I love people Who carry kindness calmly, Like a small light in their hands … They do not wait for applause They simply move through the world With softness in their voice And calm in their heart …
I admire those Who naturally have morals and manners Not because someone taught them to perform goodness But because respect lives inside them They greet people warmly Listen without rushing And leave others feeling valued …
I notice people With self awareness and common sense They pause before speaking They understand that words can stay Inside someone for a long time So they choose honesty with care And silence when silence is kinder …
I feel safe around those Who have consideration for others They think beyond themselves They notice tired faces, unspoken feeling, Small discomforts in crowded rooms Their kindness pays attention …
I appreciate people Who move through the world gently Without making it everyone else’s problem They carry their struggles with grace They do not spread hurt everywhere they go Even in difficult moments They try not to wound others …
I respect people Who care without keeping score They give because their heart tells them to Not for praise Not to collect favors Not to remind others later Of everything they once did …
I hold close the people Who don’t make noise about their goodness There is something rare about them No performance, no loud display Just humble decency, day after day The kind of people Who simply are …
#roksanatales
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Bonhomie means a warm, friendly, and relaxed kindness in a person’s behaviour. It describes someone who is naturally pleasant, easy to be around, and makes others feel comfortable without trying too hard. The word is derived from the French bonhomme, meaning ‘good-natured fellow’ …
What are 5 everyday things that bring you happiness?
I believe, happiness doesn’t arrive as something grand. It comes in small, almost unnoticed moments …
For me, happiness lives in being at home, my little temple, my sanctuary, where I can sit in stillness, eat slowly, and feel safe within my own space …
It lives in walking, step by step, with music in my ears, letting my thoughts soften and settle somewhere amidst people, places, environments, nature, and the roads …
It lives in creating, picking up a pen or brush, I let myself write or paint without pressure. Words and colors become a place to rest, where emotions flow freely and something within me feels understood …
It lives in simple connections, a conversation, a shared cup of tea or coffee, or even just knowing someone is there, without the need for too many words …
And it lives in faith and reflection, those moments when I pause, pray, or sit with my thoughts, connecting to the higher powers, trying to make sense of life’s uncertainties, and finding just enough strength to keep going
These are my five everyday happinesses. Small, gentle, and steady! They carry me through everything …
I came across the idea of Swedish death cleaning today, and it stayed with me longer than I expected. Not because of the word death, that part feels inevitable and oddly neutral, but because of the tenderness behind the idea: easing the weight for those we love …
Margareta Magnusson writes about sorting not as an ending, but as an act of care. A way of saying, I see you. I don’t want to leave you overwhelmed. That makes sense to me. Deep sense …
Sorting through a person’s life after they are gone is a herculean task. Grief itself already bends the spine; belongings can make it heavier. Each object asks a question: Should I keep this? What did it mean to them? Am I dishonouring them if I let it go? I wouldn’t want my family to carry that weight on top of their sorrow …
The biggest declutter I dream of is invisible, yet massive: millions of photographs. Faces, skies, meals, moments, saved out of love, fear of forgetting, or the hope that one day they’ll matter again. I wonder if they will feel like treasures… or burdens. Perhaps it’s not about deleting everything, but about choosing what truly tells a story …
Then there are my words. Countless musings, half-written thoughts, simple musings, & reflections stored away for “someday.” I imagine my grandchildren, & great grandchildren, curious, gentle readers, finding joy not in everything I ever wrote, but in the pieces where my voice is clearest. Maybe my task is not to preserve all my words, but to organise them with intention, like letters rather than clutter …
And the coins. Oh, the coins! Little metallic memories gathered from here and there. Each one once felt like a discovery, a moment of wonder. I don’t want to lose that magic, but I also don’t want them to become meaningless weight in a drawer. Perhaps they deserve a story, a frame, a reason to exist beyond accumulation …
Magnusson says you don’t have to be old to begin. Even in your thirties, when drawers no longer close and closets resist you, it’s already time. I like that permission. It takes death out of the centre and places living there instead …
I don’t know how far away I am from the end, and maybe that doesn’t matter. What matters is this: decluttering feels less like letting go, and more like choosing what love looks like when I’m no longer here …
For now, I will begin gently. Not with fear. With care.
#roksanatales
a vision board of decluttering and organising things in an aesthetic style
Toruna walks almost every day with her son. These walks are special for her, a time to breathe, notice, and listen to the stories unfolding around. Every face, every moment on the street seems to whisper something to her heart. Walking makes her more thoughtful, more aware of life’s small wonders and struggles …
One evening, on their way to the park, Toruna noticed a tiny woollen cap lying on the road. She stopped and told her son, ‘Maybe a mother was carrying her sleeping baby on her shoulder, and while walking home, the little cap slipped off without her noticing. And then when she reached home and saw it missing, she must have felt sad, that cute little cap of her dear child is lost!’ Her son smiled and said, ‘You’re such a storyteller, Mom.’
They both laughed and kept walking.
But Toruna’s eyes continued to wander, always finding small stories hidden in everyday life …
Near the park gate, she saw twin toddlers quarreling over lollipops, their mother watching with an amused smile. One of the twins looked a bit grumpier, & Toruna observed the mother gently scolding and laughing at the same time ….
A few steps ahead, a woman in niqab (a veil on her face) walked alone on the footpath. She seemed quiet, almost wrapped in her own thoughts. Perhaps she was returning from a long day at work, thinking about bills, groceries, and what to cook for dinner. Her steps were slow, her shoulders slightly bent, as if she was carrying more than just the weight of her bag. There was a sadness about her, the kind that comes when life feels heavy but must still move on. Watching her, Toruna remembered that she would be going for Umrah soon, and wondered if she might wear a niqab then too. The thought lingered as she walked on …
Near the park bench, Toruna saw a dead butterfly, its wings still beautiful, though still. She picked it up gently and showed it to her son who looked at it with curiosity, helped her to put it on the height of the side wall!
As they were walking, Toruna observed that two elderly men walked slowly side by side, leaning on their canes and talking as if the world belonged to only them. Their laughter carried softly in the air. Toruna thought about how friendship, even in old age, keeps the heart alive, how sharing stories can make time feel lighter … she wondered what might be the topics of their laughter!
Then, not far from them, a young girl crouched near the edge of the grass, feeding milk and biscuits to a few stray cats. The cats purred and brushed against her legs. Her sweet smile warmed Toruna’s heart, a small act of kindness in a noisy world …
A little further ahead, a young mother struggled with her two small children, one crying, the other running away. Toruna smiled at this sight of this young mother, remembering her own early days of motherhood. How young she had been, and ever since then, how her children had become her entire universe …
She and her son walked side by side, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. These walks had become their little ritual, good for both their minds and hearts …
That evening, they noticed a young boy walking slowly around the park. He looked a bit overweight and tired. Toruna said, ‘I’ve been watching that boy for a while.’ Her son nodded, ‘Yes, he comes here often. I’ve seen him too.’ Toruna felt a sadness for him. ‘I hope he feels better soon,” she said, ‘Life gives everyone some struggle that other people can never understand’ ….
As the sun began to fade, they left the park, stopping by the nearby general store to buy a few things before heading home. Toruna smiled to herself, ‘Tomorrow we’ll come again,” she thought, and surely, the path would have more stories waiting to be found …
#roksanatales
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Have you ever wondered, how many stories pass by us each day, unnoticed?
Roksana Tales 