38!
37 has been such a hugely transformative year that I don’t even know where to start.
I’ve changed so much.
I’m not sure if others notice it (or if that matters) but I do.
And how!
Change often happens beneath the surface.
This year has seen the Return of the Ramya. Hohoho.
It’s not as threatening as it sounds.
I’ve returned to being someone hopeful.
Someone who chooses to trust foolishly.
I have stars in my eyes all over again.
I hope that never changes.
I hope to never become a cynic.
I’ve been writing these posts every year since I turned 21.
I’ve been drawing a comic strip for 15 years.
I’ve been playing the piano since I was 7.
People get impressed by these numbers.
But doing something for a long time doesn’t mean you’re any good at it... :)
It just means that I've been lucky enough to have had time for these things, time to drift, to dream.
Time to drift is important.
I met lots of new people this year.
The Return of the Ramya movie also means that I make stuff for people. Greeting cards, paintings, playlists…
All of this can be seen as too much, too intense.
But surprisingly all the new people I’ve met have received me without judgement.
I haven’t been made to feel like I’m weird for doing these things. It’s liberating.
Having a safe space to express yourself is a privilege that will hopefully become a right in all parts of the world.
It’s what kids need: to be told they’re not crazy for feeling “too much”.
Apathy is more of a problem.
I’m trying to resist it, but it grows on you....
But NO. I refuse to cross over to the dark side.
There is hope everywhere.
Even after a decade of living in the UK, I still miss India.
I miss tropical drama: lush green fields, waterfalls pounding on moss-covered rocks, the insects.
I never thought I’d say I miss insects as I’m terrified of them.
I just miss being surrounded by life.
I wrote a children’s book this year, about rain.
So much about the arrival of the monsoons is a soundtrack to my childhood.
I fell in love with rhododendrons this year. To really see it you have to see the full-grown trees in bloom, their red petals carpeting the forest floor.
Forests. I miss those.
I also saw a Himalayan griffon this year: my first sighting of a vulture since I was a toddler (they’d perch on the buildings of my school and we were told they’d pick us up if we misbehaved).
Signs of life excite me.
Lugworm poo on a beach.
Fallen flowers. Paw prints on a forest path.
Rapidly disappearing food in the bird feeder.
Digging soil to find earthworms.
Oh earthworms how I love them.
I saw dolphins in the wild for the first time standing at a beach in Goa. Just yesterday. Dancing, gliding. Endangered.
Such an incredible and fragile planet.
I’m still swimming.
How can something that needs so much of body-mind-hand-leg- breath coordination be so relaxing?
I was recently at the pool at 6 am. It was dark outside and the water was shining under the warm yellow light.
Seven people were already in the pool, swimming up and down, up and down, like little toys in a simulation.
I suddenly thought how pathetic it all was.
The sincerity of it. The conviction.
Maybe that’s what we are.
Pathetic, attention-seeking, desperate individuals hanging on to any sign that we matter, devoted to our repetitive meaningless patterns. Anything that will drown out the suggestion that we are insignificant.
Up, turn around, down. There’s a rhythm to it. A kind of escape.
Time and time again, I confirm that avoidance is the best way to live life.
All problems disappear if you avoid them long enough.
Hoho. Look, wisdom.
This year has been all about friendships.
Old friends have anchored me, stepping in without knowing how much I needed it.
New friends have nourished me, allowing space for all of me to exist.
A friend of mine welcomed me with open arms this year after we weren't in touch for 20 years.
I've hosted friends and been hosted, travelled with them, cooked together, swapped ideas, stories, songs.
Friends are lifelines.
I shared something vulnerable with someone new this year and they responded with kindness.
My nervous system absolutely crashed with overwhelm because I typically brace myself for awkwardness or distance.
I like walking towards people.
The minute someone walks towards me I start retreating.
I am learning to stay put.
I find it so easy to be myself with strangers.
Ironic, because that’s when I can be anyone.
But with the ones I hold closest, I struggle – wrapping myself up in layers and layers, awkwardly communicating, flaring up, never quite finding the right expression.
Working on that okay?
For the Return of the Ramya Part II.
Interesting things I heard this year:
From a cab driver, when we asked each other where we're from at the same time: “I was just going to say that! It’s like we have advanced Bluetooth!”
From a chai-stall owner: “Sit for a few minutes and have some chai. Jaldi kya hai (what’s the rush)?”
From a friend, “One creates art for posterity, not for the present.”
From my partner, “You have so much music inside you.”
From another cab driver, “It's not all about making money, it's about having a life. Let's face it. None of us are ever going to be millionaires. As long as you can pay your bills and afford a holiday once a year, all is good.”
From a colleague, “I can't imagine you ever being nasty to anyone.”
(I immediately deflected saying haha, but hey, I want to be nasty 
.)
One day I would like to accept a compliment without flinching.
I like weeds and wilderness over manicured gardens.
I like chaos over neatness. Spontaneity over plans.
I like crawling into my own world.
Even if that world is just – or especially is – a piano.
If I could do it all again, I would be a musician.
I think I said this last year too.
Do I still have a chance?
I’ve realised that I live for little moments of connection with other people.
But frustratingly, you can’t manufacture them or force them.
You just have to be patient and wait for it to happen organically.
Life seems to be an awful lot of that.
Waiting.
I showed up for someone this year. Consistently.
I thought I was showing up for them but I was actually showing up for myself.
It made me feel responsible, accountable and full of joy.
I think I would like to do more of it.
To give someone your attention is the greatest gift you can give.
That’s my mantra for 38.
To show up.
To notice. To pay attention.
To leave things to chance.
To love.
To give up control.
To receive.
To get over the fear that someone might actually love me back.
To accept that while I can’t ever manufacture the magical moments of connection that make life worth living, I can keep my eyes and ears open for them.
They’re always just around the corner.
38, are you ready for the Return of the Ramya?
Here I come.
