To the Girl Who Once Wrote in Silence

Dear Younger Me,

I know you’ve been waiting-quietly, patiently-through the months when the words stopped flowing, buried beneath to-do lists, deadlines, and the unrelenting pursuit of “what’s next.” Somewhere between visits and strategy decks, you forgot what your pen sounded like. But I see you now, tucked away in those old posts, full of questions, dreams, and quiet rebellion. And I’m here to tell you, I haven’t forgotten. I’m returning. Not because I’ve reached the top, but because I’ve realized the climb means little if I can’t pause to write about the view.

This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of returning. I’ve scribbled in journals during those late-night moments, when my heart overflowed with emotions too big to contain. I’ve written when I needed to scream, or dance, or cry quietly into the pages. That space has always been mine. But the words I wanted to offer to the world? They often hid. I’ve never felt good at expressing myself out loud, out here. And yet! Here I am, ready to try again.

This space may have been silent, but life wasn’t. I’ve gathered stories. Over the past three years, I’ve worked across Jharkhand, as a development communication professional, just a step out of my postgraduate years, listening to voices often unheard. I’ve sat with women weaving strength into their days, with tribal communities teaching me the language of the land, and with moments that quietly reshaped who I am. I didn’t always write them down, but I carried them with me. Now, I want to offer them back, as stories, reflections, maybe even questions. Not perfectly told, but honestly lived.

So, to all who are reading, thank you for being here. Let’s begin again.