What is the future that awaits me? Is it the one I have woven in dreams, stitched with effort, sleepless nights, and the quiet hope that hums within my ribs? Or is it the shadow I fear the most, lurking in the corners of uncertainty, where lost paths and unmet expectations reside?
They say, forget the past, live today, let tomorrow come, come what may. Yet, I am young, and fear runs deep, for the future is a mountain steep.
"Where do you see yourself in ten-fifteen years?" The question is a mountain in my throat. I reach for an answer, but my hands grasp air. I pause, I stutter, I cannot say, for dreams can crumble, even fade away. Itās scary to chase a hope that may not be mine. To build a life with trembling hands, only to watch it slip like sand. Because truth be toldāI do not know. And that, perhaps, is the scariest thing of all.
What if the vision I dare to hold slips through my fingers like grains of sand? What if the effort, the long nights, the sacrifices, the silent prayers, lead not to triumph, but to an ending I never wished to write?
But even if the future scares me, I still hope that someday, I find myself in the sky, not just gazing from below, but soaringā hands steady on the controls, a heartbeat in sync with the hum of the engines and drinking in the endless horizon. I want to sit in the cabin, where the world feels both vast and close, where clouds become my companions, soft whispers carried by the windās embrace. And maybe, just maybe, as I soar through the sky, I'll find not just the beauty of the world, but the pieces of myself Iāve been searching for all along.
I dream of a life where my hands are steady, holding not just dreams, but the means to make them real. A stable job, built on years of effort, where I can stand tall, not just for myself, but for the ones who carried me here. I long for the day I can give backā not just in words, but in all that I do. To repay my parents, not just with gratitude, but with comfort, with ease, with a life where they no longer have to sacrifice. I see myself crossing borders, chasing horizons, wandering through countries that once lived only in my mind, and have my fridge full of magnets. A passport filled with stories, footsteps in places unknown, the world unfolding beneath my eager feet. I want to live not just to survive, but to indulge in the things that make life worth living.
To my parents, who carried burdens so I could walk with ease, who gave when they had little, who dreamed of a future where I would never have to struggle as they did. The hands that held me before I could stand, the voices that guided me before I could understand. And to my siblings, who taught me love in its simplest form. I am grateful for them in ways words canāt hold. For the meals shared around the table and for the lessons disguised as scoldings. My friends, who knew me before the world did, before life grew heavy with responsibilities, before dreams stretched far beyond our grasp. We were just kids/teenagers once, laughing in crowded hallways, sharing secrets, chasing sunsets with nowhere to go but everywhere to be. And even as time pulls us forward, as life scatters us across cities, across oceans, across different paths, I never want to lose what we hadāwhat we still have. I want to sit across from them, years from now, coffee in hand, and still see the same light in their eyes, the same laughter, untouched by time.
Life is a vast and uncertain road, a path woven with shadows and light, where dreams tremble on the edge of doubt, and the future feels like a whispered storm. It is scaryāto not know where Iāll stand, to not know if the hands I hold today will still reach for mine in the years ahead. But if I could wish for one thing, if I could carve my hopes into time itself, it would be to live a life where laughter still echoes, where familiar voices still call my name, where the ones who stand beside me now remain beside me, always.
My future is my deepest fear, yet it is also the fire that drives me forward.
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