Yuvan: Rebirth in Real Time

Yuvan describes this chapter of his life as a rebirth. Not in some abstract, philosophical sense, but in a grounded and personal way. After years of being away, he returned home and found himself re-entering relationships with family that had long been shaped by distance. For someone who had spent most of his life relying on himself, this return asked him to let go of self-containment. To let others in.

He didn’t arrive at this place through reflection alone. Life shifted, and with it came the need to lean on people again. Letting his family see him in that space wasn’t easy. But it offered a kind of clarity he hadn’t known he needed. “I thought I only needed about this much to be okay,” he said, holding his fingers close together. “Turns out, it’s healthier for me to need more.”

The Myth of Independence

Yuvan didn’t start off independent. He learned it. He had to. Boarding school in India. A competitive environment. A place where emotions were sidelined and strength looked like self-containment. He got good at it. Built himself into someone who didn’t need anything from anyone.

But over time, that way of being started to feel more like a performance than a truth. A version of himself crafted for survival, not connection. Returning home cracked that version open. And slowly, it became clear that needing others wasn’t failure. It was human.

“I don’t think I’ve ever truly wanted to be alone,” he admitted. “I just got good at pretending I did.”

Community as Mirror and Muscle

Yuvan has lived in India, London, and New York. Each place brought a new version of him, and with it, new communities. But not all of them felt like home. He’s always been good at adapting, at making surface-level connections. But at some point, he started asking: Are these my people? Or am I just good at playing the part?

He describes two kinds of community. There’s the community around you, the people you see at work, your neighbors, the crowd at your regular spots. Then there’s your tribe, the people who really get you, who move through the world like you do. The overlap between the two is the sweet spot. But it’s rare.

“I’ve had to learn the difference between being surrounded and being seen,” he said. “That’s the part that took time.”

The Joy of Presence

Last summer, Yuvan went on a road trip through Arizona with friends. They hiked, drove, changed plans on the fly, and navigated all the usual travel hiccups. But what stuck with him wasn’t the itinerary. It was the feeling.

“I was just happy to be there,” he said. “Really, fully there.”

That sense of freedom, of being unburdened by expectations or timelines, hit different. It reminded him what presence feels like. And how rare it is now.

He talked about how society has stopped savoring things. How we rush through life, constantly scanning for what’s next. Even joy has a timestamp. “We’ve come to a place where going outside and listening to birds in the morning needs to be branded as a ‘brain bath.’ Like we’ve forgotten the basics.”

But he’s fighting for that presence. Phone face-down. Feet on the ground. Real conversation. Slow mornings. And when he finds it, in nature, in travel, in stillness, he holds onto it.

Becoming the Man He Once Needed

When asked what his younger self would think if they met today, Yuvan paused. Then smiled. “I think he’d be proud,” he said. “Like, yeah, you turned into someone I would’ve looked up to.”

He didn’t only mean successful or accomplished. He meant kind. Grounded. Curious. Someone who listens deeply and shows up with care. Someone who still believes in people. Someone who knows that community isn’t just a buzzword, but a lifeline.

Yuvan’s in a season of shedding and remembering. He’s no longer chasing everything at once. He’s doing less, but going deeper. And maybe, that’s the whole point. Not to build a version of ourselves that looks good from the outside, but to become the kind of person we once needed when no one was looking.

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Temi's Reflection

What struck me most about this conversation with Yuvan wasn't just how articulate he was about community, but how willing he was to name its absence. It takes courage to say, “I’ve been surrounded, but not seen.” It takes even more to start living in a way that honors that knowing.

There was something grounding about hearing him speak about presence. Not as a trend or a self-help hack, but as something sacred. The ability to be in a moment and feel content with simply being there, that’s not easy in the kind of world we’ve built. But Yuvan’s story reminds me that even if the world forgets how to savor, we don’t have to.

His story is one of transition, but not the kind that demands reinvention. It’s more like a quiet return. A return to softness. To asking for help. To walking slowly enough to notice what’s real. Yuvan isn’t searching for belonging like it’s a destination. He’s letting it unfold through intentionality, curiosity, and care.

And maybe that’s what we all need to hear. That it’s okay to search. That it’s okay to want more than convenience or proximity. That the best versions of ourselves are often the ones that feel least performative. The ones who listen, pause, and stay long enough to really see and be seen.