Making room for play and pleasure when life gets heavy.

The world feels so heavy, so this month I decided to make more room for play in what I do, including my Instagram posts. Yet sometimes I find myself wondering: Is it appropriate to talk about play and pleasure when there is so much suffering?

The recent haze reaching neighbouring countries, including Singapore, has brought this question closer to home. Reports on this year’s forest and peatland fires in Indonesia speak to the scale of what communities and firefighters are facing on the ground.

I feel sadness and anger too—about the destruction, the lack of accountability, and the systems that allow harm to continue. These cause fatalities and Acute Respiratory Infection (ARI), particularly among vulnerable communities, including children, pregnant women, and the elderly. Animals and ancient forests are harmed too, while others are left to bear the consequences. Many Indonesians echoed these sentiments (amongst other pressing matters) as they took to the streets yesterday. On top of that, the broader weight of injustice, oppression, and global issues weighs heavily. It can be hard to process these feelings or to know what to do with them.

Alongside spiritual practices and other coping strategies, I’ve been returning to Adrienne Maree Brown’s Pleasure Activism: The Politics of Feeling Good. Drawing on Black feminist thought, Brown brings pleasure, healing, and social justice into conversation and shows how interconnected they are. She invites us to see pleasure as a reminder of our connection to others and our aliveness, as well as of the care and accountability we owe our community.

Her work makes me wonder: How can we keep caring about and contributing to the world over the long term while it’s on fire? Can we give ourselves permission to rest, laugh, and feel pleasure—and where do these things fit? A reel of firefighters in Kalimantan reminded me that even amid serious, demanding, and dangerous work, they can share a humorous moment with their colleagues. I can’t know what that moment meant to them, and it doesn’t make their work any less devastating or difficult, but seeing it made me pause, with tears in my eyes.

A moment of connection with friends, sharing playful pleasure—and an act of resistance. These moments of ‘playful’ time connect them and me to what makes us feel alive: friendship, care for others, and care for the environment. They offer much-needed escape, hope, and laughter from whatever ‘’haze’’ we’re experiencing before we carry on with what we have to do in life.

And we’re in this for the long game. Resistance means not letting exhaustion become another badge of honour or a measure of how much we care. I want to make space to grieve, act, rest, find pleasure, and laugh—and to keep showing up in whatever way we can, even if it’s small.

A towering ancient fig tree, covered in intricate, twisting roots, stands majestically amidst the lush green foliage of the rainforest, creating a breathtaking natural sculpture.

A small pleasure is feeling immense gratitude for the clean, fresh air filling our lungs. It’s enjoying a clear blue sky without taking it for granted. It’s having the opportunity to spend time with family, pets, friends, and neighbours whose company we enjoy. These are small things not to take for granted.

The haze reminds me how easily we take life’s little daily pleasures—clean air and water—for granted. It also brings my thoughts back to our friends and families in Indonesia, especially those closest to the fires, along with the responders, forests, plants, and animals affected.

As I bring more playful content into this space, I hope to strike a balance by making room for reflection and practical care, too. There’s room for both—to enjoy life’s vital, basic ‘little pleasures’ while standing in solidarity with those deeply affected in the region and around the world.

On a practical note, if you’d like to contribute, consider donating what you can to a verified organisation supporting affected communities, local firefighting efforts, or forest protection. One such organisation is Ranu Welum Foundation, a women- and youth-led Indigenous organization that empowers Dayak communities through traditional knowledge and modern technology. Its work spans forest conservation, disaster resilience, cultural preservation, and youth empowerment. I’m sharing this as an option for anyone looking to help. I’m not affiliated with the organisation and receive no payment or other benefit for sharing this link.

And a question to carry you into the week:

What keeps you feeling alive—and how do you make room for little pleasures, play, and aliveness while continuing with your life and caring for others in need? If the weight of the world has been sitting heavily with you lately, you don’t have to carry it alone. Grief, anger, exhaustion and the longing to feel alive again can all exist at once, and they deserve gentle attention.

At Nambani, we offer a calm space to slow down, explore what you’ve been carrying, and consider what helps you feel grounded: rest, care, connection—and yes, a little play. If you’d like support exploring this, we’d be happy to welcome you. Book a session whenever you’re ready.’’.