Maya: The Illusion of Ownership

Do you ever find yourself treating a public parking spot as if it were your own — oddly satisfied when it's free, visibly upset when it's taken?

Last weekend, going up the escalator at the metro station closest to my current home, I caught myself thinking: I have some sort of ownership of this place. Not belonging, exactly — something just short of it. A milder version of the instinct a child has after grabbing a toy in a supermarket.

I sat with that feeling on the train. It isn't ownership in any real sense. It's quieter than that, almost instinctive. Perhaps it comes from familiarity — the repetition of passing through the same space, the rhythm of journeys starting and ending there.

Like me, many people save it on the map as "home metro station." Somewhere along the way, usage begins to blur into ownership.

I've felt it elsewhere too. A favorite parking spot that brings a small happiness when it's free — and a surprising sense of loss when it isn't. A bench in the park. A corner in the coffee shop. A seat at the family dining table.

And it doesn't stop at places.

The feeling extends to people too — classmates, friends, cousins, teachers, anyone we like. A subtle, unspoken sense of mine. Not always possessive, not always conscious. But present. We feel a small sting when a close friend doesn't take our side in an argument, doesn't join a stroll, doesn't respond the way we'd hoped.

In its mildest form, this is harmless. A little attachment adds texture to everyday life — it gives us a sense of belonging.

But there is a line.

When that quiet sense of ownership hardens into possessiveness, when expectation curdles into entitlement, something shifts. A lost parking spot, a friend's small disappointment — and suddenly the reaction is out of proportion to the cause.

Eastern philosophy has a word for this: maya. In Hindu thought, it names the illusion that the world we perceive — and possess — is fixed and separate from us, when really nothing is truly ours. Everything passes through us as much as we pass through it.

It's worth noting that another Maya — the poet Maya Angelou — spent a lifetime writing about the opposite pull: the deep human need to belong somewhere, to someone. Perhaps both are true at once. We are creatures who need to belong, even while nothing we cling to is permanently ours.

Complete detachment isn't how most of us live. It probably isn't how most of us can live.

So the goal, perhaps, isn't to eliminate attachment, but to notice the moment it begins to take hold.

That noticing might be enough.

No Shield Will Shield Forever

Responding to Friday Writings #234: Words for Images

This is inspired by my post from 2015: Peace - belief, pretence, gimmicks, et. al.

No Shield Will Shield Forever

One had to be strong.
More powerful than the rest.
A proud king... perhaps a fearless chief...

to command such an exquisite shield.
It may have shielded him many times.
Yet no shield will shield forever.

Even the finest shield is left behind.

Dreams and Mirrors

Written to the prompt Friday Writings #233: “set another goal … dream a new dream”

C.S. Lewis reminds us that we are never too old to set another goal or dream a new dream. Yet age offers a companion that youth seldom values: discernment. A dream is not judged by its size alone, but by its fit. Wisdom lies not merely in dreaming, but in knowing which dreams deserve a place in our waking hours. A dreamer dreaming a dream must dream a dream that can become reality.

Dream, for dreams are worth the dream,

Yet dream the dream that fits the dream,

Not every dream is yours to dream.

Aim, but after knowing the archer well,

Target, only what is worth the target,

Not every arrow will find its mark.

Love, but weigh the love you love,

Want, but test the want you want,

Desire alone should not guide.

Spend, if spending serves the plan,

Invest, but learn before you invest,

Gold has buried many a dream.

Dream, for dreams renew the soul,

Yet dream with prudence at your side,

Dream those dreams that are part of soul.

A Mere 2,000 Readers a Month

 This is in response to Friday Writings #232: A Few of Her Favorite Things

I have put myself on a path to realizing a long-held dream: writing a book on a topic close to my heart—designing a hotel from everyone's perspective. To keep myself motivated, I have been sharing the journey as a book-in-progress on my other blog, A Slice of Art and Design.

Like most dreams worth pursuing, this one is not happening easily. I am fighting tooth and nail to make it happen.

Perhaps because I am immersed in the subject, I have started believing that everyone—including you—is secretly curious about how a hotel is designed and is a potential reader of my book.

