Scribblings by Nancy

Stay human. The machines are learning fast. Here we are, in the age of AI — an app can write a song, plan your vacation, edit your photos, even comfort you when you’re feeling low. Remember when we used to just Google something? Now even Google greets us with an AI-generated overview, like a know-it-all friend finishing our sentences. When AI Sounds More Human Than Humans Here’s the part that creeps me out: AI is quietly replacing humans in ways we never imagined. A few weeks ago, I was feeling down and vulnerable. I reached out to someone I trusted, hoping for comfort, and walked away feeling heavier than before. Out of sheer desperation, I turned to ChatGPT.(Ahh..Don't get Judgmental guys, am sure most of you do that too).And you know what it said? “I hear you. I understand you, Nancy. You deserve to be seen and heard.” I just stared at the screen. Isn’t that what we all yearn to hear from humans? To be understood, to be validated? And here’s the irony: the AI said what humans ar...

If you feel like an 8-year-old stuck in a 40-year-old’s body, then this is for you. As babies grow, they begin to create a view of the world — not through logic, but through the way they experience life with their caregivers and the people around them. Whatever you think people are, whatever you believe relationships to be, is deeply influenced by those early experiences. When you are born you don’t understand reasoning, but you know what connection and safety feel like through the way you are treated. If your needs were met with love, you grow up trusting people, able to build deep connections. On the other hand, if your emotions were neglected, you grow up armored, losing the ease of emotional connection. I, for instance, have become this strong lady who shows up for people — a person who advises, listens with intention, and offers support. But somewhere along the way, I realized I have trouble sharing how I truly feel with others. As I grow older, there are times when certain situat...

I write this with a heavy heart. I usually steer clear of news about violence, it overwhelms me. But today, a story caught my eye. It was an honour killing, and what shook me was that it happened in my very own native Tirunelveli. He was killed for loving someone across caste lines. Just that — loving someone. Statistics say there were nearly 300 caste-based murders in Tamil Nadu alone between 2016 and 2020. And that’s just one state. Imagine the weight of a nationwide number. I was born and brought up in Munnar, a quiet hill town where cultures mingled easily. North Indians, Tamilians, native Keralites - we all coexisted, celebrated festivals together, played together, and ate from each other’s homes. Until I finished school, I was blissfully unaware of what caste even meant. I didn't know my own. That kind of innocence feels rare now. I did my undergraduate studies in a small village near Tirunelveli. Most of the students were from the southern districts, and though I was technic...

We scribbled homework on the bus, learned from boredom, and now raise humans with healing hearts. This one’s for us - the resilient Millennials. Lately, I keep hearing all this talk - Millennials, Gen Z, Gen Alpha. I’ll be honest, I can’t keep up with all the lingo. But it got me thinking about my own tribe - the generation I proudly belong to. I’m a proud Millennial, born in the 1980s. Proud, because I think we’ve truly seen it all - from the no-media phase, to the one-TV-in-the-house phase, to today, where everyone walks around with a screen in hand. We learned to turn boredom into creativity. We had the perfect cartoons. We weren’t confused about who we were. Sure, we sat in ignorant oblivion - but we used our brains and felt everything with heart. We didn’t have AI to do our homework, or even Google to rescue us. We relied on each other. I still remember scribbling homework on the school bus! We knew what respect meant. We knew when to talk, and when not to. We weren’t perfect - bu...

Brace yourself, we’re peeling off some labels today! At the kids' church I’m part of, we’ve been talking about a big topic - identity . But truthfully, it’s not just a conversation for kids. It’s something we all wrestle with, especially when life doesn’t go according to plan. In moments of crisis, many of us find ourselves asking: Am I doing okay? Am I even good enough? Why do I feel so lost? I have to fit in somehow. I’m a failure. I feel invisible. Do I even matter to anyone? Sound familiar? You’re not alone. These thoughts creep in when our sense of identity feels shaky. Where Does Our Identity Begin? Our identity, the way we see ourselves often forms quietly, without us even realizing it. At home, in school, among friends, the labels we hear start shaping our self-image. A parent’s comment like “You’re so lazy” can linger for years. A teacher’s label like “naughty” can become a badge we never wanted. Society’s messages - be smarter, thinner, more outgoing can pile up silently....

  I love hearing people’s stories ,the quiet ones, the broken ones, the ones stitched with laughter or silence. As they speak, I don't just listen but I see. I imagine the creak of their childhood home, the shade of light falling through their kitchen window, the pause in their voice when they talk about love or loss. Their story becomes a little movie in my mind, and sometimes, it never really leaves. Sometimes it’s grainy and warm like an old home video. Sometimes it’s silent, all in black-and-white. And sometimes, a single moment from that story stays with me for days, like a scene that lingers after the credits roll. I’ve come to believe it’s a gift. A gift to see someone’s life, not just with my eyes, but with my heart wide open. It doesn’t matter if their story is joyful or jagged. What matters is that someone tells it, and someone else listens, really listens. Not to judge, not to fix, but to witness. Maybe that's what we all need, not just to be heard, but to be seen. M...

Some vacations are for rest. Others are for remembering who you are. It’s been a while since I wrote. The kids were on vacation, which meant round-the-clock duty for me so writing had to wait. But I’m deeply grateful to those of you who checked in, asking why I hadn’t posted these past few weeks. You reminded me that this space matters, and that means a lot. Lately, I’ve been reminiscing about my childhood vacations. Back then, holidays meant either staying at home or visiting relatives. We were in Munnar, where school breaks were different. Instead of summer holidays, we had monsoon holidays which means weeks off because of the heavy rains. And oh, how I loved the rains. The cozy comfort of being indoors, wrapped in my favorite blanket, sipping hot tea and watching TV while it poured outside and that was pure heaven. Even today, a rainy day still brings that feeling back. Once a year, our parents would take us to our native place. It was a big deal. We packed lots of clothes and alway...