Learning to feel again

June 2nd, 2025

A year ago today, I lost my Aama to cancer. I was in the States. She was in Nepal. And I felt... nothing. No tears, no breakdown, no overwhelming sadness—just a strange numbness that stayed.

She was the dearest person to me. She loved me very, very much. I love her just as deeply. But when the news came, I didn’t cry. Not until I saw my brother on the phone. And then, when I hung up... nothing again.

I was jobless at the time. I did what I had to: job hunting, walking around the city alone, eating a sandwich like it was any other day, returning home, and unpacking boxes in my new room. Like nothing had happened. That pattern—empty days, no real memory—lasted for six months. Every day felt the same.

Since then, life has felt stuck.

No job.

No social life.

No love life.

No money.

And a head full of dreams, still waiting to be lived.

Some days, it feels like there's no point to all this. My heart aches for home. I just want to be with my family—sleep in my own bed, help mom with chores, cook for everyone, laugh with them at dinner, scold dad for skipping meals, have my hair oiled by mom. I want to gossip with my brother like we used to—about everything happening here. I want to go shopping with my sister again.

That life—that love—that simplicity—is what my soul longs for.

Maybe that’s still my true home. Maybe it always will be.

But today, I just want to honor her. My Aama. The one who loved me without conditions.

And maybe, even if I still feel numb sometimes, writing this is a way of saying:

"I miss you. I love you. I’m still trying."

– Supriya