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
When people ask, with curiosity, what I do all day, I usually smile and reply, ‘Nothing much.’ It is a convenient answer, simple, unprovocative, and often enough to satisfy the questioner. The conversation moves on, and so does life
But the truth is far fuller
Much of my day unfolds inside a creative bubble. It is a space where ideas are constantly forming, dissolving, and reshaping themselves. I move from one thought to another, from making to unmaking, from observing to imagining. This kind of work rarely announces itself loudly. There are no fixed hours, no visible milestones, no obvious outputs that can be easily measured or displayed
In a world that often values productivity by numbers and material outcomes, such labour can appear weightless, almost invisible. Creative work is frequently compared to financial gain, and when it does not immediately translate into income, it is easily misunderstood or undervalued. Yet the rewards it offers are profound: a sense of purpose, inner clarity, emotional resilience, and the satisfaction of creating something meaningful from within
That said, it would be dishonest to romanticise creativity as something detached from real-world needs. Financial independence matters. It matters for everyone, and artists are no exception. The ability to sustain oneself lends dignity, stability, and freedom to any form of work, creative or otherwise. Passion alone cannot replace the need for security, nor should it be expected to
Perhaps the gap lies not in the work itself, but in how we perceive it. Not all labour is loud. Not all effort leaves visible footprints. Some of the most valuable work happens in silence, slowly, patiently, and away from public validation
To say ‘nothing much’ is easier. But in reality, it is a life silently lived in attention, imagination, and continuous becoming. And that, too, is work, deep, deliberate, and very real
Sometimes, I find myself simply observing those who seem ‘normal’, the way they speak, the words they choose to describe their experiences, how they react, or how they present their abilities with such careful confidence. Their ease in communication fascinates me, as if they instinctively know how to navigate social expectations.
At times, being among them makes me feel out of place, as if I exist on a different wavelength. Yet, I take myself lightly, even when they joke at my expense. I do not mind, because their amusement does not define me. In fact, I feel a strange sense of joy when they fail to understand me, because, deep down, that’s exactly what I prefer.
Those of us who are born different, who experience the world through a mind that society struggles to categorize, are often labeled with terms and diagnoses. But these labels do not define us. We are nature’s unique creation, wired to perceive life in ways they cannot grasp. And perhaps, they do not need to understand us.
Only a few people ever truly see us for who we are, and that is the rarest gift. The most powerful truth is that we are the ones who teach them how to understand us. It is not luck that allows them to connect with us, it is our choice to let them in. And for that, they are truly fortunate …
A tale from a psychologically challenged soul
#roksanatales
Cherry blossoms in Ravenscourt Park, London
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Étranger/ french Meaning is ‘Stranger’. It reflects the sense of being apart from the norm, of existing on a different wavelength, and not being fully understood by society
She walked slowly, But now she walks even slower …
She talked freely with the right person, But now She barely talks at all …
She mingled happily with her best friend, But now She avoids everyone …
She expressed herself openly, But now She keeps everything inside …
She used to dream of the stars But now She barely looks at the sky …
She used to dance in the rain But now She stays inside, dry …
She used to laugh with abandon But now Her smiles are rare and shy …
She used to sing her heart out But now Her voice is just a whisper …
She used to chase after adventures But now She hesitates to even try …
She used to believe in magic But now Her wonder seems to die …
She lost her beloved, her heart’s anchor, Now she drifts, untethered and forlorn …
Grief has woven shadows in her days, And joy, once bright, feels tattered and torn …
#roksanatales
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Ya’ Aburnee/ arabic (n.) lit. ‘may you bury me’ a declaration of one’s hope that they’ll die before another person because of how unbearable it would be to live without them
all about nothing of sounds, spoken softly or loudly, with passion or anger … all about nothing of jealousies, forgiveness, tears and fears … all about nothing of the secrets whispering through the wind and the joy within …
