This Year, My Heart Stayed Elsewhere !

A Question the Year Keeps Asking Me

Just tell me—this year, when you go, will you come back the same?
Will you return like the same breeze, the one that feels like home even before it touches the skin?

Because my heart is no longer with me. It is not even pretending to be independent. My heart has quietly moved into you. It waits. Patiently. Almost stubbornly. This year alone.

My heart behaves strangely now. It does not speak to anyone. It does not negotiate. It does not explain itself. It remains silent, loyal, and fixed—only in youuu. Can anyone even speak to a heart like this?

This year.

Writing as I Miss Her

As I write this blog, I miss my grandmother deeply as I am so far from her. Her absence is loud. Her teachings have become a mirror I can no longer avoid. Every decision, every failure, every hesitation now asks me one brutal question: Have you become what she hoped you would be?

This year has truly been a year of memories—both gentle and painful, comforting and cruel. Many lessons were learned. Some were learned the hard way. Some came too late.

I failed. Yes, I did. But one person remained with me. And that mattered more than success.

Life, I have learned, is strife. Every single day you are asked to prove yourself—sometimes to the world, sometimes to your own reflection. The people you meet, the friendships you build, the bonds you protect or break—all of them matter. As you grow older, these experiences educate you in ways no textbook ever could.

They tell you who you are. Sometimes kindly. Sometimes mercilessly.

Today, I will not put philosophy into this.

Or maybe I already have, without meaning to.

When Death Silences Ego

You know, in my life I have fought with many people. Proper fights. Ego-filled, dramatic, unnecessary ones.

But when someone passes away, something shifts violently inside you. Suddenly, all grudges look childish. All anger looks irrelevant. All those fights that once felt like battles of dignity now feel like wasted breath.

Death has a strange way of humiliating the ego.

It teaches you that most of what we defend so passionately will not even accompany us to the end of the sentence, forget the end of life.

A Year That Rewrote Me

Many things happened this year.

Missing people.
Misunderstandings.
Mistakes.
Understanding myself.
Understanding people—their emotions, their silences, their limitations.

Learning happened everywhere. Slowly. Painfully. Unavoidably.

Everything has changed the person I am.

And maybe that is the most honest achievement of this year.

Ambition, or the Art of Aiming Too High

There are only two ways to live your life, right?

Either you are the best in the business.
Or you are on the way to becoming the best in the business.

So I was told—always aim to become the president. You may not get there, but you will at least end up as a collector or a commissioner.

That logic stayed with me. That is why I started aiming for the highest possible version of everything. The best. The impossible. The absurd.

And somewhere along that journey, I found myself here today—still unfinished, still struggling, but still moving.

Knowledge, Ignorance, and an Uncomfortable Truth

People overrate knowledge.

They keep saying, “Knowledge is power.”

I say something far more dangerous: Ignorance is the most powerful thing.

Because if you do not know who is sitting next to you, how does it matter who is sitting next to you?

Ignorance allows comfort. Knowledge demands responsibility.

And responsibility is exhausting.

When the Ocean Refuses to Kill You

There is a line that stayed with me all year:

“When I am drowning, the ocean throws me out.”

Life does that sometimes. Just when you think you are done, something—someone—forces you back to the surface.

Not gently. But effectively.

A Reminder I Am Writing to Myself

Times are getting tough. Life is becoming uncertain.

So enjoy each day to the fullest.

No matter how difficult things are—for you or for me—enjoy the process. Live each day even more fiercely. Do what scares you. Do what feels alive.

Because you never know when everything will change. And when it does, regret will ask why you waited.

A Wish at the End of the Year

Like many others, I have only one wish.

When the time comes—when this year finally ends—I want to be able to say that I tried. I know I have not done anything great this year. I am aware of my mediocrity.

But I also know this: I will come back stronger. I will make myself into the best version I am capable of becoming.

I wish the same for you.

Do not worry about the struggle. Learn to enjoy it. That is where real life happens.

Gratitude That Hurts a Little

What remains with me now is gratitude.

Gratitude for the people who stayed with me—even when I hurt them the most. Even when I was difficult, distant, or disappointing.

I hope they believe that one day I will become the person I am meant to be.

And maybe that hope—shared, fragile, unfinished—is enough to carry us forward.

So, Will This Year Come Back the Same?

This blog does not claim victory. It does not declare wisdom. It does not pretend closure.

It simply records a year where love waited, grief taught, failure humbled, ignorance protected, ambition pushed, and gratitude remained.

So I ask again:

Will I come back the same next year?

Will my heart finally return to me—or stay where it feels at home?

Are we becoming better, or just better at surviving?

And if this year broke us gently, was that destruction or preparation?

I do not know the answers.

But I know this year mattered.

And maybe that is enough—for now.