As the manuscript slowly blooms, a different emotion has begun to surface—anxiety.

Not many people seem to be reading my work.

On some days, I become sad and grumpy. A mere 2,000 readers visit the blog each month. I find myself wondering whether the effort is worth it. Who am I writing for? Does anybody really care?

Then, on better days, I look at the same number differently.

Two thousand people.

I am incredibly fortunate that two thousand individuals choose to spend a few minutes reading something that originated as a thought in my mind.

Before the internet, those thoughts would probably have remained trapped in a diary. After I departed this planet, the diary itself might have been discarded by someone clearing a shelf-I hammer this idea into my own head.

Instead, those thoughts now travel farther than I ever imagined. Some may be forgotten. A few may be remembered. One or two might even inspire someone.

And perhaps that is reason enough to continue.

The book will arrive when it is ready. Until then, I will keep writing, keep sharing, and keep believing that everyone in this world is a little curious about hotel design.

If you happen to be one of them, I would be grateful if you became the bee on the bud of this book, carrying its link from flower to flower and helping it bloom.

There Comes a Time to Stop Blaming Your Past

I wonder at times if there comes a point in life when we need to stop blaming our past for our present circumstances.

Not because the past is unimportant.

Our upbringing, environment, education, opportunities, relationships, and experiences all leave their mark on us. Understanding them is always essential. Reflection helps us make sense of who we are, why we think the way we do, and how we arrived where we are today.

The problem is not looking back.

The problem begins when we continue to blame the past for today's results.

There is a subtle but important difference between saying:

"This happened to me."

and

"This is why I cannot move forward."

The first is an explanation. The second is an excuse.

At some point, our current situation belongs less to our past circumstances and more to our present choices. As adults, we gradually gain control over our decisions, habits, attitudes, relationships, and actions.

The responsibility slowly shifts.

Our past may explain where we started, but it cannot forever be held responsible for where we remain.

The Rear-View Mirror

"Life, like driving, requires a rear-view mirror."

A good driver checks it regularly. It provides awareness, context, and information. It reminds us that a difficult stretch of road is behind us and alerts us to what may still be following us.

The same is true in life.

Looking back helps us learn from mistakes, understand our motivations, and recognize patterns that might otherwise go unnoticed.

The rear-view mirror is not the problem.

"But imagine blaming the rear-view mirror because you are not reaching your destination."

That would be absurd.

The mirror did not choose your direction. It merely showed you where you had been.

The same principle applies to our past.

There comes a time when constantly blaming our upbringing, environment, parents, education, luck, or past failures becomes less about understanding and more about avoiding responsibility.

The past may have influenced today's reality, but it does not get to make tomorrow's decisions.

Only we have that power.

Think About It

Many people spend years searching their past for answers. Sometimes they find them.

But answers alone do not change anything.

At some point, the more important question becomes:

"What am I going to do now?"

That is where responsibility begins, because the future is still waiting to be shaped.

The past is a reference point, not a place to live.

Visit it when you need perspective. Learn from it when it has something to teach.

But do not give it permanent authority over your future.

Key Takeaways

• Understanding your past is valuable; blaming it indefinitely is not.
• Reflection creates awareness, but responsibility creates change.
• Your upbringing and environment influence you, but they do not have to define your future.
• The rear-view mirror is useful for context, not direction.
• The question eventually changes from “Why did this happen?” to “What am I going to do about it?”

The HAIL Method: How to Use Julian Treasure’s Mantra for Authentic Interactions

Are you walking into rooms wondering why the vibe feels off—or why you aren’t being accepted warmly?

It’s a heavy feeling. You see a friend or peer welcomed with open arms, while your own entrance feels flat. In those moments, it is easy to blame the universe, office politics, or personal biases. But before you conclude that the world is being unfair, I want to share a gift with you that helped me navigate this very crossroads.

At the beginning, I carried an unspoken assumption—that it was my birthright to be accepted and greeted warmly in any company. Perhaps that came from growing up in a close circle of friends and familiar faces.

But in a new place, when I was no longer at the center, I felt invisible. I found myself wanting to quietly melt away into the background.