all about nothing of opening hearts and minds headed in the magnificent magic of colors around … all about nothing of music of the breeze, windmill, piano, and hidden in paintings … all about nothing of gems, precious gold, silver, fruit and bushes of colorful hues … all about nothing of writing with grace and unwritten words with day dreaming state … all about nothing of a promise that is meant to be and not meant to be … all about nothing of relief from each itching and holding on to a belief … all about nothing of the reasons in wonderment and in ecstasy … all about nothing of never to be heard and of never to be seen … all about nothing of an angel kiss, as calming as the stars … all about nothing of longing to be nourished and cherished … all about nothing of reaching high and climbing mountains … all about nothing of connection, attachments and non-attachments … all about nothing of love and a sense of belonging …
all about nothing of a new gravity and definition … all about nothing of fine vine yards and forest all about nothing of desired and undesired … all about nothing of noise and quietness … all about nothing of facts and mystery … all about nothing of prose and poetry …
all about nothing of cause and cure … all about nothing of time and space … all about nothing of weak and odds … all about nothing of lost and found … all about nothing of earth and sea … all about nothing of far and near … all about nothing of something and everything that my breaths care as a poet all the while … that there is all about something for everything as becoming you, as becoming me …
As there’s no clue… When we never knew if it were true … We come and go, we stare and it’s comfortably warm … And we just have nothing- it makes and remakes us whole, When it’s all about nothing, it’s the everything
#roksanatales
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I’m sorry if your head is exploding reading ‘all about nothing’ here!
Sometimes, things that seem meaningless or nonsensical still occur. In this world, it appears that nothing is impossible, and this has been proven time and again …
I have a fondness for breaking apart A fascination with the fragile The delicate dance of hearts Walking unsteadily on the edge … In love …
I have a fondness for breaking apart At times it seems Love’s other name is Broken hearts … An echo of longing … A symphony of cracks …
I have a fondness for breaking apart In love, I find A beauty in the fracture, In the spaces … Where light seeps through the wounds Where the raw and the real collide In a blaze of truth and tenderness …
I have a fondness for breaking apart It’s a mosaic of Shattered dreams Pieced together with hope … A courage of feeling The audacity of connection …
I have a fondness For the breaking … For the way love demands vulnerability … For the way it strips us bare … For the way all its flaws are revealed I have a fondness For my unguarded heart Breaking apart …
For in the breaking, We find the depth of love The resilience of the beautiful soul … The beauty of a heart That dares to love Even knowing it might break … That’s how I have a fondness For breaking apart …
In puzzled ponder, a name I’ve heard Though “Roksana” my soul preferred … Yet as time passed by A fondness did arise Love’s influence moves my heart … Let the name be my tender song In love’s embrace, I truly belong …
You cannot save anyone. You can be present with them, offer your groundedness, your sanity, your peace. You can even share your path with them, offer your perspective. But you cannot take away their pain. You cannot walk their path for them. You cannot give answers that are right for them, or even answers they can digest right now. They will have to find their own answers.
Restless I feel … My heart aches deeply … He captivates my heart …
My thoughts are scattered … Right now … Oh dear! I continually shatter my heart, Dispersing its fragments Until they touch The depths of your being, My beloved …
My Dear, It’s likely that as you were writing to me, I was walking back home from work, taking in the beauty of the flowers in my charming neighborhood …
I adore my neighborhood. The scenery is incredibly captivating with its tall trees and beautiful blossoming flowers. I frequently opt to walk home from work, as it’s only 850-1000 steps from my workplace to my home …
So, what I was saying about my neighborhood!
I really admire the shade under the tall trees and enjoy watching the breeze rustle through the colorful bougainvillea. It’s lovely to see people walking along the footpath and enjoying their time. As I passed by the mosque, I noticed people seeking relief from the scorching heat under the trees in front of the mosque. I adore the vibrant colors, the fragrant scents, and the sense of simplicity in that scene.
It was scorching heat outside. And there I found myself embracing the warmth of the surroundings. There was refreshing cool breeze and thoughts of you. It may sound unbelievable, but it’s the truth. Your presence in my thoughts remains unwavering amidst the whirlwind of life’s events. Please, believe that.
