January 18, 2035
Ten years. That feels so far away… and yet, I know it isn’t.
If you’re reading this now, hi. I hope you’re somewhere beautiful.
Not necessarily a beach in Greece (although… fingers crossed), but a life that feels beautiful. A life that fits like your favorite oversized hoodie, soft, warm, lived-in.
I hope you’re proud of the path you took, even if it was messy, even if you had to crawl some days. I hope you’ve done something good. Not “productive,” not impressive, just… good. Something that made you feel like you mattered.
I hope you didn’t give in to that little voice, the one that tried to convince you to shrink, to settle, to disappear into someone else’s life as a background character. You weren’t made to be an accessory.
I hope you’re a mother maybe to three. Or maybe to two and one on the way.
Or maybe you’re mothering yourself the way you always needed to.
I hope your home smells like love. Like chole bhature on Sundays.
I hope you found a partner who looks at you like you’re made of galaxies, not work. Someone who gets your chaos and still chooses to stay. Who holds your hand during meltdowns and folds laundry without being asked. I hope he’s gentle. You deserve gentle.
I hope you have fuck you money. Not just to spend but to feel safe.
I hope you’ve travelled. Alone. With your kids. With your mother. With no reason at all except wanting to see something new.
I hope Maa is still here, still glowing, still forgetting her meds even though you literally reminded her five minutes ago.
I hope she’s the kind of grandmother you used to imagine, soft, hilarious, and slightly unhinged in the best way.
I hope your brother is thriving.
I hope everyone has grown but not apart.
I hope your life is soft where it used to be sharp.
I hope you love your body. I hope you stopped apologizing for it.
I hope you don’t cringe at who you used to be. She kept you alive. She got you here.
I hope you’re satisfied.
I hope you’re full.
I hope you like yourself. Not just in photos. But in silence. In mirrors. In crowded rooms.
And above all,
I hope you’re happy. Not just on birthdays or on vacation. But in the quiet hum of your everydays.
January 18, 2025
But today…
It’s not dreamy. It’s not soft.
It’s slow. It’s stuck. It’s survival mode with a smile.
I’m living in a space filled with people, and yet I feel like I haven’t heard my own thoughts in weeks. I miss being alone so badly it aches. I miss silence. I miss sitting in my bed, in a clean room, with my favorite playlist playing and no one around asking for anything from me.
I’m tired.
I’m in a relationship that doesn’t feel like a relationship anymore. I still love him, I do but I don’t think he knows how to love me back in a way I can actually feel. I’m not asking for a fairytale. I just want to feel wanted. Chosen.
I’m so emotionally tired. I want to leave, but I also want to be held. I want peace, but I want it without starting over. I want a different ending without having to change the story. And I know that’s not how it works, but still… I wish.
Financially? I’m not just in distress. I’m in my villain origin story.
I’m scraping. Manifesting. Begging the universe for a break. Just one.
I haven’t been to the gym. I haven’t done groceries.
I’ve barely eaten a vegetable in weeks.
Everything feels like a chore, even joy.
But I’m going back to school. And that? That’s the one flame still flickering. I love it there. I love the person I become when I’m learning.
I want to come back to myself. Slowly. Even if it takes a while.
Right now, life feels stuck. Like I’m walking through fog. But I haven’t stopped walking.
And maybe that’s enough for today.
