“In the quiet corners of my childhood, I found strength in solitude and healing in hope.”
— Rose, Creator of BheyondBounDiaries
Hi, I’m Rose — and yes, I know I’ve been away for a while. It’s been hard to stay consistent here, and I won’t sugarcoat it. I found myself in a place where I couldn’t even give time to myself, let alone this blog. Life had become overwhelming, and the little pieces of me that once loved to write were buried under responsibilities and emotional clutter.
But now, I’m learning to manage myself again. I’m trying to reconnect with that part of me that once found healing through words. So, here I am — back on BheyondDiaries, hoping that this time I’ll show up more consistently. And today, I want to take you on a small journey — back to a part of my childhood that shaped how I see family, loneliness, and the small joys of love.
I grew up in a family rooted in the army lifestyle. My father served the nation with honor, which meant he was often away — posted to distant places where we couldn’t always follow. I was the youngest in the family, and yes, I was pampered and adored. But love from a distance can sometimes feel like a hollow echo when all you want is someone’s presence.
My first school was in Kolkata. But life, as it always does, had other plans. Due to some circumstances, my mother took my brother and me back to our village. While my brother was placed in a hostel, I stayed with my mother. My father was still away on duty, and I found myself entering school alone at the tender age of six.
I remember walking to school by myself, while most of the other children had a parent holding their hand. I didn’t quite understand the feeling then — I just knew something was missing. I felt it most in the mornings when I saw other kids being dropped off, and in the evenings when they were picked up with a smile. My mother was always there at home, doing her best. But as a child, I silently longed for the warmth of a complete family.
One of the most vivid memories I carry is of the day my father returned home on leave and surprised me with my first bicycle. I was in Class 1 — and in our village, owning a cycle at that age was a rare luxury. I was thrilled, not just because of the cycle, but because my father had remembered me in that small, powerful way.
With that little cycle, I began my solo journeys to school. It wasn’t easy. I fell multiple times on the rough village roads. I scraped my knees and bruised my palms, but I never cried in front of others. I’d hold back the tears until I reached school, rush to the bathroom, and let the pain fall silently. The pain wasn’t just physical — it was the kind that came from being alone. No one to lift me up, no one to tell me I’d be okay. Just me and my thoughts.
But there were also beautiful moments. Like the days when my brother came home for the holidays. He’d take me to school, wait for me after the bell rang, and walk me back home. In those little acts, I felt safe. We fought like all siblings do — but even in those fights, there was comfort. I never wanted him to leave. His presence brought joy that school friends or toys never could.
Over time, I adapted. I made friends, I started enjoying school, and I began to smile more. But deep down, my soul always found its calmest peace in the company of my family. That was my version of happiness.
As I grew up, I began to understand something profound: we often look for happiness in one specific direction. We obsess over one thing, one person, one version of joy — and forget to look around. In chasing that one ideal, we ignore the quiet gifts that life is already offering us.
Looking back now, I see that even in my loneliest days, life had hidden blessings — a kind neighbor, a kind word from a teacher, a sunny day with my friends. God had created a quiet, gentle playground around me. I just hadn’t noticed.
It took time, but I’ve learned that healing comes when we open our eyes to the full picture. When we stop chasing one kind of happiness and allow ourselves to experience joy in unexpected places. God works in mysterious ways — sometimes, the path we walk alone is the one that teaches us how strong we truly are.
So, if you’re reading this and feeling alone, I want you to remember this: You’re not really alone. The people, the strength, the joy — they may be around you already. You just need to walk into the playground God has built for you.
Until next time,
With love,
Rose 🌸
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