Beautifully expressed, Rishabh. Please keep sharing more. You are very good.
Best
Sandeep

On Fri, May 22, 2026 at 1:01 PM Rishabh Gupta <[email protected]> wrote:

> I have low vision. But this story isn't really about that.
>
> This morning my dad started telling stories about me as a kid.
>
> One — I once painted my friend's entire house without him ever asking.
> Just decided it needed painting. So I painted it. His mom cried. We still
> don't know if it was happy or not.
>
> Two — I splashed a full bottle of cold water on a police officer. Not by
> accident. He looked hot. I was being helpful.
>
> Three — I slapped someone seven years older than me because I thought he
> was hitting my brother. I was probably half his size. He was so shocked he
> just — walked away. I think I scared him more than hurt him.
>
> We were all in the car. Everyone was laughing. My dad was laughing the
> hardest — the way parents laugh at stories they probably should have been
> more worried about at the time.
>
> And then my bhabhi — barely a few months in this family, still figuring
> out which shelf the glasses go on — said something so casually it almost
> didn't land.
>
> "He's the same, na. Same as he is now."
>
> The car went quiet for half a second.
>
> Then everyone agreed. Like it was obvious.
>
> And I just sat there by the window — watching the road I couldn't fully
> see — thinking about how strange it is to be known.
>
> Because she has no idea how hard that is to hear. In the best possible way.
>
> She joined this family after the storm had passed. She came in when the
> house was already clean — she never saw what the floor looked like when
> everything broke.
>
> She never saw the version of me that went missing for a while.
>
> The one that got quieter. That stopped painting houses uninvited. That
> learned to ask for permission before taking up space. That flinched a
> little — just a little — before laughing too loud in a room full of people
> who could see things he couldn't.
>
> My sight was changing. And something else was changing with it — something
> harder to name.
>
> When your body changes, your relationship with yourself changes too.
> Nobody prepares you for that part. There's no pamphlet. No one sits you
> down and says — by the way, you might lose yourself a little. Don't panic.
> You'll find your way back.
>
> The feeling of being at home in yourself — that went somewhere for a while.
>
> I looked for it in all the wrong places. Performed okayness so well I
> almost forgot what the real thing felt like. Smiled at the right moments.
> Said the right things. Became very good at being fine.
>
> And then slowly — without any single moment I can point to — like a colour
> returning to something that had faded —
>
> Rishu came back.
>
> Rishu is what people who love me call me. He went somewhere for a while.
> And the people who stayed through the quiet — the ones who kept telling the
> stories, who kept laughing at the memories, who never stopped seeing the
> kid who painted houses and splashed police officers — they knew he would
> come back.
>
> They just waited.
>
> Not the same. Not exactly.
>
> The paint became words. The cold water became wit. The slap became a sharp
> tongue and a quicker mind. The fearlessness — that stayed. That never
> actually left.
>
> It was just waiting for me to stop apologising for it.
>
> My bhabhi saw none of the middle. She arrived at the part of the story
> where Rishu was already back — fully, loudly, completely himself — and she
> looked at him and saw the kid from the stories like they were the same
> person.
>
> Because they are.
>
> Maybe that's the most honest thing —
>
> We spend so much time measuring the distance between who we were and who
> we became. Building timelines. Marking before and after. Trying to explain
> the gap to people who weren't there.
>
> But sometimes someone walks in fresh — someone who only knows the current
> chapter — and sees no gap at all.
>
> Just you. Continuous. Uninterrupted. Whole.
>
> The car kept moving this morning. My dad kept laughing. My bhabhi had
> already moved on to asking about lunch.
>
> And I just sat there quietly thinking —
>
> Rishu was always going to come back.
>
> He just needed to remember that taking up space was never something he
> needed permission for.
>
> Some people paint houses without being asked.
>
> That was always going to be him.
>
> —
>
> If this resonates, I share more of these stories on Instagram:
> @unscripted_rishabh_
>
>
> Rishabh Gupta
> Raipur, Chhattisgarh
>
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-- 
Warm Regards
Sandeep Singh

-- 
Disclaimer:
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through this mailing list..


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