So, where was I? I was expressing my fondness for the delightful, blossoming, shady path in my neighborhood and how much I’m fond of you …
Today I took a break from work as I was feeling an intermittent cramping in my abdomen. Some rest will help me feel better. However,. Sudden leave from work leads me to think, “How can I best utilize this extra time at home?” Swiftly, I begin mentally compiling a to-do list. Eventually, I decided to walk back home…
While returning, I found myself feeling happy to see these blossoms and greens. The outside heat was too strong but I cared less and I continued walking, intermittently pausing to capture photographs.
I returned home and checked my email once again. I was so surprised to receive your mail. This news brightened my day so much that now I feel inspired to spend the next few hours painting.
I find great pleasure in painting when my heart is filled with happiness and I was very happy to read your mail.
Your words and painting will grace my own solitude for today, now and here.
Do you enjoy solitude?
I eagerly await your response to my somewhat poetic emails.
A university degree, four books, and hundreds of articles and I still make mistakes when reading, You write to me “good morning” and I read it as, “I love you” …
I reconnected with that girl anew – Who once embraced life fully … Who danced with every step and radiated joy Whose eyes were some sunflowers, blooming And whose soul ignited fireworks, dazzling …
I played music for that girl again … In hopes that its melody would ignite her spirit within Creating a haven for her to emerge from the shadows And dance once more under the stars …
Knowing that she would find solace within these moments With each sunset painted in hues of gold And each gentle breeze whispering Through the trees …. I hoped to create a sanctuary where she could feel safe enough to reveal herself once again …
Deep within, I felt her presence stirring, A flicker of recognition amidst the silence … Longing for my kindness and effort that shimmered with possibility I vowed to nurture her return To guide her back into the light Where she rightfully belonged .. She belonged to the poetry within her …
#roksanatales
Little Roksana
The pic is from the archive of memories of a young girl; another of her mirror image. She was travelling by train, from Kolkata to Delhi ….
On this day, he reflected, “I recall she used to attend her prayers for Jumma day.” …
On this day, she reminisced, “I recall he would probably meet the girl.” …
Today, he worried, “She has been feeling a bit unwell. Will she still be able to go to the mosque for her prayers? Perhaps she should rest today. Will she ever heed my advice?” …
Today, she pondered, “When will he meet the girl? Will it be in the evening? That would be preferable. It’s quite hot outside today; they might not feel comfortable meeting in such humidity. I hope their meeting goes well.” …
Despite feeling unwell again, she went to the mosque for Jumma prayer, then in the evening she prayed for him before falling asleep …
In the evening, he met the girl, and they enjoyed their time together, discussing their future life …
Throughout all this time, they remember their memories, Yet they never announce their presence, Simply flowing directly into their hearts …
#roksanatales
I appreciate your prayers for me.
Tell me if there’s anything else you wish to put in this story ….
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Gunnen/ dutch (n.) to find happiness in someone else’s happiness because that’s how much you love them …
A self-portrait captured In the window’s reflection … Streets refreshed, cars in repose, As the breeze sweeping by … Your absence is there deep within, Even in the hustle of life … A smile graces my lips in this bustling race Thinking of you …. Contemplating …. Life carries me well forward With an unconditional love for you …
#roksanatales
Agape/ greek (n.) The highest form of love. Selfless, sacrificial and unconditional love; persists no matter the circumstance …
Do you realize the depth of my longing, the relentless ache for your words that consumes me day after day?
As time slips away, I find myself bereft of the anticipation that you’ll come to me with your thoughts woven into words …
Every passing day feels like an eternity, a solitary bird yearning for the life-giving touch of rain …
I yearn for you incessantly, akin to a tearful child yearning for the comforting embrace of its mother …
My wait for you echoes the patience of a patient seeking their cure …
Do you understand the extent of my yearning, how it wraps around me like a heavy fog, casting shadows of melancholy and confusion?
