'Summer Breeze'

I always think about the future. It scares me, honestly. Not because it’s unknown, but because I feel unprepared—almost like I’m already behind. Maybe it’s because I lack the things that an average 24-year-old seems to have figured out. Most of my friends are working now. They’re earning money, living independently, fulfilling their dreams, and ticking boxes off their wishlists. My closest pal recently bought the bike he had always dreamed of. Another friend just moved to the city for his dream job. Everyone seems to be moving forward, fast and fearlessly. And then there’s me—sitting in the same place, scrolling through reels, passing time like it’s infinite, doing absolutely nothing worthwhile. Or at least that’s how it feels. When people ask me what I’m doing these days, I only have one word to say: studying. It’s the only shield I have. The only excuse that keeps the questions away. But deep inside, I know I’m using it as a veil. I’m ashamed of myself sometimes. I wonder, Is this really the best I could do? I remember the spark in my eyes when I first got admitted to university. My friends used to say I glowed with excitement, full of dreams and ideas. That version of me seems like a distant memory now. Somewhere along the way, that light dimmed. Maybe I lost track. Maybe I let the pressure, the fear, and the comparisons eat me up. I don’t shine the way I used to, and that thought breaks me sometimes. But still—somewhere deep down—I know that life doesn’t end at 24. In fact, it’s just starting. Life’s rough, yes. It’s slow, sometimes even stagnant. But it’s not over. And maybe this slow phase is a blessing in disguise. Maybe it’s teaching me patience, resilience, and the value of small steps. I need to remind myself that everyone moves at their own pace. Just because someone is running ahead doesn't mean I’m not moving at all. This is a letter to me, from me—a reminder that I’ve already fought through darker clouds in the past. Maybe I’m not as effective as I used to be. Maybe I don’t feel like “me” anymore. But I am still me. And that counts for something. I still carry the same heart, the same values, the same fire waiting to be reignited. If I give it a real shot, if I work with focus and belief, I know I can get my spark back. I can start shining again. There's this tiny bit of hope left in me—fragile but firm—that I will make it big someday. Maybe not today, maybe not even next year, but I believe my time will come. I know it sounds like a fantasy. Maybe even foolish. But in the words of Monkey D. Luffy, "As long as I'm alive, there are a thousand ways for me to win." That quote sticks with me. It reminds me that as long as I wake up and breathe, there’s always a chance. A door. A path. A new beginning. And when things get too heavy, when my mind feels like a storm of worries, I find peace in the simplest of things—the summer breeze. It’s strange how such a gentle force can bring me back to life. I walk through the paddy fields or the green stretches of crop land, and the breeze sweeps over me. It runs through my hair, messes it up, carries the scent of earth and leaves. The rustling of the trees, the faint chu-chu sound that dances with the wind—these moments heal me. The breeze doesn’t stay long, just like good times don’t. But neither do the bad times. They, too, pass. They too, leave eventually. That’s what the breeze teaches me—that movement is the only constant. And if I keep walking, if I just stay alive and breathing, my seasons will change too. My own breeze will come and revive the parts of me that feel lost or forgotten. So I’m learning to love this version of myself. Not because it’s the best version, but because it’s real. And it’s growing. I’m not where I want to be yet, but I’m also not where I used to be. I’m somewhere in between—and that’s okay. I’ll give myself permission to slow down, to rebuild, to dream again—one breeze, one hope, one day at a time.