Between the Lines of Time: The Story of My Life”

“Between the Lines of Time: The Story of My Life”

“Some lives are written in ink, some in blood, and some—like mine—are etched in the silent resilience of an untamed soul, wandering through the corridors of time.”

The first sentence of an autobiography must do more than introduce a life—it must encapsulate its essence. It should stir curiosity, tug at emotions, and whisper of untold stories waiting to unfold. It must be a doorway, compelling the reader to step into a world they might never have known, yet find themselves strangely familiar with.

As I sit down to pen my life’s journey, I realise that my story is not merely a string of dates, places, and achievements. It is a symphony of experiences—some harmonious, others discordant—woven into a melody that still plays on. From my childhood in Nepal to the disciplined halls of Jesuit education, from the struggles of self-made success to the profound lessons of failure, my life has been an ever-turning page of trials, triumphs, and transformations.

Writing an autobiography is akin to unravelling a tapestry, thread by thread, to examine the colours that shaped it. There are hues of childhood innocence, tinged with the sepia of hardship; shades of youthful ambition, sometimes shadowed by the grey of reality; and vibrant streaks of love, loss, and learning, forming the kaleidoscope of a life well-lived.

But how does one begin? Should it be with the first cry of birth, echoing in the streets of a place? Or with the moment I realised that life’s greatest lessons come not from textbooks, but from the corridors of struggle and solitude? Perhaps, it should begin with a defining event—the moment when fate and free will collided, setting the course of my life.

For me, the essence of an autobiography lies in the honesty of its narrative. It is not a monument to achievements but a reflection of the human spirit. The triumphs must be celebrated, but the wounds must also be revealed, for they too hold their wisdom.

As I embark on this journey of words, I do so not to merely recount events, but to relive them. To pause where I once ran, to reflect where I once resisted, and to smile at the echoes of my past self. My story is one of perseverance, of breaking through the walls of convention, of seeking meaning in the chaos of existence.

So, if I were to write my autobiography, I would begin it thus: “Some lives are written in ink, some in blood, and some—like mine—are etched in the silent resilience of an untamed soul, wandering through the corridors of time.“

And from that first line, I would take you on a journey through the landscapes of my life—some familiar, some foreign, but all undeniably human.