My Million-Dollar View — No Price Tag, Just Peace

Life in Thamarai Hostel doesn’t feel heavy
In fact, it feels like a slow exhale after holding your breath for too long.
I’ve started to accept life just the way it is here, soft, imperfect, and quietly comforting.

Twelve rooms make up our little world, and in at least ten of them, I’ve found a smile, a name, a shared memory.
Jana, for instance, is more of a roommate than a visitor, she’s always in my room, and somehow, her presence makes everything feel lighter.

There’s no grand drama, no loneliness biting at the edges of my day.
We play UNO like it’s a national sport,
we wash clothes to the beat of fun-filled songs echoing through the corridor,
and our meals, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, feel less like routines and more like rituals of friendship.

It’s not just a hostel.
It’s a pocket of warmth stitched together by the laughter of a cute little gang that turned strangers into sisters.

The view from my window
it's worth a million dollars, and then some.
Not because of a landscape painted with grandeur,
but because of the quiet stories it tells me each day.

From here, I watch the world pass by
people crossing, lives unfolding,
invisible threads weaving stories I may never fully know,
but still feel a part of.

Birds come and go like familiar guests,
perching, singing, sometimes just sitting in silence
reminding me that not all presence needs to be loud to be comforting.

Through this window, I’ve watched the sky shift moods:
the stubborn blaze of summer,
the hush of winter air,
and the tender arrival of rain, tapping gently on the glass
like a secret only I’m allowed to hear.

This little square frame became a lens to the world
not just outside, but within me too.
It’s one of my favourite corners of Thamarai Hostel,
where time pauses,
and the heart listens.

The window in my room is not just glass and iron, it is a silent witness, a keeper of my untold stories.

It has seen me at my most vulnerable, when tears rolled down in silence, with no one to notice but the wind slipping through its frame. It listened without judgment to every quiet cry, every whispered worry, every midnight overthinking. It stood still through all the inner storms I couldn't voice, offering no advice—just presence.

Through that window, I watched the world change and keep moving, even when I felt stuck. The trees outside swayed with every season, like soft reminders that everything—even pain—will pass. Whether it was rain tapping gently like a lullaby, summer light painting gold on the walls, or a foggy winter morning that asked me to slow down, the window never failed to gift me a view that healed something inside.

From the first floor, the view wasn’t just of leaves and sky—it was of life moving, healing, becoming. A million-dollar view not because of luxury, but because it knew me deeply.

It was my escape and my anchor. A frame through which I learned to see beauty again, no matter the storm outside, or inside.