I never hate the rain.
It just…
it pours with no greeting,
nor the announcement of its arrival.

And I hate being unprepared.

I hate waiting under the circumstances
where I don’t know what to do,
don’t know what to expect.

Whether it will stop soon,
or get heavier.
Whether it's worth the wait,
or better to get drenched for one and all.

I’m asking myself,
if I hate the rain so much for that reason,
why am I letting myself fall for a promise
that came from the mouth of someone deceitful?

What do I expect?
A magic over one night
that turns the logic into ashes
and replaces it with an overflowing feeling?

Let’s not play saint and be honest about what it is.
If it is hurtful, then it is.
If it is ambiguous, then it is.
If it is not okay to wait, then stop waiting.

Let’s not play with the heart,
just to act surprised once it hurts.

Because even if I hate when the rain falls down,
I keep going outside
with a cap on,
or with an umbrella over my head.

Or even,
I could wait inside until it's done
then go out.

I have a thousand options to choose.
So, why do I stay for one that keep me hanging?

Writers, bring your chaos, your charm, and your half-baked drafts — Beyond Lines is ready for the beautiful mess. Let’s publish it!

Beyond Lines — Join Our Publication

The Pouring Rain was originally published in Beyond Lines on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

In Nepali

जसले हाँस्न सिकाउँछ, उसैले रुन पनि सिकाउँछ।
जसले माया गर्न सिकाउँछ, उसैले घृणा गर्न पनि सिकाउँछ।
जसले मान्छे चिन्न सिकाउँछ, उसैले प्रश्न गर्न पनि सिकाउँछ।
जसले बाँच्न सिकाउँछ, उसैले मर्न पनि सिकाउँछ।

In Hindi

जो हँसना सिखाता है, वही रोना भी सिखाता है।
जो प्यार करना सिखाता है, वही नफ़रत करना भी सिखाता है।
जो इंसानों को पहचानना सिखाता है, वही सवाल करना भी सिखाता है।
जो जीना सिखाता है, वही मरना भी सिखाता है।

In English

The one who teaches us to laugh also teaches us to cry.
The one who teaches us to love also teaches us to hate.
The one who teaches us to recognise people also teaches us to question them.
The one who teaches us how to live also teaches us how to die.

These are the lessons people teach us, sometimes without even realising it. Perhaps life is not just about learning how to live, but also about understanding everything that comes along with it.

You can write your Words and share it with Me.

Some Lesson That Teach us was originally published in Beyond Lines on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I've spent enough of my life trying to know.

Trying to predict what could go wrong.

Trying to prepare for every possible version of disappointment.

Trying to make sure I had enough money, enough courage, enough certainty, enough proof that whatever came next would be worth leaving what I already knew.

As if life sends invitations with the agenda attached.

As if change knocks politely and says,

"Hello. Before I enter, here’s exactly what this will cost you."

It doesn't.

Change has terrible manners.

It walks in while you're still comfortable.

It rearranges the furniture.

It takes people you thought would stay.

It introduces you to versions of yourself you didn't know existed.

And sometimes it ruins a perfectly good plan just to show you that the plan was never the point.

I've hated change before.

Not because I loved my old life that much.

But because at least I knew how to survive it.

That's the part nobody talks about.

Sometimes familiarity feels like safety even when it isn't.

You can become so accustomed to disappointment that hope starts to feel reckless.

You can become so good at surviving the same kind of pain that you mistake your ability to endure it for proof that you should stay.

You can know exactly how tomorrow will feel and still call that stability.

I think I've done that.

Stayed where I had already outgrown myself because leaving meant admitting I didn't know who I'd become next.

There is a particular kind of fear that comes with becoming someone new.

You have to disappoint the person you used to be.

You have to let old habits die without giving them a proper funeral.

You have to stop introducing yourself through the things you've already survived.

You have to walk into rooms where nobody knows the old version of you.

And that can be terrifying.

Because what if the new you isn't better?

What if she's messier?

What if she makes mistakes?

What if she chooses wrong?

What if she says no too quickly?

What if she leaves too soon?

What if she takes the opportunity and fails?

What if she finally says what she means and people don't like her for it?

What if she stops being the person everyone can depend on?

I've asked myself those questions.

More than once.

And maybe you've asked them too.

But here's what I'm beginning to understand:

There is no version of my life where I get to keep everything and still become someone new.

Something has to go.

Sometimes it's a habit.

Sometimes it's a belief.

Sometimes it's a relationship.

Sometimes it's the need to be understood by everyone.

Sometimes it's the little voice that keeps saying,

"Maybe tomorrow."

Tomorrow has taken enough from me.

I've used it as a hiding place for things I was afraid to do today.

I'll start tomorrow.

I'll speak up tomorrow.

I'll leave tomorrow.

I'll apply tomorrow.

I'll try again tomorrow.

I'll become her tomorrow.

And tomorrow kept arriving with the same woman standing in the same place, wondering why her life hadn't changed.

That's the cruel thing about waiting for the right moment.

You can wait so long that waiting becomes your personality.

So if change is coming tomorrow, I don't want to meet her with another excuse.

I don't want to ask her whether she's sure.

I don't want to interrogate her about what happens next.

I don't want a guarantee.

I want her to come.

Let her come with uncertainty.

Let her come with uncomfortable conversations.

Let her come with endings I didn't plan for.

Let her come with beginnings that scare me.

Let her take me somewhere I've never been.

I'm tired of only choosing things I already know how to survive.

I want something that asks more of me.

Not because I'm trying to prove that I'm strong.

I'm actually tired of proving that.

I want to live.

There is a difference.

And maybe that's the most provocative thing I've learned lately:

I don't want a life that looks good from a distance.

I want one that feels honest when I'm alone with myself.

