What I Once Saw — And What I Can’t Unsee Now

There was a time in my life when this felt normal.

I would walk into a chicken shop and ask for fresh meat — knowing that it meant a live bird would be killed.

I couldn’t fully watch it.
When the moment came, I would turn my face away.

But I stayed.
I paid.
I took the meat home.

And that is something that sits heavily with me today.

I remember enough to know what was happening.

The chicken was alive just moments before.
Its life ended right there — not gently, not with awareness, but as part of a routine.

And what disturbed me even more was what followed.

The body would be put into hot water so the feathers could be removed quickly.
It was all done as a process — efficient, practiced, normalized.

No one around me reacted.

Because to everyone there, this was just… how it is done.

And the truth is — I was part of that normal.

I didn’t question it.
I didn’t stop it.
I participated in it simply by choosing to buy it.

Even writing this now… it doesn’t feel easy.

Because when I look back, it’s not just about what happened —
it’s about how unquestioned it all was.

In many parts of the world today, this reality is hidden.

People don’t see what happens.
They only see what reaches their plate.

And maybe that distance makes it easier to accept.

Because if we don’t witness something, we don’t feel responsible for it.

But I often ask myself something very simple:

If we showed this process to children — honestly, without hiding anything — would they still choose to eat it?

I find it hard to believe they would.

Not because they are taught anything…
but because they respond naturally, with empathy.

And that makes me feel something I didn’t feel before:

That maybe awareness should come earlier.
That maybe we should be more honest about where our food comes from.

Because for me, no one explained it.

No one helped me connect the life of an animal… to what was on my plate.

Today, I see it differently.

For me, it comes down to a choice.

Not a perfect one.
Not one I always understood.

But a conscious one.

I choose not to take a life when I don’t have to.
I choose not to support systems that depend on that harm.
I choose to live in a way that feels more aligned with what I now understand.

A thought to reflect on

Sometimes, it’s not that we don’t care.

It’s that we were never shown the full picture.

But once you see it…
it becomes a choice you can’t ignore.

Finding Myself — And Questioning What I Once Believed

I am grateful for everything life has to offer.

But if I look back, I often ask myself —
how did I begin to feel so close to animals?

During my time studying architecture, I found myself naturally drawn to them.

I would feed stray dogs.
I adopted stray cats.
I spent time rescuing and feeding not just cats and dogs, but also birds and even cows.

It gave me a sense of peace.

At that time, I thought that meant I loved animals.

But today, I see it a little differently.

Maybe I wasn’t doing it purely for them.
Maybe I was doing it because it gave me comfort, happiness, and a sense of purpose.

Because at the very same time…

I was also someone who loved eating chicken.

I didn’t hesitate to go to a chicken shop and ask for fresh meat —
which meant a live chicken would be killed.

I couldn’t watch it fully. I would turn my face away at the moment it happened.

But I still stood there.
I still paid for it.
I still consumed it.

And now, when I think about those moments, it feels heavy.

It sits somewhere deep, in a place that’s hard to ignore.

No one in my family is vegetarian or vegan.

Meat was cooked almost every day at home. It was normal. It was part of life. Something we never questioned.

But looking back now… it hurts in a way I didn’t expect.

Because for the first time, I tried to see it differently.

I tried to place myself in their position.

To imagine what it might feel like — to be alive, to feel fear, to not understand what is happening… and to have no control over it.

And that thought alone is difficult to sit with.

What troubles me even more is realizing that it’s not just about that one moment.

For many animals, the experience begins much earlier.

From the very beginning of their lives, they exist within a system where their purpose is already decided — not as living beings, but as something to be used.

And somewhere along the way, we stopped seeing them as individuals.

We started seeing them as products.

And that leads me to a question I keep coming back to:

When we can care so deeply for a dog or a cat…
why do we struggle to see other animals the same way?

When we smile watching a puppy drink milk from its mother…
why don’t we feel the same when a calf does the same with a cow?

What changes?

Is it the animal…
or is it our perception?

I don’t say this from a place of judgment.

Because I was that person too.

I lived both sides — caring, and not questioning.

But awareness changes something within you.

It makes you pause.
It makes you reflect.
It makes you choose differently.

A quiet thought

Maybe compassion was never meant to be selective.

