I'll never forget the old days when a power cut would suddenly restore silence to our home. The hum of the TV, the whir of the fans, the glow of the lights - all would come to an abrupt halt. And in that darkness, something magical would happen.

My family would gather together, candles lit, and we'd sit in the soft, golden light. We'd talk, share stories, laugh, and enjoy each other's company. The power cut would become an unexpected gift, a chance to reconnect and bond.

And it wasn't just indoors. The entire neighborhood would come alive with the sound of silence. People would emerge from their homes, sit on their terraces, and gaze up at the stars. The mood would be tranquil, peaceful, and still. We'd watch the world slow down, and in that stillness, we'd find a sense of community and connection.

But those bygone days. Now, when the power goes out, we're quick to grab our phones, our laptops, and our portable chargers. We're addicted to the constant hum of technology and the silence is unbearable.

I've come to realize that silence is not just a lack of sound; it's a state of being. It's a chance to slow down, reflect, and recharge. But in a world that values productivity and speed, slowing down has become a radical act.

So, I've started small. I take walks in the early morning, before the city wakes up. I sit in stillness for 10 minutes each day, eyes closed, breath slow. I read books that make me think, that make me feel.

And slowly, I'm rediscovering the art of silence. I'm learning to appreciate the stillness, to savor the moments, and to listen to the quiet.

I long for those power cut nights, when the world would slow down, and we'd come together in the candlelight. I long for the simplicity, the peace, and the connection.

In a world that never stops, I'm choosing to pause. And in that pause, I'm finding myself.

Here is a poem that I wrote while searching for the stillness within me;

Old Switch Boards and Everything I Am in Between

I relate myself to old switch boards, still alive in flesh and bones,

My memories fade from dream to reality like a old switch ticking in an old house with creaking floors and whispering doors.

My dreams are like broken switches with black patches and rusted iron to hold my life together while I sleep in a paralysis of dreams and self-sabotage,

I am places and things I have always touched and lived around,

Like that 100 years old Burma teak wood almirah that neither my father and I won’t let go because a piece of it lives inside me like dust and cobwebs.

I am pieces of everything and every place I have been and touched,

All the coffee shops and booshelves lined with old, dusted, and unused books that nobody bothered reading, but I did;

Because in everything rusted, dusted, and abandoned; I see myself.

I see myself in old haunted houses with switchboards so old that they do not even creak even,

I feel the smoke of open air writing cafes where I sit and wrote for hours till the sun finally set and the moon finally smiled on me telling me to just go home.

I am in the newspapers that I sometimes never read, I liked the crisp headlines and the magazines that only looked glossy but was a deep void,

I am trinkets that I collected from the river bank and stones and shells that were gifted to me by random nice strangers.

I am hazelnut and cinnamon baked into one body with stories flowing like blood ink from my scars whenever I squeeze them in pain,

But I am also in places and things I have never touched because unwritten things and undone dreams are also pieces of you that never lived outside but inside your body.

I am a Parisian cafe with croissants and cream coffee,
I am an Oxford Library with archived full of elegant and beautiful works of art and literature,
I am in the stones of architecture I never touched,
I am the Cosmos, I might be the Milky Way too;
Who knows, skin and bones, with stardust and black holes?
But yet, I am an old switchboard that still does its job!

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