The Quiet Battle of Becoming

Sometimes I write selfish pages. Not out of greed, nor vanity — no. I write them as if whispering to myself in the dark, so I don’t forget. Because forgetting is easy. The noise of the world is thick, sticky, clinging to the skin and numbing the senses. And in this blur of days, of duties, of silences swallowed whole, I must remind myself of what truly matters.

Life isn’t a straight line, nor a grand revelation. It is a slow unravelling, a peeling away of what isn’t yours until you find what is. Never stop fighting, they say, until you arrive at your destined place. But what is destiny if not the place where you are most yourself? And how do you know when you’ve arrived? You don’t. You just keep moving, sculpting yourself with each step, shedding skins that no longer fit.

There must be an aim, a north, a whisper calling you forward. Otherwise, what is effort but exhaustion? With purpose, even suffering holds meaning. The wind scatters those who walk without direction, but those who know why they walk — ah, they move with gravity, with weight, with something unbreakable inside them.

But wanting is not enough. One must learn, and keep learning, for knowledge is not a trophy but a movement. The mind must stay awake, alert, like a bird that knows the shape of the sky. Work hard, yes, but not just with your hands — work with the soul, with that secret part of you no one sees but you know is there.

And even then, life will test you. Doubt will seep through the cracks, failure will knock at your door with familiar hands. Do not fear them. Perseverance is not about being strong — it is about continuing even when you are weak. It is about knowing that the path is yours alone, and no one will walk it for you.

So go on. Go on despite everything. The world will try to mould you, tame you, but you are not here to be tamed. You are here to carve your name into time, to reach the greatness that has always been waiting for you.