The girl with the loudest anger is often the one who spent the longest time unheard.

Last night, I was scrolling through social media when I came across an essay about daughters who are labeled as the "angry" one, or sometimes the "difficult" one. It made me stop and think. Then I realized something: I was never the easy daughter, but rather, I was the angry daughter.

Maybe that is what people saw. The girl who spoke with frustration in her voice. The daughter who questioned things she did not understand.

The one who refused to smile through pain just to keep the peace. It was easy to call her difficult. It was easier than asking why she was hurting in the first place.

Some daughters are called angry simply because they stopped pretending they were okay.

The thing about the angry daughter is that people often mistake her anger for cruelty. They see the raised voice but not the countless times she swallowed her feelings before she finally spoke.

They see the resistance but not the wounds that taught her she could no longer endure everything quietly. They notice the fire, but not what started it.

And yet, for someone described as angry, she carries an unbelievable amount of empathy. She knows what it feels like to be unheard, so she listens carefully. She knows what it feels like to be misunderstood, so she tries to understand others.

She knows what it feels like to carry pain alone, so she often becomes the person others run to when they are hurting.

Maybe that is why I find myself feeling for daughters like her. Because beneath the frustration was never a heart that wanted to fight. It was a heart that wanted to be seen. A heart that wanted someone to ask, "What happened to you?" instead of "What’s wrong with you?"

The angry daughter is not always angry. Sometimes she is exhausted. Sometimes she is disappointed. Sometimes she is simply tired. Because her pain does not arrive quietly, people remember the anger and forget the reason behind it.

She was not hard to love; she was hard to misunderstand correctly.

Perhaps the saddest part is that many angry daughters grow up believing there is something wrong with them. They begin to see themselves through the labels given to them.

Difficult.

Dramatic.

Too sensitive.

When in reality, they were only reacting to things that hurt them. They were only trying to protect parts of themselves that had been ignored for too long.

And maybe that is what I learned. The angry daughter was never just angry. We are brave enough to refuse what was breaking us. And was strong enough to say, "This hurts," even when nobody wanted to hear it.

Behind every angry daughter is a girl who simply wanted to be understood.

Please suggest restaurants that serve best authentic traditional Assamese food/thaali in Guwahati. [Veg, chicken, mutton. That's all]

Provide the names and outlet of the places, and also the must-try dishes.

Thank you.