5 & 6 April 2025
The highlight of the past few days? Without question—mealtimes. They’ve become sacred little pockets of connection. My Dutch friends, who came to Sai Veda for much-needed rest, have offered more than just quiet companionship. Our slow, heartfelt conversations have become a balm for the soul. We’ve laughed, cried, and shared tea and biscuits like a little family. The shared homesickness, the cultural frustrations, the deep yearning for something familiar—it’s all been held between us, gently and honestly.
Diana offered to help with the mural. She enjoys being creative, and with my shoulder still bruised and painfully blue, I was beyond grateful. I still don’t know how I managed to injure it so badly, but I’ve done my best to care for it and keep going. Painting has taken much longer than expected—not just because of my shoulder, but because of the materials. The correct colors took forever to arrive, and even then, it wasn’t the right type of paint. I gave up asking. Instead, we made do and kept moving forward.
Truthfully, my heart isn’t fully in the mural anymore. I’ve had to keep reminding myself: this isn’t about me. It’s about helping someone else build something better. It’s about supporting growth, in whatever small way I can.
But the energy has shifted.
I’ve made my decision—I’ll be leaving tomorrow, as soon as the painting is complete.
Yesterday, my young manager and I had a final, necessary confrontation. I had spent days thinking deeply about how to address our differences. In the end, I decided honesty—clear, firm, and kind—was the only way forward.
He’s twenty years younger than me, clearly overwhelmed, and lacking the tools he needs to truly lead. I saw a chance to offer guidance, not just critique. So I shared my thoughts, both as a mentor and as a woman who wants to see him succeed—not just at Sai Veda, but in life.
There was a moment during our meeting when the air thickened with tension. I had to bite my tongue, swallow back my own rising frustration and hurt. But when it became clear, yet again, that I wasn’t being heard, something in me shifted. I channeled every teacher, every mother, every no-nonsense guide I’ve ever been—and I commanded him to listen.
Silence followed.
And then… something softened. I saw it. That moment of humility. Of receiving. His whole being changed. He didn’t need critique—he needed support. Emotional, practical, and spiritual. He needed someone to believe in him. And I could do that.
We spoke for a while longer, and with calm hearts, we agreed: I would leave tomorrow, peacefully, with mutual respect and gratitude.
Another soul. Another lesson. Another step on the path of becoming.
