Month: November 2025

I’m old now.
I have to pretend that I’m not a kid anymore.
But the truth is, somewhere inside, that child still claws at the walls.
Every year I bury him a little deeper,
under responsibility, under silence, under the weight of days that only repeat.

People say growing up is about becoming stronger,
but sometimes it feels like it’s just learning how to disappear.
Piece by piece, smile by smile.
I wear my adult face like armor,
hoping no one notices the cracks spreading underneath.

There are nights when I look in the mirror
and don’t recognize the eyes staring back.
Tired, dimmer, as if they’ve seen too much
and forgotten almost everything that once made them bright.

Maybe this is what age really is:
not a number, but a slow surrender,
an endless negotiation with the ghosts of who we could’ve been.
And yet we walk on, pretending,
because that’s what the world expects.
To hide the child, swallow the fear,
and call it maturity.

The world is cruelest to the strong ones.
The moment something bad happens,
you have to be strong.
When everyone around you crumbles,
you have to be strong.
When they carry a burden,
you have to be strong.
When they are overtaken by sadness,
you have to be strong.
When their world—and yours—shatters,
you have to be strong.

For them.
To cling to what is left.
To nurture hope.
To hold them.

Then,
after some time,
when the pain eases,
when they can breathe again,
when they can laugh again—
that is the time
when you start to feel.
When you face your pain.
When you break.
When the world has moved on.

Who understands where you are left—
alone in your sadness,
alone in your suffering,
broken.