Impermeance

What has life truly taught us? Where does it lead us, in the end? We are told to press on, to fight through the battles, to find strength in perseverance. But did we ever truly understand it, or would we have been better off when reality was still an untouchable dream? Those days—those heavy, dark days—felt hopeless to the version of me who lived them. Yet, even then, I was alive with dreams, with the flicker of possibilities. I survived the storm of despair, the weight of a fractured family, and still, I believed in something more.. Like a bird adrift on trembling wings, I wandered—unsure if I’d misplaced my nest, or merely imagined its warmth to begin with.

Despite all the struggles—poverty, loneliness, the quiet ache for connection—I stood alone on the island of my imagination. Those summer days drift by in memory: the warm breeze, the faint yet lingering scent of jasmine at dusk, and a fragile hope for something brighter. Was it that hope, soft and stubborn, that carried me to where I stand now? I thought I missed those days, but maybe it's just the echo of who I was then. Now, life feels more... stable, if not quieter. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones. So why does something feel unfinished?

Was it the energy of youthful hopes, before I learned how to carry disappointment? Even when I knew the world could be harsh, I still had the audacity to imagine I could change it. I never really belonged anywhere—but I found comfort in the endless sky, in the cosmos that seemed to whisper back at me, reminding me that there was something greater than this.But now, I stand here, and that girl feels like a stranger. The one who believed in something—anything—bigger than herself. The one who wore hope like armor, who thought the future was a promise, not a question.

The world of grown-ups took her away without asking, replaced her with the burden of unforeseen struggles and the weight of days that stretch endlessly ahead. I find myself reaching into every jar, trying to fill something that I can't name. I try to taste the sweetness of something I lost, but it’s always just out of reach.It feels like survival is all that matters now. Some days, it’s enough just to keep going. The girl I was, with her light and fire, seems like a memory I can barely hold onto. She had the heart of a dreamer. I wonder where that went. Maybe she’s still here, somewhere inside me—just waiting for the right moment to reappear.

I once chased life with a hunger, always eager to catch the next train as it rushed by. But now, I stand still, indifferent to how many pass me by. It’s strange, isn’t it? To stop running and realize you’ve found your own pace, even if it’s not where you thought you’d be. But in the end, I owe it all to her. If it weren’t for her—the dreamer, the believer—would I be standing here at all? Maybe this is where I’m meant to be, after all. A place where the air feels real, where I can finally breathe without the weight of endless struggle pushing me into a world of make-believe.

For the first time, I can sink into the present, instead of always looking to escape it. And maybe, just maybe, when I’ve found the strength I once had, I’ll fulfill the dreams she left behind.