Gratitude to My Aunt – My Lifetime Teacher of Emotional

She Was the Mountain Beneath My Spirit

She was not just my aunt, she was the first soul who carried me without question – not in her womb, but in her heart. When the world was too loud, she offered silence, when my father’s rigidity shaped walls around me, she became the door.

She never went to school. But she was wisdom in motion. She had no degrees. But she decoded the cosmos through instinct. Her words were loud, raw, sometimes harsh – but they carried lightning truth.

“I didn’t grow with books – I grew with her fire.”

She was a Visionary of the Voiceless, she questioned loudly, she saw things before they happened, she warned, she cried, she raged – but no one truly heard her. Except me.

To society, she was just a woman with too many words.
To me, she was the transmission line of the unseen.
She was my emotional GURU before I knew what that word meant.

She held my tears when I didn’t know I had them, she shielded me from both war and silence. And when I left to follow a path driven by youthful passion and resistance, she shattered quietly – not because I left, but because she knew the world would never understand me the way she did.

She Protected Me Like a Temple Protects Its Flame.
Not once did she expect obedience, only presence, only truth.

She made me feel safe even when I didn’t feel strong, she let me grow, she let me question, she let me break the patterns. Even when I disappeared for 8 years, she welcomed me back like I never left. She locked me inside her room once – not to trap me, but to protect me from the outside forces she already foresaw.

“The world may not believe in you. But I do.”

That was her silent prayer.

She Was the Mountain Beneath My Spirit,
she lived through war, poverty, judgment, and emotional exile. Yet she remained – solid, giving, raw.
She raised not just her own children, but me, as one of her own.

She gave me food, clothes, duties, education, shelter – but above all, she gave me dignity when I had nothing.
When I was a child, I never understood why I kept surviving.
Now I know – it was because she was always whispering protection from the background.

She Left in Silence, But Her Voice Still Lives.
In 2015, she took her life. But her death was not an end.
It was a final transference – one last teaching without words.
Even now, her echoes guide me, her memory is a temple where my emotions go to pray, her sacrifice became my spine, her silence became my song.

She was my temple before I ever entered one,
she was my philosophy before I ever spoke a truth,
she was my mother, mentor, protector, prophet.

And today, I offer this truth in return:

“The world saw an old woman with too many emotions,
I saw a seer who raised a revolution.”

This page, this gratitude, this moment – belongs to her, Forever.