It Was the Only Way.
There was a time – and I still believe this with stubborn certainty – when being real was not a brand position. It was simply the way one lived. You did not curate integrity. You practised it. You did not debate whether doing the right thing was convenient; it was the only option available to you.
I grew up believing that decisions must be taken not for applause, not for optics, not for survival in a room full of shifting loyalties – but because they were correct. Full stop. The right path was not weighed against popularity. It was chosen because it allowed you to sleep peacefully at night.
Some of my most far-reaching decisions have come from that very place. The refusal to dilute standards. The insistence on discipline when casualness would have earned easier friendships. The courage to say “no” when silence would have ensured smoother sailing. That instinct has been my greatest strength – and, admittedly, sometimes my undoing.
Because let us be honest: being unwavering is not fashionable in turbulent times.
We live in an era where narratives change faster than seasons. Where convenience often dresses up as wisdom. Where loyalty is transactional and truth is negotiated. In such times, if you choose to remain steady – if you insist that ethics are not seasonal – you need a resolve made of steel. Reinforced concrete, if I may dramatise it.
And here is the catch – if you take that resolve too seriously, it becomes heavy. Ideals, when clutched too tightly, can begin to feel like armour that weighs you down. One risks becoming stern, inflexible, perpetually on guard.
That is when life, in its divine sense of humour, intervenes.
For instance, my Bunny Jumpy has no ideological dilemmas. She approaches life with only two principles: eat the greens with absolute abandon and then look for more with an indignant expression of ‘wasn’t enough’!! Or dig like my Tasmanian – a whirlwind whenever the garden presents itself as opportunity. I may stand there contemplating policy frameworks, societal decay, or the burdens of moral clarity – and he is single-mindedly excavating what appears to be the foundations of civilisation.
There is something profoundly liberating about that.
Then there is my darling Beagle, Loki – who loves as though tomorrow has been cancelled. His loyalty is uncomplicated. If an Indian batsman hits a six and my son punches the air in celebration, Loki assumes – naturally – that the moment calls for a high five. He leaps, paws raised, eyes gleaming, convinced he is part of a national sporting triumph.
And perhaps he is.
His joy is contagious. His affection is not strategic. It is not withheld for leverage. It is given in full measure, every single time. Watching him, I am reminded that while resolve must be strong, the heart must remain soft.
Even the pigeons who descend upon the abundant seeds I lay out for them each morning offer perspective. They quarrel fiercely, wings flapping in dramatic indignation, only to settle moments later as though nothing happened. Their battles are loud but brief. They do not carry yesterday’s grievances into tomorrow’s sunrise.
And the bulbul – ah, the bulbul! She drops a piece of apple, looks at it, looks at me sipping my tea, and seems to glare indignantly as if to say, “You could have chopped this smaller, you know.” There is something about that tiny feathered reproach that amuses me endlessly. Accountability delivered without ceremony.
In these everyday vignettes, I find balance.
Being real still matters. Perhaps more now than ever. Not because it earns validation, but because it anchors you when everything else appears fluid. Doing the right thing may not always yield immediate rewards; sometimes it invites resistance. Sometimes it isolates. Sometimes it costs.
But the alternative – to bend so often that you no longer recognise your own spine – costs far more.
The trick, I am learning, is this: hold your ideals firmly, but not grimly. Stand your ground, but remember to laugh. Be unyielding in principle, yet playful in spirit.
Steel, yes. But with sunlight.
Reinforced concrete, certainly. But with green patches where Bunny Jumpy may find the juicy greens or my Tasmanian may dig.
Conviction, absolutely. But also the ability to pause when Loki demands a celebratory high five for reasons only he understands.
We are living in troubled times – that much is undeniable. But perhaps the true strength of character lies not only in resisting what is wrong, but in retaining warmth while doing so. To remain real without becoming rigid. To stay ethical without becoming embittered.
Being real was never a strategy for me. It was – and remains – the only way I know how to be.
And if occasionally the world misunderstands that, I suspect I will survive.
After all, there is always tea at sunrise, a bulbul with opinions, pigeons with dramatic flair, a bunny planning infrastructural damage, and a beagle ready for the next high five.
And in that gentle chaos, I find my equilibrium once more.
Going on thus into another edition of iVision Youth Parliament 2026, this time with private and rural schools, more willingness on the part of executors and more thrill amongst my team.
Wickedlyours 