It took me time to realise that presence is not assumed—it is shaped by how we show up.

Years ago, I received this advice from a TED talk. It wasn't just a lesson; Julian Treasure delivered it like a mantra transferred from a guru to his disciple. It came down to one simple question I now ask myself:

Did I HAIL?

The response you receive from others is often a mirror of the energy you bring to the interaction. When we lead with sincerity, we create the space for warmth to return to us.

I’m not saying the other person is always right—they are not. I’ve experienced those moments many times where a handshake felt mechanical, as if it were just a box to tick. There are times when people ask how you are, yet their tone reveals a lack of sincerity.

But even then, this mantra reminds me: I can’t control how others show up—but I can choose how I do.

To change how people respond to you, I invite you to lead with these four pillars:

• H – Honesty: Are you being clear and straightforward?

• A – Authenticity: Are you showing up as yourself, or a version you think they want?

• I – Integrity: Are you someone who can be trusted from the first handshake?

• L – Love: Are you genuinely wishing them well?

When you lead with honesty and goodwill, the atmosphere shifts. Not always immediately, but enough to know the effort is never wasted. Because in the end, the question is not just how others receive us—it is how we choose to be, every single time we meet the world.

The Challenge:

In your next three interactions today—whether it’s at the supermarket, the park, a kitty party, or with your boss—consciously apply the HAIL method. Notice if the "warmth" in the room changes.

I’ve passed this mantra to you as it was once received by me. Which of these four pillars do you need to lean into most today?

Inappropriate Laughter

This is in response to the prompt Friday Writings #226: Inappropriate Laughter

In the school assembly line, 

as the message of the day was read,

she remembered something funny.

In the silent classroom,

while the lesson moved on,

a dog chased its tail in her mind.

When friends grieved a defeat,

old jokes somehow returned.

They made her giggle in place of tears.

At a candlelit dinner,

her partner shared his troubles,

an awkward kiss brought a smile.

That mind no longer wanders.

Somewhere along the long road,

strange things happen to us all.

My Bookshelf’s DNA

Written in response to Friday Writings #225: If These Bookshelves Could Talk (or Write)

Sunday, 8 p.m.
The international book fair—one yearly ritual I don’t miss if I’m in town. Not so much for buying, but for the smell of new paper, the hum of people, the nostalgia that lingers.

Today was one of those days.

At the Oxford University Press stall, I found a book on DNA—chromosomes, inheritance, the quiet code of life. Not dense or technical, but accessible… almost reflective in places.

I was too tired to start. Left it on my desk.

Monday, 9 p.m.
As I was about to leave, I remembered in time to put the new book in my bag and took it along.

Read through it during the commute. It held my attention in a way few things have lately—patterns, repetitions, something quietly persistent beneath everything.

By night, I placed it neatly on my bookshelf. For a moment, I thought I saw a faint light there.

I said “nothing” to myself and went to sleep.

Tuesday, 6 a.m.
Didn’t sleep too well.

There were images—threads folding into themselves, splitting, rejoining. Faces, known and unknown, held in some precise, unseen structure. Not emotion, not memory—just a state of things being endlessly arranged and rearranged.

Somewhere between sleep and waking, a faint unease lingered.

Once again, in the dream, I saw a white page.

A few words, typed unevenly:

I never thought this would happen.
The book… the shelf… we were the same tree.

Piece by piece we will become a library.....

Dessert Arrives

Written in response to the prompt: Friday Writing #224: Just Desserts

Defeated. Haggard. He stayed. Dessert arrived.

Note:

Inspired by the brevity of Ernest Hemingway—where meaning lies beneath what is said—this is a small attempt at a 6-word nano tale.

Why Neutral Thinking Matters in Your Next Chapter

 

It is common to treat the start of a new chapter—a new job, a milestone birthday, or a recovery from a setback—like a sprint. We gather our resolutions, sharpen our ambitions, and wait for inspiration to carry us forward. But as many of us have learned the hard way, inspiration can burnout very quickly.

Napoleon Hill, in his timeless classic Think and Grow Rich, offers a different starting point:

“Before passing to the next chapter, kindle anew in your mind the fire of hope, faith, courage, and tolerance…”

It is a beautiful, stirring thought.
But it also assumes something difficult—that we can summon these emotions on demand.

