Hiding in the Shadows

For a long time, I lived life on autopilot - moving through each day by following what I was taught, believing what I was told, and trying to fit into roles and expectations that never really felt like mine. I measured my worth by how others saw me - their opinions, comparisons, and expectations.

Much of my childhood was shaped by being compared to my older sister, whose grades made her the priority in my parents’ eyes. Later, she told me it hadn't necessarily been parental support that set her apart, but a single teacher in primary school who believed in her - a spark that pushed her into endless nights of studying to please both our parents and society.
Meanwhile, I was pushed into the caretaker role for my younger brother (even when it came with its own difficulties) to taking on a larger share of household chores than either of my siblings. Sometimes, I even leaned into those responsibilities willingly - hoping that by doing more, I might earn the love and approval I longed for from my parents. But in reality, it left little time and energy for myself, let alone study.

When my grades began to slip, the impact of that imbalance wasn’t really recognised; instead, I was compared to my sister all over again. Over time, I internalised the belief that I wasn’t enough. That belief settled quietly but deeply, shaping years of self-doubt - where I questioned my voice, my decisions, and even who I was at my core. It felt like carrying an invisible weight, and eventually I slipped into a kind of learned helplessness - believing my efforts wouldn’t make a difference, no matter how hard I tried. As a result, I lost my natural curiosity to learn and explore; the spark to question, imagine, and discover was dulled by the environment I grew up in.

But life has a way of surprising us...

The Moment Someone Truly Saw Me

Everything began to shift when I met someone who saw me - not through the usual filters of comparison and expectation, but truly and kindly.
My partner believed in me in a way that made me want to believe in myself again. More than that, he showed me something I had never known until then: that true love isn’t something you have to earn - it’s given, freely and wholeheartedly.

But being together was far from simple. In Sri Lanka, like much of South Asia, high school relationships are treated as taboo, almost criminalised, so just wanting to be with each other came with constant obstacles. At home, my brother tried to expose us, so even the little ways I could communicate with my partner were taken away from me; at school, teachers and prefects would go out of their way to keep us apart. From the beginning, it felt like the odds were stacked against us.

And yet, through all of it, we held on. Our connection gave me something I hadn’t had before – the space and safety to ask: Who am I - beyond all these roles I’ve been given? What do I want my life to look like?
These questions were new and daunting, but also full of possibility.

The Beginning of Questioning Everything I Was Taught

One day, I randomly came across footage from a slaughterhouse – and I froze. It shook something deep inside me.

Around the same time, my partner stumbled upon Philip Wollen’s famous debate “Animals Should Be Off the Menu” . It moved him so much that he later sent it to me, and it stirred something in me too.

For the first time, we both began to truly reflect on the things we’d grown up accepting, the traditions we’d never thought to question. We asked ourselves: What does it mean to live in a way that truly aligns with our values? Especially our love and respect for animals. That’s when we decided to explore a vegan lifestyle – not as a trend, not even for health, but as a way of choosing compassion where we could.

Growing up with pets, I always saw animals as individuals – with quirks, feelings, and their own little ways of showing love. That connection made it impossible to turn away from what I’d seen.

Still, transitioning to this lifestyle came with its own challenges. At home, I was mocked daily by my brother; outside, traditional voices turned against me. With all that resistance, it felt much easier to give in. Yet through it all, my partner and I stayed rooted in our values – choosing compassion, even when it wasn’t the easy choice.

Choosing this path has been about living with more awareness and intention.
Not asking what should we do?  but what feels right? Is there a kinder, more conscious way to live?  
For us, the answer was yes - and ever since, it’s been a journey of alignment, learning, and opening our hearts a little wider.

A Setback That Changed My Life Forever

In 2019, I moved to Australia to pursue my Bachelor’s degree in IT.
Back in Sri Lanka, netball had been a big part of my life for nearly ten years.
After stepping away from it for three years, I missed the game and the joy it brought me, so I joined my university’s indoor netball team, feeling like I was reconnecting with a part of myself I’d lost touch with.

But it wasn't long before everything changed...
During a final match in 2022, I had a freak accident and I fractured my femur.
The doctors ran a bunch of tests: blood work, x-rays, even a bone density scan. My Bone Mineral Density results actually came back above average: 1.3 g/cm² (even compared to male reference values)
So I guess life just had other plans for me that night :/

Stepping Out of the Shadows

Around that time, I had just begun to truly explore who I was.
Leaving Sri Lanka gave me a sense of freedom I never had before - for the first time, I wasn’t just someone’s sister anymore.
I was finally... me.
It wasn’t until university that I realised how much the absence of constant comparison could change me. Without the daily pressure of being a caretaker to my brother or picking up after everyone at home - the added chores and responsibilities that once consumed my time - I finally had the space to focus on myself and my learning. My uni professors supported me in recognising potential I had never been encouraged to see in school. In that freedom, my natural need to learn - the curiosity that had been buried for so long - began to return. I found myself hungry to explore, to question, and to grow in ways I never thought possible. Slowly, I started achieving more than I ever thought I could.

I also started learning how to care for my natural curly hair (something I was taught to despise growing up) and I began to embrace my skin tone, which I had also been conditioned to see as less-than. And ironically, it was this fracture - this painful, unexpected moment - that brought me even closer to my true self.

Instead of breaking me, it woke me up. It empowered me.
After years of being told to follow someone else’s footsteps, I was finally walking my own path - even if I had to limp for a while to get there.

The Sound of Coming Home

The injury, though painful, brought a stillness I’d never allowed myself before. And in that quiet, I found my way back to the piano - not the structured, theory-heavy way I had been taught, but the kind I used to play as a child: by ear, by heart, by feeling.

This raw, emotional reconnection led to my debut piano composition, Featherfall - a piece born from healing and rebirth.

Strength in Stillness

The stillness my injury brought became an unexpected teacher.
It not only gave me the space to reconnect with the piano but also opened the door to training my upper body more often, since I had to slow down and ease off lower-body training.
That’s when I stumbled into the world of calisthenics - a discovery that completely reshaped how I saw fitness.

As I moved through rehab, I discovered something even deeper: the power of the body and mind. The injury became a pivotal turning point in my life, one that could have easily led me down a completely different path, but in that moment I realised, I could either nourish my body, stay patient and consistent through the process, or turn away, let frustration take root, and slowly diminish.

Choosing the first path showed me, in the most undeniable way, the extraordinary power that lives in both the body and the mind.

Being bedridden for a week also reminded me just how much of a privilege movement truly is - a gift we so often overlook, until it’s no longer ours.

That lesson has stayed with me ever since. I no longer train to chase extremes or prove anything to anyone. I train with intention, with awareness, and with gratitude for what my body can do today. Every rep, every stretch, every breath is my way of honouring that gift.