Anger and You

“Anger is the punishment we give ourselves for someone else’s actions.”

I came across this line in an article, and the author went on to describe how drained they felt once the anger finally cooled down. I wondered how universal this experience is — and how few of us understand what’s actually happening inside us. It made me rethink my own relationship with anger.

Anger is a natural signal that something important feels threatened or disrespected. It rises fast, hits hard, and often leaves us exhausted. That’s because, for a moment, the older “reptile” part of the brain — our survival system — takes over. Clear thinking, empathy, and perspective momentarily step aside.

I once couldn’t handle my anger during my high school, and that kept us apart for a decade.

When anger is left to simmer, it turns inward — draining our energy, tightening the body, and often hurting us more than the original trigger.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.
If we can stay just a little aware in the heat of the moment, the emotion passes without doing further damage. Even a small shift in awareness can soften the entire moment. A few simple concepts like the following can be helpful:

• Pause and breathe. A slow breath interrupts the rush and gives the mind a few seconds to return online.

• Notice your patterns. Certain tones, expectations, or situations trigger us again and again. Awareness softens the impact.

• Reframe the story. A small shift in interpretation can lower the emotional temperature almost instantly.

Managing anger isn’t about suppressing feelings — it’s about protecting our energy, our clarity, and our relationships. It’s choosing where our attention goes instead of letting emotions steer the entire day.

Start small.
A single pause.
A single breath.

A single belief: I can choose my response.

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Pleasures, Consequences, and Finding the Middle Ground

 

Life is a paradox, isn’t it? On one hand, it’s filled with pleasures and joys, and on the other, we’re reminded of the price we pay for indulging in them. This world, in all its splendor, has a streak of cruelty. Everything we love and enjoy somehow turns out to be injurious to our health and existence.

The small pleasures we adore — fast food, a glass of wine, binge-watching a series late into the night — start as comfort and end as consequences. And when these habits begin to show their effects, the people closest to us step in with all their good intentions: stop this, stop that… do this, don’t do that. But more often than not, these reminders turn the better halves into bitter halves.

When people are pushed emotionally into decisions, the result is almost predictable — they break their resolutions faster than they make them, creating more problems than solutions. My point of view has always been simple: do things in moderation. A balanced approach to work, exercise, eating healthy or eating junk, consuming alcohol or abstaining — this balance not only supports well-being but also takes relationships to the next level.

As Oscar Wilde famously quipped, “Everything in moderation, including moderation.” Occasional indulgence is part of living fully. Life is too short for perpetual restraint.

A balanced life — not extreme discipline, not unchecked indulgence — is where joy actually lives. Enjoy a piece of cake, but not the whole thing. Savor a drink, but don’t overdo it. Allow yourself the series, but not at the cost of sleep.

So the next time you face a dilemma, remember that balance is key. And if you stray from the path now and then, that’s simply part of living life to the fullest.

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🔗 Read Reflect Rejoice

The Seven Habits That Quietly Push People Away

Photo by cottonbro studio

Ever wonder what truly sets us apart in this vast animal kingdom — why we love to speak, and why some people draw listeners in while others quietly push them away? It’s our ability to articulate our stories, views, and ideas with clarity and warmth that makes us interesting to others. Sometimes we speak with purpose, sometimes out of habit, and often just to fill the silence. Some conversations build bridges, while others quietly burn them.

Most people will not tell me if my presence doesn’t add value — they may tolerate me out of courtesy. But our ambition should never be to be tolerated; it should be to inspire, to uplift, to enlighten, and to leave others feeling a little more fulfilled at the end of a conversation.

And when we aren’t speaking outward, we’re speaking inward. That constant inner dialogue can drain us just as much as any unhelpful conversation with another person.

When we introspect, and try to understand what makes us unpopular with others or unsettled even when alone, seven traits consistently show up:

Gossip — the “just between us” whisper that feels irresistible. Yet every listener runs the same silent calculation: If they speak this way about others, how do they speak about me? Gossip is cheap entertainment, and nobody respects the entertainer.

Judging — the quickest way to shut a door without touching it. A judgmental tone turns a moment of connection into a performance review.

Negativity — the slow leak that deflates every room. It’s the habit of noticing what’s missing before acknowledging what exists.

Complaining — it sounds like communication, but it rarely creates change. We’re remembered not for what frustrated us, but for what we tried to improve.

Excuses — they soften us, protect us, and sometimes even justify us, but they insult the intelligence of the listener. People forgive mistakes far quicker than avoidance.

