Past Embraced

I remember the me of my youth—a version of myself driven by a fierce desire to leave no room for regret. I marshaled every ounce of courage I possessed and set out to chase things that, in truth, were never meant to be mine.

I remember the me of my youth—a version that pulsed with an unyielding passion, determined to execute the actions I believed were absolutely non-negotiable, just so I wouldn't have to look back in sorrow.

I was under the impression that time stretched out before me, infinitely long. So, I fought without restraint, arguing fiercely, trying to persuade everyone, and sometimes even resorting to destruction. I genuinely thought this torrent of passion would purchase the future I desperately dreamed of.

But doesn't everyone carry a past they're less than proud of?

That early courage, the burning passion, the lost years themselves—all of it has morphed into a stack of invisible IOUs. Now, in the days ahead, they are slowly, relentlessly coming back to collect their debt.

I close my eyes and see everything I once held firmly in my grasp. I open them, and all that's left is the cold, unwavering stare of the ceiling. I look at myself and wonder, "How could I have been so foolish?"

As fragmented memories flash through my mind, I instinctively want to strike myself. I hate that blind, heedless passion, and I despise the elaborate illusion I constructed for myself.

The hardest thing to confront is never the past itself. It is the self.

In the mirror, I see the face of the defiant rebel I used to be. Outside the glass, I am just a shell, marked and scarred by the passage of time.

I let my body sink into the icy water, submerging the fiery heat of regret into a cold, profound silence. And I tell myself this:

Open your arms. Embrace the past. Embrace the regret. Embrace the incompleteness.

This, I realize, is the true courage I need now. "Solitary bravery" isn't about fighting the world. It’s about having the strength to finally face the person you used to be.