HIDE TO SEEK

 Hide to Seek

As a child, I loved playing hide and seek.

But I never really hid. I was always the first to be found — sometimes on purpose, sometimes because I simply didn’t want to disappear. I was scared of being hidden. I wanted to be found.

My cousin used to tease me, “Aadima, you don’t get it. The one who’s caught first doesn’t win.”

But to me, it was never about winning. It was about someone looking for me — finding me.

As I grew older, I learned to hide better — in rainwater canals, in overhead tanks, even once inside a well and a washing machine. I learned the rules of the game. I learned how to stay unseen.

And when time changes, the games change too. We stop playing hide and seek.

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During a recent locked-in weekend, I watched my nephew and niece play the same game with the neighbor kids. There were only four of them. My niece insisted that I cover her eyes while she counted.

I watched the others scatter — especially my nephew, the youngest of all, who hid best. Once, I couldn’t find him at all. And when he finally came out, he smiled and said,

“I enjoyed when you searched for me.”

Damn, boy, I thought, that’s a life lesson right there.

Because that’s what we all do now, don’t we? We hide — not in closets or tanks — but inside ourselves.

We hide from our fears, from our flaws, from the messy, untamed parts of who we are.

We hide our unspoken emotions, terrified they won’t fit into society’s neat little boxes.

We hide the truest version of ourselves in pursuit of the “better” one.

And yet, deep down, we all wish to be sought.

We want someone to notice our silence, to open the curtains of our dark rooms, to sit beside us and say, “I see you.”

Not to rescue us — just to see us.

Maybe I still misunderstand the rules of hide and seek.

But I believe we hide in the hope that one day, someone will come looking — that we’ll be found.

And when that happens, when someone finally shows up after hiding for a long time — that moment is more beautiful than any hiding could ever be.

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The other night, during the supermoon, everyone I knew posted pictures of that bright silver circle in the sky. I wanted to see it too.

But when I went to my terrace, the sky was cloudy. No moon.

Still, I stayed — because the breeze was good.

After a while, I glanced up again and noticed a faint light behind one cloud. Slowly, the moon revealed itself — a quarter, then a half — then hid again, before finally shining in full.

It was a slow show. But it felt personal.

If the sky had been clear, I might not have felt this happy. But seeing the moon appear after hiding — that glow was different. It felt alive.

And maybe I am romanticizing my life a little, but this isn’t just about the moon.

It’s about the courage it takes to show up after hiding for so long.

That glow — that quiet return — is everything.

So if you know someone who’s hiding, even if they’re not close to you, don’t hesitate to tell them you searched for them — that you’re waiting for them to show up.

Because when you do that, you become a small ray of light in their dark hiding place...