You are a constant presence, flowing like a river, your thoughts swirling within me, sometimes quietly, always tumultuously …
I ache for you, as if my very spirit is on a quest to find you, while my physical self remains anchored in the depths of my heart, waiting …
I long for the days filled with twinkling moments shared between us, each one a precious gem amidst the vast expanse of time .
#roksanatales
Wonderwall (n.) someone you can’t stop yourself thinking about all the time; the person you’re completely infatuated with …
According to Gallagher, Wonderwall‘ describes ‘an imaginary friend who’s gonna come and save you from yourself; a source of support and strength; a soulmate …
Often these days My thoughts are spreading out to you With too many questions hovering upon me.. Is the heat too intense where you dwell? Are you navigating it with ease? What’s the moisture like in your realm? What’s the humidity level there? I sense the weariness in your words; It seems like a struggle for you; Are you truly alright?
Here, we’re also dealing with scorching heatwaves – Yet, amidst the swelter, my mind wanders to you How do you cope up in this relentless weather? Often these days It crosses my mind …
Do you think of me too, Sometimes?
Do you remember my disdain for humidity, And how it worsens my headaches …. Do you remember my aversion to doctors, Yet now they’re an inevitable part of life?
My heart, already broken by your absence, Feels the toll of days passing … I find myself overthinking, Lost in thoughts of you, Especially in these days, Days of relentless heat, Days of suffocating humidity ….
Though You may never grasp … There’s an essence about you that I can’t shake Even amidst these sweltering heatwaves … A grip on me akin to The greatest tale left untold …
So,
Could you narrate an episode or two from your journey? Could you paint a tale of your eccentric existence? Could you recount an experience For me? To me? In these sweltering heat Amidst the scorching waves there? …
Meanwhile Take care, my dear, Know that I pray for you … In every moment In every humid day and night Of these days ….
Yours truly ^^
#roksanatales
I do drink lots of water in these scorching conditions. I do keep my body cool. Though I hate to use sunscreen, just I avoid sunburn. I do like coconut water a lot. And Nimbu Pani too ☺️. Then I love ice cream too 🤷🏿♀️
In strokes of paints and words My soul opens up inviting you to breathe life into my world … Yet you missed the essence, and The depth of my art … Only once though … yet The entire ordeal leaves me to ponder, and Torn apart …
Do you feel the echo of my heart’s despair? Or does indifference cloak the air? It matters not, for distance now weaves its sway, As I journey on, far from yesterday’s bay …
Though you missed my art’s embrace, Let its sigh lingers, finding their place … Somewhere within you … As you hold it close to your being in time to come Let its essence, eternal, be freeing … Let my art reside, As a silent companion … As a comforting guide …. As a cherished part of me …
May it dwell Within you, So I may live on forever through my art With you …
#roksanatales
I love my Jian Bird Creates journey … it’s a journey of creativity and joy and resilience of a lot more than you could ever think of …
Forget Me Not
Avenoir/ latin (n.) the desire to see memories in advance or desire that memory could flow backward …
Most days, when it’s Friday, I remember that on such one Friday I entered his city, and he didn’t show up …
Do you know what I was thinking when I stepped out of the airport? I never been to this airport and unfortunately I was going to stay only the night at his city ….
Our hotel cars were outside the airport. We girls got into the cars and the car was passing through the airport road to get to the city centre … the full moon was racing with us, I was watching it through the car window …with my wandering heartbeats on …
I wanted to believe that he will be there to surprise me. So without any contact with him, I was still hoping that I may see him in there at the hotel lobby and for that I was feeling a bit nervous, ‘What if he actually comes!? Should I go outside to grab coffee with him as he wanted to take me out for a coffee, or should I ask him to have dinner at the hotel restaurant as it was already late because of the delayed flight. We won’t get time for a coffee break somewhere else.’ – to be honest I was feeling very nervous too. And more importantly, I needed to give him the gifts that I’ve been carrying throughout my whole trip,… So I needed to unpack my luggage!”