Lying — a countdown timer on credibility. Every lie requires maintenance: explanations, memory, and effort.

Dogmatism — when being right becomes more important than being wise. The silence that follows such conversations isn’t peace; it’s people deciding not to return.

In a world where everyone is speaking, the real distinction isn’t volume — it’s value. Confidence is admirable, but flexibility is magnetic. Being open doesn’t weaken belief; it strengthens understanding.

Remove gossip, judgment, excuses, and unnecessary cynicism, and what remains is a voice worth hearing — clear, honest, thoughtful, and generous. Because communication isn’t about proving we can speak; it’s about giving others a reason to listen.

Words We Can’t Take Back

There’s a story I read long ago — one that stayed with me not because it spoke of grand gestures or eternal romance, but because it reflected something quietly human in all of us.

A girl once asked her boyfriend, “Who do you love most in this world?”

Without hesitation, he said, “You, of course.”

When she asked what she truly meant to him, he paused and replied, “You are my rib.”
A line borrowed from an old Biblical metaphor — tender, symbolic, deeply personal.

But love, as many of us eventually learn, isn’t just about finding the right person.
It’s about keeping them — through misunderstandings, through pride, through the noise of everyday life.

One day, in a moment of anger, he said the words that would haunt him for years:

“Maybe it was a mistake for us to be together. You were never meant for me.”

The words fell heavy. She went silent, then said softly,

“If I’m not meant for you, then let me go. It’s less painful this way.”

And she walked away.

Time — as it always does — kept moving.

Years later, fate crossed their paths again.
At an airport, where goodbyes are ordinary and reunions feel almost routine, they exchanged smiles, revisited old memories, and promised to meet again once they were both back in the city.

A week later, he learned she had died in a tragic accident.

We all have moments when frustration speaks louder than love — we lash out at the ones closest to us.

Forgetting that spoken words don’t return to us, they grow roots, they leave marks, they outlive the moment.

Perhaps the real wisdom is in pausing before speaking. In holding back the words that anger pushes to the surface. In remembering that some things, once said, can’t be unsaid —
and some people, once gone, never return.

So if you’ve found your person —
the one who understands your silences, accepts your imperfections, and still chooses you —
tell them.

Not once. Not twice.
But often.

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This post has two inspirations: 

Story of a Japanese man named Otou Katayama, who stopped speaking to his wife, Yumi, for 20 years after an argument in 1997, but they continued to live together and raise their family. The silence was finally broken in 2017 through a TV show. 

A song from the movie “Aap Ki Kasam” - Lyricist: Anand Bakshi and singer Kishore Kumar

ज़िंदगी के सफ़र में गुज़र जाते हैं जो मुक़ाम,
In the journey of life, the moments that pass by,

वो फिर नहीं आते।
They never return.

वो फिर नहीं आते।
They truly never return.

फूल खिलते हैं, लोग मिलते हैं।
Flowers bloom, people meet.

फूल खिलते हैं, लोग मिलते हैं मगर—
Flowers bloom, people meet, but—

पतझड़ में जो फूल मुरझा जाते हैं,
The flowers that wither in autumn,

वो बहारों के आने से खिलते नहीं।
Don’t blossom again, even when spring returns.

कुछ लोग एक रोज़ जो बिछड़ जाते हैं,
Some people, who part from us one day,

वो हज़ारों के आने से मिलते नहीं।
Don’t come back to us, even if thousands arrive.

उम्र भर चाहे कोई पुकारा करे उनका नाम—
Even if one calls their name for a lifetime—

वो फिर नहीं आते।
They don’t return.

वो फिर नहीं आते।
They never return.

The Woman by the Window

 

Photo Courtesy

Sometimes we wake up with a strange unease — a hollow feeling that something unpleasant is about to happen.
Some say the body senses trouble before the mind does.
Daniel’s left eye had been twitching since morning.
He wasn’t a superstitious man, but when life is in turmoil, even reason looks for omens.

On another day, he would’ve shrugged it off — determined to make a bad morning better as the day went on.
But not today.

All night, Daniel had simmered from a bitter argument with his ex-wife — the kind that replays long after the words end.
“There’s so much in common between evil and Eve,” he muttered when she’d shown up that morning — with her new partner.

His thoughts were sharp, restless. To escape them, he drove without direction, trying to reassure himself that “the world isn’t ending — there must still be kind, rational people out there.”

After an hour of aimless driving, he spotted a small café glowing with warm morning light. For a moment, he thought a cup of coffee might calm the storm inside him.

