They said the real world waits beyond the campus gate—a promise dressed as freedom and a future paved with clocks and hunger, but nobody warned me how even the brightest lights burn when you stare too long.
There is a strange fear that settles in when you realize you’re on the brink of crossing the finish line. It isn’t loud or sudden, but it grows silently, lodged deep within.
I used to count the years with wonder and excitement—how tall I’d be, how far I’d go in life, as if time were a dear friend that holds my hand towards tomorrow. But somewhere between birthdays and goodbyes, the candles stopped feeling like the sudden urge to make a wish. Rather, it started feeling like clocks—ticking through life, continuously making a sound in the back of my mind.
Sometimes I miss the comfort of not needing to know.
And sometimes I envy the child I once was, who thought the future was just another word for a grand life ahead. But now and then, the stars whisper, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘸, and every reflection in the mirror asks, 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦?
𝙄 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬.
Sure, the world is wide for the dreams that feel endless, but in this part, my courage feels small, only wishing I could step away from reality. Because lately, it feels like standing on the edge of everything I asked and dreamed for, only to remember I had clipped my wings out of uncertainty.
The world keeps changing faster than I could ever catch my breath. And somewhere in retrospect, I realized—
𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥.
Changes kept flying out into the world with things out of my control. It kept changing, and there’s fear in that. Not the kind that makes you scream, but the kind that lingers—quiet and constant.
There’s fear in choosing wrong, of being left behind, of realizing that everyone else seems to have a plan, and you’re still figuring things out. And there’s a part of me that wishes everything could stay the same, but there’s also a part of me that knows it shouldn’t.
I kept mulling over the future because whatever it may have for me is something I’m not ready for.
Because the truth is, no one ever stops being afraid.
𝗡𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘆.
But maybe fear never really leaves. Maybe it only learns to quiet down when I start to move.
So even if it quivers, I’ll keep walking.
And one day, when fear finally subsides, I’ll run.
𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.
𝘞𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺: 𝘋𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘈𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘖𝘤𝘰𝘯
𝘊𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳: 𝘛𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘑𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘊𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘵
𝘈𝘳𝘵𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘣𝘺: 𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘺 𝘑𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘢𝘯
