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. It’s 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 told—I 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 soaring— 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 wind’s 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 I’ve been searching for all along.
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 can’t 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 had—what 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.
My future is my deepest fear, yet it is also the fire that drives me forward.
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