reflective writing – Roksana Tales

Bonhomie

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

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’ …

Bonhomie
/ˌbɒnəˈmiː/ (British English)
Sounds like: bon-uh-MEE

You’re a Bonhomie to me
I♥️

Sincerity

Some days, I’m more aware of my shortcomings than I allow others, or myself to see. I see where I fall short, where I hesitate, where I choose comfort over courage. I know my flaws. I do not hide them from myself, and I cannot hide them from God.

And yet, when I pray, something honest rises within me.

I come as I am, not polished, not proud. My prayers are not rehearsed performances; they are pure offerings shaped by need, regret, hope, and longing. I pray because despite everything, I still believe in mercy. I still believe in being heard

Perhaps this is what sincerity truly means. It’s not the absence of sin, but the refusal to turn away. I am learning that returning, again and again, is itself a form of faith. Even when I feel undeserving, I show up. Even when my heart is tired, I speak

Thats how always humbly I place my imperfections in God’s hands. Because I believe, no other can handle it like Him. I do not ask to be seen as perfect, only as honest. And for always, that feels like enough

#roksanatales

Now tell me,
Where do you place your imperfections?

On Decluttering, Memory and Leaving Light Behind

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