all places I actually KNEW . It's like a totally new world opened to me. My own world! All of you out there, if you can read in your mother tongue, but haven't tried reading any literature in it, go do it. It is a different experience altogether!
Looking back now, 2025 wasn’t about dramatic change. It was about returning—to reading, to writing, to slower mornings, to deeper conversations, and to a version of myself that values presence over pace. As the year ends, I feel grateful for these gentle returns. They didn’t announce themselves as milestones, but they mattered. And maybe that’s what this year was really about—not becoming someone new, but simply finding my way back to what once felt like home
But I can’t write about 2025 honestly without writing about loss.
Losing members of the family brought a different kind of ache - people who were part of the background of my life for so long that I didn’t realise how much space they occupied until they were gone. Amma was very fond of her younger siblings, having brought them up herself. They used to visit us often when she was alive, and I carry fond childhood memories of those stays, of a fuller, noisier home. Those memories feel so distant now.
And then there was Diva.
Losing her left a different kind of silence. She wasn’t just a pet. She was routine, comfort, companionship, and quiet understanding. She was there without questions, without expectations. And when she was gone, the house changed —just enough for you to feel the void every single day.
But the largest absence—the one that never really leaves the room—is acchan. What surprised me most this year was how unconsolable Ram was, even though acchan and Diva both lived long, full lives. I used to think the grief I carry for my parents was because I lost them early and suddenly, before I could process it. I assumed that age somehow prepares you for loss, that time softens the blow in advance. It doesn’t. If anything, it deepens it. They had been there for so long that life had grown around them. When they were gone, the absence wasn’t sudden—it was everywhere.
And just when the year felt like it was only about what was lost, it gave something back.
Reuniting with Akhila in Hyderabad felt like finding a familiar rhythm again. The conversations didn’t need warming up. Time collapsed easily. Years didn’t matter. It reminded me that some relationships don’t fade—they pause. That reunion mattered more than I realised at the time. It was a reminder that even as some spaces remain empty forever, others quietly fill again—with warmth, laughter, and shared history.
As this year closes, I’m learning to hold both—what is gone and what quietly remains. Some spaces will always stay empty, but others slowly fill again, sometimes when you least expect it.
As I look toward 2026, I don’t feel the urge to rush or reinvent. I want more gentle returns—to health, to art, to movement that feels kind rather than forced. I want to keep travelling, to explore slowly and mindfully. To keep reading, slowly and consistently, letting books find their way back into my days. To write without pressure, and to choose presence over pace.
If 2025 was about finding my way back, I hope 2026 will be about staying there—living a little more deliberately, listening a little more closely, and allowing life to unfold without trying to hold it too tightly.
That feels like enough to ask for.