Somewhere between that idea and the reality of daily life—with its deadlines, responsibilities, and unexpected turns—a quieter question lingers: how does this hold when the days are not so kind?

Trying harder to stay positive is a popular idea but it rarely works.
What helps instead is learning how to remain neutral.

The Trap of the Results-Driven Mindset

When we try to change—ourselves, our children, or even those around us—we often approach it like a project. Teachers set targets for their students, we set expectations for our children, and we set outcomes for ourselves. Somewhere along the way, change becomes something to be measured rather than experienced.

We spend decades building our patterns of thinking, yet expect them to shift quickly, as though they were switches waiting to be flipped.

But the mind does not work that way.
Change is not mechanical; it is organic.

If you are standing at the threshold of something new, the first step is not action—it is space. 

Real change begins quietly, many a times through conversation—sometimes structured, sometimes just the kind of casual conversation we tend to dismiss. It is in those moments that rigid patterns begin to loosen.

Why “Stay Positive” Falls Short

We’ve all heard it: “Just stay positive.”
It works—until it doesn’t.
And when it doesn’t, it often leaves us feeling like we’ve failed twice—once in the situation, and once in how we responded to it.

When life becomes difficult, forced positivity begins to feel artificial. It creates a subtle pressure—to feel something we do not—and in doing so, it distances us further from what is actually happening.

This is where Trevor Moawad introduced a powerful alternative in 'It Takes What It Takes': neutral thinking.

Neutral thinking is not optimism or pessimism—it is clarity.

When something goes wrong, instead of reacting emotionally or forcing positivity, neutrality asks:

What has happened? What does this moment require?

It brings you back to facts, to the present, and to the next step—without the noise.

Moving Forward: Process Over Perfection

If neutrality is the anchor, then how we practice it begins to matter.

Start with Clarity

Vague intentions rarely lead anywhere. Instead of saying “I want to improve,” begin with something specific:

“I want to respond more calmly when I receive feedback.”

Clarity is where neutrality begins.

Spend Time Understanding, Not Fixing

Most of us rush to change without understanding what we are changing.

Pause and question.

Why does this pattern exist?
What purpose has it served?

Before letting something go, it helps to recognise why it stayed.

Return to Neutral in Difficult Moments

When something disrupts your progress—and it will—there is a natural pull toward extremes.
Instead of:
“Why does this always happen to me?”
or
“Everything is fine.”

Ask:
What does this situation need from me right now?

This simple shift brings you back to a steady, workable space.

Don’t Do It Alone

Change rarely happens in isolation.
Whether it is a mentor, a friend, or simply someone who listens without judgment, having a space to speak—even imperfectly—makes a difference. In those exchanges, thoughts begin to settle, and patterns begin to shift—often more gently than we expect.

Ready for the Fire?

Napoleon Hill spoke of being “ready.”

But readiness is not perfection.
It is the ability to stay present when things are uncertain.

Hope, faith, and courage may spark the fire—but neutrality is what keeps it steady. It allows you to move forward without being overwhelmed by either success or setback.

You do not need to transform overnight.
You only need to take the next step—clearly, and without pressure.

Take Your Next Step

If you find yourself at the edge of something new, carrying old patterns with you—
What might change if you stopped trying to force a feeling, and instead chose to respond with clarity?

If this idea of neutrality stays with you, perhaps that is where your next step begins.

#change #transformation #neutralthinking #sumandebray #personal growth

Permanent Loss is Unavoidable: Living with Unhealable Scars

Even today, when I observe casually, I see remnants of the various cuts and bruises I had during my younger days—some faint, some still vivid. It isn't only a physical phenomenon. I have come to realize that while we often hear "time heals all wounds," time doesn't necessarily make them disappear. Instead, it teaches us how to live with them.

Perhaps the deeper part of living an authentic life is accepting its inherent brokenness. We are constantly sold a "sanitized" version of recovery—the idea that, given enough time, therapy, or willpower, all pain will neatly heal like a scratch eventually fading into a faint scar. We are told that grief is a circle that eventually closes.

