Tag: life

Embracing Change

I have a love-hate relationship with change. 

I think many people do. 

It’s so strange. One would think that change is such an inevitable part of life–pretty much the material life itself is made of–that we should be used to it and take it as something absolutely natural. Yet we keep resisting. We keep letting it throw us off track.

Everything in this world is about change. Morning changes to daytime, and then to nighttime. Days of the week change. Months. Seasons. 

Our bodies change. Our minds. Our feelings. Our habits. Sometimes, it happens slowly and gradually, and sometimes we feel like we blinked and the world turned upside down. 

There are changes we look forward to, and changes we fear. Even though we realize time never stands still, we find ourselves caught off guard looking in the mirror and noticing the first wrinkles, or stray gray hairs.

And then your favorite coffee shop closes down, and a new place opens instead. Another change that causes discomfort. You can live with that, of course, but you keep looking back and thinking how different your life used to be with or without those seemingly insignificant things. 

My generation has witnessed probably the most drastic change ever. Personally, I come from a place that was very different from the rest of the world, so it hit me even harder. I was born and raised in a country that doesn’t exist anymore, so I witnessed a whole world collapse before my eyes before I was even a teen.

Things kept changing at lightning speed. Later on, I moved to a different country. Learned a new language. My family fell apart. Fast forward a few years–I built a new family. 

I’ve lost people I loved. I’ve made new friends and learned new skills. Fell in love again, and brought a new life into this world.

I should be immune to change by now. 

But I’m not. 

This year brings a whole lot of change into my life. While my youngest son starts daycare, my eldest graduates from high school, learns to drive, and plans to leave in a few months to study abroad. I’m equally excited and terrified. 

Over the years, I’ve learned to adapt and adjust to pretty much anything. If I was to pack up tomorrow and move to another place–house, city, country, continent–I know I’m capable of doing that. I’ll manage. 

Will it be easy? Absolutely not. 

A few years ago, writing books was a dream of mine. A life-long dream. Something that never changed over all those years in the crazy whirlwind of my life. 

Today, I have several books published–in a foreign language–and I keep being hard on myself for not writing and publishing more. I’m always impatient. Always eager to do more, learn more, achieve more. 

And at the same time, I’m afraid of change. If I’m fully honest with myself, more often than I’d like to, I want to freeze the time. I want to press pause. Especially when it comes to thinking of the day (just a few months away) when my son gets on a plane and heads towards his new life.

How is it even possible, I wonder? To look forward to change, to growth and development, at the same time wanting to hide in a corner–in a cozy comfort zone–and being anxious about what tomorrow brings?

My little son plays a game and gets frustrated when he can’t get it right. I tell him, “It’s okay. You’re learning. That’s the whole point of it. That’s the fun part. If everything was easy, it would be boring.”


And at the same time, I think–how often do we as adults realize that? Can we even imagine what life would be like if nothing was ever changing? If we were stuck in a moment, like a mosquito trapped forever in a piece of amber?

In the third book of my trilogy, my main character ends up in a world where there’s always sunset. It’s a beautiful, idyllic little place. But after a while, she finds herself depressed, hating sunsets, and keeping the curtains closed because she doesn’t want to look out the window anymore. 

Would I want to be in her place, I ask myself? Most certainly not. 

As painful and uncomfortable as it is, change is something that fuels this life. Change is, at the end of the day, the only thing that makes sense. 

The question is, how do we make peace with it?

Somewhere Between the Worlds

Imagine a café somewhere between the worlds, where you can meet your lost loved ones.

You’ll sit down and order a drink, and then you’ll have a chat as if nothing happened.

Or maybe it’ll be a different kind of chat. The one where tears stream down your cheeks as you keep repeating, “I’m so sorry for everything” and “I miss you so much.” And they just smile and pat your hand, saying, “It’s okay”, and give you a tissue.

The sadness hiding in the corners of their eyes will tell you it breaks their heart to see you like this. And you’ll realize that it’s not what you came here for. It’s not why you were given this chance.

So you wipe your tears and order another drink, and maybe a meal too. And you say, “Hasn’t the weather been crazy lately?” Or “You know, the other day my car wouldn’t start, and I was late for work.”

And you tell them that your cat has been acting weird lately, and that you’re starting a new diet, and that the prices went up again. And how amazing the last book you read was, and that the rose bush in your garden is about to bloom.

You save those tears for later. For when you wake up and realize that of course it was a dream.

Although you know that of course it wasn’t.

Life Is Not Enough

All the books I want to read.

All the stories I want to write.

All the places I want to go.

All the things I want to do.

Time slips through my fingers, and I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white, but the precious grains of sand keep escaping. The wind picks them up and carries them away, mocking me.

“Catch me if you can.”

Of course, I can’t.

Another day gone. Another week, another month.

Another story left untold.

Another path not explored.

Isn’t it cruel—that here it is, this enormous, fascinating, delicious world—so tempting, so mouthwatering—yet you can’t bite off more than you can chew?

“There are no limits!” My immortal soul squeals in delight.

“Oh, yes, there are.” The earthly body glances at the watch. “No time for this today, my dear. We’re on a schedule, mind you. Chop-chop.”

They’ll come at night, in my dreams. Exciting, untold stories.

Wondrous, undiscovered places.

All the might-have-beens and could-have-dones.

They’ll leave me in the morning, as I open my eyes, with a pang in my heart and a faint shadow of regret.

Regret for what wasn’t meant to be.

What wasn’t on the schedule.

Chop-chop.

Things We Carry

People carry so much.

Our whole life, we carry something. And the older we get, the more our spines bend under the weight.

We carry bags full of shopping. School backpacks. Purses. Piles of textbooks. Suitcases. Boxes with our belongings as we move to a new place.

We carry our kids when they’re tired. We carry their backpacks, their toys, their scooters and skateboards.

We carry our pets to the vet clinic.

We carry guilt. Regrets. Nostalgic memories.

We carry self doubt. Grief. Fear. Anxiety.

We do carry our dreams too, but they are the lightest. They don’t weigh that much—so oftentimes they escape and disappear high in the sky like a balloon.

Our hands are rarely free of weight. Neither are our hearts and minds.

So sometimes we catch ourselves looking up at the birds roaming in the sky and a faint whisper of envy touches our souls. What would it be like, we wonder, to be so light and free? What would it feel like to soar among the clouds with no added weight?

And someday, we’ll find out.