The forest is the therapist, the guide opens the door. 

Nature healed me when I most needed it. When human invention failed me, I sought out nature for succour and peace. It’s a very strange relationship. During my darkest period, I ventured into the forest for comfort and rest. I felt the forest calling me and entered into a liminal space with the forest. Once I stepped into the liminal space with the forest, I found myself going back there again and again. Back then, I didn’t know anything about forest bathing or forest therapy.

This sight is so ultra precious, seeing two very young girls playing badminton under a big tree. They were obviously off the hook of social media and technology, throw themselves into the embrace of nature, bathing in the greens. In a world that moves with relentless speed, leisure has quietly lost its meaning. It is no longer the art of resting, but often just another form of distraction—scrolling, consuming, filling time rather than inhabiting it. Yet beyond the edges of ou

In nature, a tree never truly dies in the way we often understand death. What appears to be an ending is simply a quiet return to the greater rhythm of the forest. When a tree falls, it slowly becomes soil, becoming nourishment for moss, fungi, insects, and the young saplings reaching for light nearby. Its form changes, but its essence continues, diffused through the life around it. The forest does not see loss as an absence, but as a transformation—one life gently yielding i