I often find myself in a state of reflection, combing through aspects of my life, contemplating my experiences, teasing out lessons here and there. It used to clear my head, but nowadays, I feel trapped by the clutter, as if pushing against the walls only brings them closer. In desperate attempts to breath, I write. Yet some days, the release of my jaded spirit onto her blank canvas is insufficient to truly feel free. At times like this I find myself flipping through the pages of my past, searching for something I cannot truly explain. I retrace the tales of my youth, allowing my heart to be swallowed up in the emotions of my 23 year old self, and suddenly I feel whole. As though the self love I repeatedly failed to grasp, washed over my soul, so graciously forgiving my lack of responsibility to myself. I flip through these pages and wipe tears, in awe of the woman I used to embody. A woman who sought refuge in her dreams and found life in love and in pain. A woman who chose to not simply persist but thrive, silencing the whispers of doubt that slid in through her ears.  A woman whose ambitions surpass even the furthest limits of my present mind, and rekindle the hearth in my belly that struggled for so long just to flicker. A woman who inspires me; whose light swings my course north and reminds me of the woman I have yet to become. As I flip through these pages of my past, I find a woman who fills even the darkest corners of my mind with love and hope, reminding me that this pain I feel is merely a shadow in the immensity of light, nothing but a by product of greatness.

-Vidhya