Funny how we save our best energy for strangers and our worst exhaustion for home. Morning versions of us are impressive. There's urgency in our steps, sharpness in our eyes. We rush to reach offices on time, meet deadlines, systems. We wear energy like a uniform. We show up polished, alert, present-ready to meet people who barely know us. And then comes the return.
The same person, drained, silent, running on leftovers of energy.
By the time we reach home, we're no longer human-just tired.That's the irony, the vidambana.
We give our prime hours, our enthusiasm, our smilesto deadlines and unfamiliar faces.
And when we finally reach the people who love us, we offer fatigue. No small talk. No patience.
Somehow, the system taught us to perform for the world and collapse in front of our own.Maybe that's the real tragedy of adulthood. We are most alive where we are least known, and most absent where we are most loved.












