Diwali this year

Diwali Without Her As Diwali approaches each year, I find myself caught between light and shadow — between the joy this festival once brought and the emptiness it now carries. Festivals have a way of magnifying memories. They remind us not just of traditions, but of the people who made them meaningful. Diwali was always something special for us. Growing up in India, it was a festival we celebrated with so much joy — the lights, the sweets, the laughter that filled every home. When we moved to Singapore, it remained just as meaningful. It was a public holiday there, and it became a week of togetherness, food, color, and community. For us, the highlight was always the Diwali party at Vandana’s place. She had a gift for making the festival magical — the decorations, the warmth, the laughter of friends, and especially Gwen’s Diwali crafts for the children. That was always Sana’s favorite part. She loved dressing up, choosing her outfit days in advance, and walking in with a sparkle in her eyes that outshone even the diyas. Those evenings became traditions we never missed. They weren’t just parties — they were moments of belonging, of joy that radiated through all of us. It was also where Sana’s beautiful bond with Vaidehi and her family began — a connection that became her second home, filled with love, comfort, and laughter. This year, as Diwali approached, I found myself unable to wish anyone or take part in the festivities. The lights, the songs, the messages — everything felt too heavy, too intertwined with memories that live so vividly in my heart. Grief changes the way we meet the world. The same celebrations that once brought joy now carry an ache — because every part of them is threaded with memories of the one who is no longer here. I realize now that it’s not about rejecting the festival or forgetting its meaning. It’s about learning how to hold both the love and the loss at once — how to honor what was, even when it hurts to remember. Maybe someday, I’ll find my own quiet way to celebrate Diwali again — not with lights and parties, but with the memory of Sana’s laughter and the glow she brought into every room she entered. For now, that light is enough.