But the reality of the human experience is very different. Some pains don’t fully fade—and they don’t have to. The grief from a profound loss, the sharp memory of a betrayal, or the weight of a public failure may remain etched in the soul. To live meaningfully, we must stop fighting their permanence and start integrating them.

Over time, I have found myself returning to a few ideas—drawn from different parts of the world—that quietly help make sense of what does not go away.

1. Kintsugi (Japan): The Beauty of the Broken

In Japanese aesthetics, Kintsugi is the art of repairing broken pottery with gold or silver lacquer. The philosophy is simple: the breakage is not something to be hidden; it is a fact of life. It is a part of the object’s history that makes it more beautiful, not less.

When we experience a permanent loss, we often try to glue the pieces of our lives back together so the cracks don't show. We want to return to the "original version" of ourselves—the version before the layoff, before the breakup, or before the bereavement. But that person no longer exists.

What this has meant for me:

• Stop hiding: acknowledge the break as a milestone, not a mistake.
• Apply the gold: use what the pain has taught to shape a new perspective.
• Embrace the new form: life is not diminished by the crack; it is defined by it.

2. Amor Fati (Stoicism): Loving the Fate You Didn't Choose

The Stoics, and later Friedrich Nietzsche, championed the idea of Amor Fati—a love of one's fate. This does not mean liking the loss. It means accepting it so completely that you no longer wish it away, because it has become part of your reality.

Acceptance is often mistaken for resignation. Resignation says, "I give up." Amor Fati says, 

"This is now part of my story, and I will shape what comes next."

If you are fighting the reality of a loss, you are spending energy on something that cannot be changed. When you shift perspective, that energy returns to you. The question slowly changes from “Why did this happen?” to “Now that this has happened, what do I do with it?”

3. Wu Wei (Taoism): The Art of Non-Striving

We often approach pain as something to be worked through—as if healing must follow a timeline. Taoism offers Wu Wei, or "effortless action." Sometimes, the wisest response is not to push forward, but to allow things to settle in their own time.

To live authentically is to navigate both the world outside and the quiet weight within. When that weight feels heavy, Wu Wei reminds us to be gentle with ourselves.

The Wu Wei approach to difficult days:

• Breathe into the pause—if you cannot move forward, don’t force it.
• Let go of timelines—there is no schedule for what you carry.
• Observe without judgment—carrying something unresolved is not failure.

4. Ataraxia (Ancient Greece): Finding Peace in the Storm

The Epicureans and Skeptics sought a state called Ataraxia—a calmness of mind, free from constant disturbance. This was not achieved by avoiding difficulty, but by changing one’s relationship with it.

This brings us to a quiet truth: living with what does not fade is not resignation; it is transformation. There comes a point where the wound remains, but it no longer defines every step.

You can carry a scar and still feel joy. You can hold a heavy memory and still make clear, purposeful decisions. Life does not wait for pain to disappear—and neither should we.

5. Ubuntu (Southern Africa): Integration Through Connection

Ubuntu reminds us: “I am because we are.”

We often hide what feels unresolved, thinking it sets us apart. But when we speak—honestly, even imperfectly—we begin to see that others carry their own versions of the same weight.
In that sharing, something shifts. We move from isolation to connection. From holding everything alone to realising that our stories are not entirely ours to carry.

Conclusion: The Terms You Set

Ultimately, your life is shaped by the terms you accept, not the ones imposed on you. The world may urge you to “move on.” But there is another way—to move forward with what remains.

Learning to live with what does not fully fade allows us to create a life that is unmistakably our own. You are the author. The ink may carry traces of sorrow, and the pages may bear the marks of difficult seasons—but the story is still yours to write.

A Moment for Introspection

If you are standing at the threshold of a new chapter, carrying something that has not settled the way the world said it should—

What might change if you stopped trying to resolve it, and instead began to shape your life around it?

If any of these ideas stay with you, perhaps that is where your next reflection begins.


#GriefSupport #AuthenticLiving #Kintsugi #MentalHealth #PhilosophyOfLife #Sumandebray #Transformation