It’s 11:31 p.m. I don’t really know what I’m trying to write right now. Maybe I’m just writing — without a plan, without a destination. Words often come like this, carrying fragments of what I’ve felt, seen, and longed for.
In the past few months, or maybe even years, I’ve gone through my share of difficulties and confusion. There’s been tension, struggle, and an endless list of “what ifs.”
Sometimes, I find myself missing the simplest moments — gossiping with friends, laughing over a cup of tea, cycling through familiar streets, talking about physics, philosophy, psychology, and life.
I long to sit in a classroom again, to teach physics not just as equations but as a way to understand the logic of nature — and maybe even the logic of being human. I dream of reading books on spirituality, of writing my own reflections on life, of sharing ideas through a blog or a YouTube channel. Not just for money, but for meaning — for the quiet satisfaction of expressing what’s within.
But then I pause and ask myself: why do I keep waiting for the “right time”? Why do I keep imagining a future where I’ll finally live the life I dream of?
So often, I realize that I’m chasing something that always stays just out of reach. I keep thinking, someday it will happen, and then I’ll be happy. But does that day ever really come? Or do we always find a new “someday” waiting for us?
Maybe that’s the nature of the mind — to be drawn toward what we don’t have, to ignore what’s already here.
And in doing so, we drain our energy, our motivation, our peace.
Sometimes I wonder: are there really two ways to live?
The first — to keep longing, to keep striving, to chase what’s missing.
And the second — to simply live with what we have, to do what feels right now, without waiting for the perfect moment.
The first path feels heavy, endless. It keeps us running, but never arriving.
The second path — quieter, gentler — asks for courage. The courage to slow down, to accept, to breathe.
Maybe the art of living is not in reaching every dream, but in living sincerely with what’s already in our hands.
And if something feels too heavy to carry, perhaps we can put it down — slowly, calmly, without hurry.
Ups and downs will always come; that’s just life unfolding.
Maybe what truly matters is how we move through them — whether we live through our restless thoughts of past and future, or awaken to this moment that’s already here.
So I ask myself: what if the life I keep waiting for is already happening — right now?
