Between the Simplicity of Life and the Complexities That Surround It

A Quiet Realisation

The past week has been quietly insightful — not dramatic, not overwhelming, just enough to stir something within me, prompting a pause, a long inward breath, and a return to a question that has stayed with me for as long as I can remember: Why have we made life so complex, when it was always meant to be simple?

Deep down, I still believe it is. The complexity lies not in life itself, but in everything we’ve built around it — systems, expectations, stories that were never ours to begin with.

The Message Was Always Clear

As someone who has always believed in the innate simplicity of life, I often return to the core teachings found in all religions. Strip away the rituals, the interpretations, and the institutional layers, and you’ll find the same message repeated: love each other, live with integrity, uphold justice, protect the vulnerable, and find peace in humility. That is the divine instruction — universal and eternal.

Even when religion speaks of war, it does so with caution — in defence, not aggression. Never as a call to chaos, but as a recognition that human ego and greed disrupt harmony. And yet, over time, even these sacred teachings have been twisted. Power has become the prism through which we reinterpret everything, including the roles of women.

When Power Rewrote Her Story

No one has felt the rewriting more than women.

Throughout history, women have led, loved, nurtured, and sacrificed. But where men were glorified for conquest and indulgence, women were judged, shamed, and restricted — sometimes simply for existing outside expectations.

Their presence unsettled the structures that were built without them, so the narratives shifted — not because they lacked power, but because their power disrupted the comfort of the system. And as the stories changed, so did the roles, and what once was sacred — like the ability to carry life, to nourish it from one’s own body — became framed as a burden, and became both a divine privilege, and a misunderstood curse. And so, the sacred role of womanhood was diminished — not by nature, but by narrative.

This imbalance, this distortion of purpose, is where the complexities began.

From Union to Spectacle

Take something as simple and beautiful as marriage. At its core, it’s about two individuals choosing love, partnership, and mutual growth. Yet somehow, it has evolved into an extravagant performance — especially the wedding ceremony. Lavish displays, social media spotlights, and staggering costs overshadow the quiet, sacred commitment of two souls and their families coming together. Why such a show when so many marriages unravel in months or years? Why not invest more in the relationship than in the event?

As a teenager, I too was swayed by the glamorous portrayals — the dreamy weddings, the perfect love stories. Marriage was a milestone. A trophy. A reward. Both East and West indulge in these fantasies. But the truth is, simplicity rarely makes headlines. And so, we grew up chasing images that were never real. I’ve never understood why so much money is spent on a day designed to impress people who won’t be there when things fall apart, especially when so many of these marriages don’t last, not because the love wasn’t real, but because the love wasn’t nurtured. The ceremony took centre stage, and the relationship got lost in the wings.

Love Doesn’t Come in a Type

Even now, I see how people choose partners by scanning the surface — looks, height, humour, social presence — reducing connection to a checklist. I hear it far too often: “You’re not my type,” as if love arrives in a particular shape or tone of voice. We forget that real connection rarely comes in the packaging we imagined. Kindness doesn’t always wear designer clothes. Emotional safety doesn’t always come with perfect skin. The people who truly see us might not meet our criteria, but they might just hold the parts of us we’ve been hiding from the world.

We chase the polished, and wonder why we’re left empty.

Our Parents Did What They Could

Then came parenting — another area now burdened with contradictions. Generational trauma, narcissistic parenting, emotional boundaries… these phrases dominate today's discourse. Certainly, mistakes were made by our parents and grandparents, as there were by theirs. But let’s not forget: many of them survived wars, famines, and displacements. They parented us with love — perhaps not always perfectly, but with the knowledge and tools they had. There was love — even if it wasn’t spoken in the way we expected, even if it came wrapped in discipline or duty.

Now, some in our generation cut off entire family lines in pursuit of peace. And while healing is important, let’s also remember the beauty of forgiveness, the wisdom of humility, and the strength of perspective.

What the Village Gave Us

I think often of the village children — barefoot and sun-kissed, climbing trees, telling stories, learning without even knowing they were learning. That kind of freedom builds something within a person. It teaches curiosity and connection. Village life, with all its earthy simplicity, raised generations of creative, and resilient children. Somewhere along the way, complexity began to steal that magic. Now we raise children in concrete boxes, with screens and schedules and theories, but often no real time, no real presence.

Progress is not always improvement. Advancement does not always bring meaning.

What Science Can’t Explain

Science has brought immeasurable progress, yes — but also paradoxes. It explains how we function, but still stumbles when asked why we feel. It gives us technology, but not always empathy. It can measure brain activity, name chemicals, and plot emotional response — but it cannot explain what binds two souls together across distance, time, or logic. It cannot explain the feeling of being truly seen. It cannot explain forgiveness. Or faith.

Some things were never meant to be dissected. Only lived.

In rejecting the flaws of our past, we’ve embraced selective truths — borrowing bits of religion when convenient, dismissing it when not. But even science cannot unravel the mysteries of the heart. For that, we must return to something more ancient than data: love.

Love is the Answer

Love — not the superficial, performative kind — but the real, soul-stirring kind that binds the universe. It is the essence of every sacred text, every human longing. And yet, we’ve replaced it with ego, with metrics, with influence. We measure our worth by followers, likes, salaries, and labels. In this world, messengers have become influencers, who no longer speak of truth, but of products and services.

Some now prefer to live alone — not because they don’t believe in love, but because they no longer know how to recognise it. They’ve been burned, or disillusioned, or exhausted. They’ve mistaken performance for presence, and lost themselves in the process. Still, I believe love remains the answer — not the romanticised version, not the commercial kind, but the grounded, honest, imperfect kind. The kind that asks questions. The kind that stays. The kind that sees.

A Generation in Search of Something True

Our ancestors were not perfect. They passed down pain, but also wisdom, stories, songs, prayer, and strength. They held on to religion — sometimes with faith, sometimes with fear — and those who followed tried to rewrite the script. Some kept only what was comfortable. Others walked away entirely. And in that reshuffling, many lost the very simplicity they were searching for. What remains now is a longing — a vague memory of something true, but no clear path back to it.

The Uncomplicated Truth

We glorify weddings, but forget to nurture marriages.

We chase lust, but call it love.

We seek power, but fear surrender.

We isolate ourselves in the name of independence, but yearn for connection.

We speak of trauma, but are afraid to heal.

So, I ask again: why do we make life so complex? Why do we run from the very simplicity that could save us?

Imagine a world where love was not conditional.

Where respect wasn’t gendered.

Where marriage was a commitment, not a performance.

Where science walked hand in hand with ethics.

Where children were raised with wisdom, not resentment.

Where we honoured the past not with blind obedience, but with understanding.

That world would be simple — and it would be full of love.

Maybe It’s Time to Return

Life is still simple. It was always meant to be.

The complexity came from ego. From forgetting what matters. From believing that more is always better. From confusing freedom with disconnection.

While we may not change the entire world today, we can begin — by choosing to love, to listen, to simplify. So perhaps it’s time to return — not backwards, but inward to the core, by remembering that at the heart of every faith, every family, and every soul… there is the same yearning:

To be seen.

To be loved.

To live simply, but deeply.

And perhaps, that is all we ever needed.