I want to stop making decisions based entirely on what keeps everyone else comfortable.

I want to stop calling fear "being realistic."

I want to stop calling avoidance "waiting for the right time."

I want to stop calling exhaustion "just a busy season."

I want to stop making a home out of places I've been begging myself to leave.

Because eventually, you have to ask yourself something uncomfortable:

How much of your life are you willing to sacrifice just because change scares you?

Not everything that is familiar deserves to be kept.

Not everything you've survived deserves to become your identity.

Not every door you know how to open is a door you still need to walk through.

And not every version of you deserves a permanent seat at the table.

Some versions of us were built for survival.

They got us here.

I'll always be grateful for them.

But I don't want to spend the rest of my life surviving things I've already outgrown.

So if change awaits me tomorrow, tell her I'm ready.

Tell her I might shake.

Tell her I might cry.

Tell her I might look back once or twice.

Tell her I may not understand why she's taking me somewhere unfamiliar.

But tell her to come anyway.

Tell her I've spent enough time asking life for permission.

I'm done waiting until I'm fearless.

I'm done waiting until I'm certain.

I'm done waiting until I know exactly who I'll become.

Maybe that's the deal.

You don't become ready and then change.

You change, and somewhere along the way, you become ready.

So come on, tomorrow.

Bring whatever you brought.

Bring the ending.

Bring the beginning.

Bring the door I didn't know was there.

Bring the version of me I've been too afraid to meet.

I'm not promising I'll make it easy for you.

I'm only promising this:

I won't run just because I don't recognize the road.

And if she asks,

"Are you sure?"

Tell her: “No.”

But I'm coming anyway.

Stick around to read what’s next. Comment on your thoughts about approaching change especially when you’re not ready.

Keeninspires

If change awaits me tomorrow, tell her I’m ready was originally published in Beyond Lines on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

During a recent horseback riding session, a profound realization hit me that transcended the arena and mirrored the very art of living.

In riding, there is a fundamental concept known as the «following seat.» It describes the exact moment when a rider moves in complete harmony with the horse. When a rider locks their body, resists the natural motion, and tries to control every rigid detail, the ride turns into a constant series of painful bumps. The seat crashes against the horse’s back with every stride. It frustrates the animal, exhausts the rider, and drains every ounce of joy from the experience.

Yet, the moment the rider softens, matches the cadence, and yields to the rhythm of the horse, everything transforms. It feels like riding a wave. Speed, grace, and pure joy emerge effortlessly – for both horse and rider.

The Rigid Self vs. The Flow of Life

This dynamic is a mirror of our human journey.

For as long as we filter our existence through the lens of the ego, our acquired conditioning, and the strict rigidities we impose upon ourselves, we turn our inner selves solid. We brace against the natural currents of life. We cling to how things «should» be, constructing elaborate mental blueprints for our careers, relationships, and personal identities. When reality deviates even slightly from these blueprints, our immediate reaction is resistance.

And much like a stiff rider on a moving horse, we experience life as a series of jarring impacts, constant friction, and exhaustion. We stop enjoying the ride of our lifetime because we are too busy fighting the very vehicle carrying us forward. Every unexpected obstacle feels like an attack; every shift in circumstance feels like a threat.

True freedom begins the moment we melt the ego, embrace change, and fully accept and acknowledge the unfolding nature of life. This is where we learn to flow with the current rather than fight it. It requires an active softening of our mental armor, allowing us to meet whatever life presents with flexibility rather than force.

Unconditional Happiness and Spiritual Growth

This state of harmonious flow is what Michael A. Singer explores deeply in his transformative book, The Untethered Soul. In Chapter 15, he outlines this exact surrender as a cornerstone of spiritual growth. Singer reminds us that the human psyche is constantly trying to control the external world to keep itself safe, creating a cage of preferences and phobias. True spiritual maturity, however, lies in dismantling that cage.

It is the practice of reaching a state where disturbances lose their grip on us, not because life stops being challenging, but because our inner resistance dissolves. When life does trigger a reaction within us, the practice is simple yet profound: acknowledge the feeling, let it go, and keep moving.

Of course, letting go is rarely a one-time event. We are human, and old patterns die hard. There will be days when we slip, stumble, and fall right back into our old habits of control and rigidity. But the beauty of the practice lies in the return. On the inevitable days when we lose our balance, the grace isn’t in perfection, it is simply in getting back up, forgiving ourselves for the slip, and continuing the ride with a softer heart.

Life is not a battle to be won or a rigid path to be controlled; it is a movement to be experienced. When we stop fighting the motion and learn to ride the wave, the journey becomes what it was always meant to be: beautiful, fluid, and deeply liberating.

Riding the Waves of Life: What Horseback Riding Taught Me About Letting Go of Resistance was originally published in Beyond Lines on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

there is duality in this world

wrath has mercy

lamp has shadow

peace has madness

then why am i a singular self?

God given.

Writers, bring your chaos, your charm, and your half-baked drafts — Beyond Lines is ready for the beautiful mess. Let’s publish it!

Beyond Lines — Join Our Publication

Duality was originally published in Beyond Lines on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The deep admiration I once had,
for a human like you.

You, in all your glory.
You, in all your dowry.
You, in all the worry.

I’ve been here, since the start of earth.
I’ve seen change, beyond our youth
I’ve keen to break the cascading walls.

Which walls?
The walls that grew along you
Beyond us, beyond me, beyond we.

We are, the walls.
We are, one
We are, together.

When the moon shines tonight,
Just recall…

Our time, together.
Reverence, is all I needed from you.

Writers, bring your chaos, your charm, and your half-baked drafts — Beyond Lines is ready for the beautiful mess. Let’s publish it!

Beyond Lines — Join Our Publication

reverence was originally published in Beyond Lines on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.