Inside, the air smelled of fresh bread and quiet — two things Daniel felt he no longer understood.
He told himself, “This will be a happy day. No matter what.”

He sat near the counter, ordered coffee, and noticed the room — a mix of college students on laptops, friends chatting softly before work.
All men, he realized.
Maybe that’s why it felt so peaceful.

And then, he saw her.
A woman sat by the window, reading a book, utterly at peace.
There was something infuriating about her calmness — as if life itself had placed her there to mock him, to remind him of all the grace he’d lost.

Before he could stop himself, he said aloud, his voice cutting through the café:
“Today,” he declared loudly, “is the first day of the rest of my life! Coffee and muffins for everyone — except that woman!”

The waiter blinked, unsure if he’d heard right.
But Daniel’s face left no room for questions.

Moments later, the café hummed with quiet delight. Trays of muffins appeared on tables — for everyone except her.

The woman looked up from her book. Their eyes met. And then, to his surprise — she smiled.
“Thank you,” she said gently.

Daniel felt irritation rise. He was expecting her to react the way his wife would have.
“Fine! Add pastries for everyone — except her!”

Again, the woman smiled. Again, she said, “Thank you.”

Confusion replaced anger. Maybe all women aren’t the same, he thought to himself.
He got up and approached the window, half-demanding, half-pleading,
“What’s wrong with you, lady? I keep excluding you, and you keep thanking me!”

The waiter, who had stepped closer anticipating trouble, leaned in and said softly, with a knowing smile,
“She’s not upset, sir. She owns this café.”

Daniel froze.
For a second, the air itself seemed to laugh. Then, a chuckle escaped him — the first in weeks.

“I do own the café,” she said softly. “But that’s beside the point. I’ve learned not to lose my inner peace just because someone else has lost theirs. My peace is my own.”

Sometimes life holds up a mirror in the strangest ways.
We strike out at others to soothe our own pain — and life gently shows us how foolish that is.

He looked at her once more and, for the first time, saw that she looked nothing like his ex-wife.
She was simply a woman by the window — and he, perhaps, was finally ready to heal.

Thank you for stopping by and reading my story. I hope it left you with a moment of reflection — do visit again for more such tales of life and perspective.

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🌿 Read Reflect Rejoice

Between No and Yes

 

Photo Courtesy

Our children have a particular advantage when it comes to turning a parent’s “no” into a “yes.”
They play with emotions — pleading eyes, gentle persistence, and the disarming charm of a smile.
It’s persuasion in its purest, most instinctive form.

But that equation doesn’t quite work in the real world.

The other day, while sitting at a street-side café, I watched young vendors weave through the crowd, their voices soft but assured. They moved with purpose — gestures measured, never too forceful, never too timid.

They seemed to understand, almost intuitively, that between a “no” and a “yes” lies a space — a space where persuasion lives. And they knew just how to move within it: how warmth could turn hesitation into agreement, and how pressing too hard could turn that same hesitation into refusal.

It made me think about how persuasion works far beyond sales. Whether in boardrooms, relationships, or everyday conversations, influence isn’t about pressure — it’s about presence. It’s about sensing the invisible boundary between interest and irritation, between trust and resistance.

Persuasion, at its best, is an art of balance — knowing when to speak, when to listen, and when to let silence do the work.

A “no” is rarely final. More often, it’s a pause — a sign that the listener has reservations, needs more clarity, or simply seeks to protect their sense of control. Persuasion lives in this space between certainty and hesitation. It isn’t manipulation — it’s understanding, the patient art of aligning perspectives rather than overpowering them.

Recognizing when persuasion will work — and when it won’t — is a quiet mark of wisdom. A hesitant “maybe,” a thoughtful silence, or a request for more information are signs that dialogue is alive. But when the “no” is firm, repeated, or emotionally charged, persistence can only close the door further. In such moments, respect becomes the highest form of persuasion.

Ultimately, persuasion is less about changing minds than about creating connections. Between “no” and “yes” lies not a battlefield but a bridge.

And perhaps that’s what both the young vendor on the street and the child at home already understand:
that persuasion’s secret lies not in the push, but in the pause —
in knowing when to stop, smile, and simply wait.

Thank you for taking the time to read.
If this reflection resonated with you, I invite you to return for more whenever you can create an opportunity..
Until then, stay curious — and may every “no” in your life lead you a little closer to understanding.

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💬 Read Reflect Rejoice