“Oh no! That would be a mess!” – I was thinking about all these in my mind …
Then we reached the hotel. The lobby was normal with less people. I looked around a little bit more. “Was there any face that was searching someone?” – I was looking here and there and was thinking about this – “Oh! better if he doesn’t come now.” As if I can recognise him. I never saw him even. How stupid and pathetic I was! I was thinking, ‘I want to freshen up first and then I’ll be coming down again for dinner, and may be by that time he would come and I may offer him dinner Dosa at the hotel restaurant’ … I still can’t believe that I was thinking all of these even without any confirmation from him to meet me here! Feeling too much angry at myself ….
However, after the hotel formalities were done, we went up to our room and then I came down with my travel mate and by that time I grew a feeling of no expectation that he would come. ‘If I expect, it’s going to hurt me. It’s alright’ – I was thinking to make myself feel better and now I’m waiting for my dosa with an expectation of having a good dinner, because I was so hungry by that time through so many things and all of these unsure traumas …
Unfortunately -A delayed flight disappointed me … -‘He’ disappointed me (He didn’t come. He didn’t confirm he would come though. Still I felt disappointed as if it’s all his fault…. ) -Dosa disappointed me (I was so hungry and I was craving dosa, but it was a disaster)
Now what?
A dilemma …
To keep or not to keep the gift packet at the reception desk!
My poor little handmade gifts for him, and few other things – should I keep my gift packet for him to pick later on when he gets to know that I was at his city and about all of these!
Poor me and my surprise gifts!
Wish he would know how brave it was for me to accept his coffee date for sometime in the middle of the night …
It won’t make sense if he never comes and by that time I started having headaches. I must sleep for sometime, and so I did, having a medicine …
It was 3 AM in the morning, again our cars were on the road of his city to reach the airport. This time I took some videos of the road as a memory of the city.
Long ago when the young girl in me visited this city, she was a carefree young girl who didnt know what does disappointment means! At that time she treasured the memory of visiting the famous amusement park with her siblings – it was full of fun, laughter and pure innocent joy. That time she left the city with delightful memories.
Now she’s leaving the city with the gift she so lovingly brought here for someone she never met before, but whom she thought she knew for a long time ….
This time she was innocent too, as her feelings were so deep and true, but she didn’t understand why she would be disappointed for someone who didn’t even know about the gifts she’s been carrying for him.
But for what reason, she was upset – she didn’t understand though she’s not a carefree young girl anymore …
But she was upset, confused and disoriented because now she was carrying the gifts to bring back home and carrying a strange unknown heart leaving a bit of her heart in this dark city!
Dark, because she entered it with a strange unknown feeling and it was nighttime though the moon was there (a relief to my eyes) and dark, because her heart was broken for a completely unknown, strange, unspecified reason so she was in denial for long …
It was a Friday night entering his city and on the morning of Saturday my flight took off from his city …
So on Fridays, most times it reminds me of that Friday when I was in his city, and he didn’t show up …
A delusion!
#roksanatales
It’s a long post. I’m sorry for that. If you’ve read the whole story, thank you and tell me if you’ve ever felt the same? Or any instance that you might have felt ….
I won’t be hesitant to say, ‘It was difficult but I could breathe the day … It’s a hopelessness yet hope found its way … Though I cannot predict if all will be well, But I tried my best, trying to break through the spell …
#roksanatales
It rained a lot today, a lot, a lot, a lot; after a long, long, long time. …. It made me a bit contemplative …. Does this happen with you when it rains?
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Sielvartas/ lithuanian (n.) This term means deep sorrow or ‘soul tumbling’. It can simply be a state of seemingly endless grief …
What broke your heart so bad That you had to close every door, That you say you have a dark soul And can’t utter the word ‘love’ anymore?
Sanhita Baruah
Quite heartbroken wounded words these are, yet so beautifully expressed, I think. So I sharedwith you all …
I loved these lines so much that I even tried to recite in my naive voice. About the recording and my voice, I think I sound too childish, and that makes me feel nervous about it. It might sound boring to some, and it’s a bit dramatic also, as if I was actually telling you …
Roksana Tales 