If I could rewrite life, I don’t know if I would. Some parts of me whisper yes, but a louder part says no. Because every ache, every mistake, every unfinished chapter… they all carried me here. And here is not perfect, but it’s mine.
The present is always louder than the past. It decides where the story bends next. If I want to change the future, I can’t wait for it to arrive—I have to write it now, with shaky hands and all. And maybe I’ve been writing it all along, even when I thought I was just drifting.
We are never as powerless as we think we are.
There were times I could have done more. Times I could have studied harder, turned off the noise, chosen differently. But the truth is, we all carry that thought. We all wish we had written certain lines better. Yet isn’t that what makes it human? The half-done effort, the wrong turns, the silent prayers at 2am?
Regret is only proof that we cared.
Not everything can be changed. We don’t get the pen for certain pages. But we do hold the ink for how we feel, for how we respond, for the way we rebuild. That part is ours, even when it feels impossible.
The lessons I never wanted to learn—the harsh ones, the humiliating ones, the ones that arrived uninvited—turned out to be necessary. They came wrapped in pain, but pain has a way of teaching you things comfort never will. If I hadn’t been through them, I wouldn’t see life the way I do now. That’s what being human is—breaking and mending, again and again.
Some chapters are meant to hurt, so the next ones can heal.
And maybe, if I could go back, I wouldn’t erase the story. Maybe I’d only change how I carried myself in certain moments. But even then, that version of me was still me. A piece of me I outgrew, but needed. A piece that shaped me into someone who won’t make the same mistakes again.
So no, I wouldn’t rewrite life. I would only keep writing from here. With what I know now. With hands that have already held both regret and resilience.
Because maybe the point isn’t to write it perfectly. Maybe it’s just to write it honestly.
I love the way you're holding the present with its megaphone, blasting out loudly in our ears, Eva — yet it's the memories, the past, that we feel deeper down.
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And that longing — or maybe even ache — that shows us we sometimes need grief to feel proof that we truly cared.
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We do definitely learn more — even faster — when there's friction, and that shapes how we present ourselves and our self, our identity, to the present and future.
But, there can also be growth in softness, in noticing what feels good in the now.
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And I love your note: "maybe the point isn’t to write perfectly..." — it’s so true. To open and breathe in honesty, right now — that can be enough.
Such a warm, wonderful post, even with the ache. Thank you for sharing.
this piece reads as a poem <3 it's such a beautiful way of sharing your thoughts!!