Maybe it was meant to be seen… everywhere.

The Truth About Milk — Something I Never Questioned as a Child

I grew up believing milk was essential.

Back home in India, going to a dairy farm and bringing home freshly drawn milk was normal. It was routine. It was something we never questioned.

At that age, no one spoke about ethics.

We were told milk gives strength. That cows are meant to feed us. That it’s important for our health, even healing. These beliefs were everywhere — in our homes, in conversations, in culture.

And I believed all of it.

I remember going with my parents and watching very carefully as the milk was collected. The biggest concern was always whether it was pure. We didn’t want water mixed in.

If it looked diluted, I would refuse to take it.
I would say, “I’ll wait for the next batch.”

I wanted pure milk.

And now when I think about it, I pause.

Because I never once asked myself something so simple:

Why was I drinking milk that was never meant for me?

It was meant for the calf.
But that thought never crossed my mind.

There is one memory I can never forget.

One day, I saw a small calf lying on the ground. It didn’t look right. It didn’t look like a fully grown calf. Something about it felt off.

I asked the woman there what happened.

She said, “It was born dead.”

And I believed her.

I didn’t question anything. I was just a child.

But as I grew up, I started understanding things I wish I had known earlier.

Male calves are often not “useful” in the dairy system because they don’t produce milk. And many of them are killed.

But what stayed with me even more…
was understanding why that calf was lying next to the mother.

So she would continue to produce milk.

Even today, when I think about it, it feels heavy.

A mother had just lost her baby.
And instead of acknowledging that pain, it was used.

Used so that we could take something that was never ours.

And I find myself wondering something I still don’t have an answer to:

How do we, as humans, understand love so deeply — especially as mothers — and still not recognize the pain of another sentient being?

I don’t write this from a place of blame.

Because I was once that child.
I didn’t know. I didn’t question. I followed what everyone around me believed.

But awareness changes you.

And once you see something clearly, it becomes hard to look at it the same way again.

Now, when I see milk, I don’t just see food.

I see a story.

A story we were never really told.

A small thought to leave with you

Next time you see milk, just pause for a moment.

Not with guilt. Just with awareness.

Ask yourself:

Where did this come from?
Who did it belong to?

Sometimes, the things we grow up believing the most…
are the things we’ve questioned the least.

Animal By-Products — A Quiet Question I Couldn’t Ignore

Why do we feel the need to consume animals…
as food, as clothing, as entertainment?

It’s something I never really questioned before.

But now, it feels impossible not to.

Animals deserve so much more than the roles we’ve assigned to them.

I’ve been vegan twice in the past — for about two years.

But this time feels different.

This time, it wasn’t just a decision.
It was a shift.

The day I chose to become vegan again was also the day I started working out. And somehow, both felt connected.

It felt like I was choosing alignment —
with my body, and with nature.

I started noticing things I had never paid attention to before.

Touching the ground.
Looking at the sun.
Walking among plants.

Watching birds — not just seeing them, but actually observing them. Listening to their sounds. Noticing the presence of other sentient beings around me.

These small moments gave me something unexpected:

A sense of peace.

A sense of being… guilt-free.

I’ll be honest with myself.

All the years I consumed meat — I cannot undo them.
I cannot bring those animals back.
I cannot take away the suffering that I was once a part of.

That truth stays with me.

But what I can do… is choose differently today.

Today, I am more conscious.

Of what I eat.
Of what I wear.
Of what I support.

I choose not to support industries that harm animals — whether it is meat, dairy, or anything that exploits them within my awareness and capacity.

Not from a place of perfection.
But from a place of intention.

We often say that harm is unavoidable.

And in some ways, it is.

The very act of breathing affects microorganisms. Life, in itself, has impact.

But there is a difference between what is unavoidable…
and what is a choice.

And that is where responsibility begins.

If I am alive in this world, I know that survival comes with impact.

But I am trying, in my own way, to reduce it.

To not take more than I need.
To not harm where I have a choice.
To let nature exist without my interference as much as possible.

For me, veganism is no longer just about food.

It is about awareness.
It is about respect.
It is about learning to coexist without exploitation.

A thought to sit with

Maybe it’s not about being perfect.

Maybe it’s simply about asking:

Is this necessary?
Or is this something I’ve just never questioned before?