bhaskar saikia

Years ago, I wrote a line that keeps returning to me whenever life slows down enough for introspection:
“When we compromise with our dreams, we insult ourselves.”
At that time, I didn’t fully grasp the weight of those words. Today, I understand them a little better.

People often talk about insults as something external—something someone says, something meant to hurt us, diminish us, or provoke us. But the truth is, no one can truly insult us unless we open the door and let their words settle inside. An insult needs permission. Without our acceptance, it is just sound.

But the strange irony is this: while we guard ourselves fiercely against the opinions of others, we rarely protect ourselves from ourselves. We are perfectly capable of hurting our own sense of worth—not through harsh words, but through the quiet decisions we make when no one is watching.

Every time we silence a dream because it feels inconvenient, every time we choose comfort over courage, every time we shrink to fit into someone else’s expectations—we commit a small act of self-betrayal.

These are not dramatic moments. They are subtle, almost invisible.
A dream postponed.
A passion ignored.
A desire buried under responsibility.
A truth left unspoken.

And slowly, these tiny compromises accumulate into something heavier: a life that looks nothing like the one we once imagined.

The world may not insult us. People might not dare. But we can do it effortlessly—by denying ourselves the chance to grow, to try, to fail, to start again, to chase what matters. By convincing ourselves that “later” is a safer bet than “now.”

The insult is not in failing to achieve a dream.
The insult is in not allowing ourselves to even begin.

So perhaps the real measure of self-respect lies in the choices we make every day—not in defiance of others, but in honour of our own possibilities. The dreams we carry are not burdens; they are reminders of who we are capable of becoming.

And when we honor them, even in small steps, we honor ourselves.