Published in Scribblory’s Memento Magazine – February Issue
February 2025. Exactly a year ago, I found myself in a crisis—a crisis between who I used to be and who I was at the moment. My life looked good on the outside, but deep inside, I was lost. I couldn’t even recognize myself anymore.
My life had been running on autopilot. Everything I did was based on what others decided for me. I followed every order. I always said yes. For years, I gave, provided and sacrificed my time, talent and resources. That was how I was wired growing up—to be good, to be kind, to do the right thing. I followed the pattern I saw in my parents, believing that was the life I was meant to replicate. No questions asked.
I dedicated myself to doing what was good in the eyes of society. Not that I regret it or something. But as I found myself giving endlessly, bending to fit others’ expectations, accepting love equals sacrifice, and fulfilling my family responsibilities, I began to question everything.
Is this the life I really want? Is this what I’m destined for?
Is this all my life will ever be? Is this really my purpose?
The questions lingered in my mind for weeks. I couldn’t find the answers, but my heart quietly whispered that I was meant for more.
Every single day, I felt nothing. The things I once loved became heavy. The community that once energized me began to drain me. My dreams faded away. I started shutting people out. My motivation and commitment disappeared. I lost my spark. I wasn’t living—I was simply existing. No plans. No dreams. No purpose.
I felt like I was floating in the middle of a vast ocean, lost and alone. There was no food, no paddle, not even land in sight. Each day was a struggle to survive, hoping someone might find me. I tried calling for help, but my voice vanished into the wind. No one was there to save me. Some mornings were bright and calm. I was just lying on the boat, the sun burning my skin, surrendering to the waves as they carried me toward nowhere. But at night, the sky was completely dark. Sometimes, storms came without warning, mirroring the chaos in my mind, carrying rains that poured heavily on my cheeks. Before I fell asleep, I would look at the stars and ask, “When will this end?”
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. I hardly slept. I hardly ate. I spent most of my days buried on my phone, scrolling endlessly. I tried to understand myself and what I was going through. Words became my lifeline. Each day, I would find quotes in the hopes that they would give me clear answers. Some days, they were meaningless. Other days, they hit deeply. The more I searched for answers, the clearer things became. Slowly, I felt an itch—the itch to change my environment, my plans, my beliefs, and even my entire life. My heart had always known I was meant for more.
I realized no one was coming to save me. The only person who could save me was myself.
So, I stood up on that boat and jumped into the deep ocean. I swam deeper, seeking for more answers. I didn’t know exactly what I was looking for, but I found myself diving into the depths of my soul, searching for the version of myself I had lost. And there, I rediscovered my old love for writing.
By September, I began journaling my emotions, my thoughts, my daily reflections. I started reading books again. One day, I watched a video about visualizing and writing down what your dream life would look like in ten years. I wrote mine in seven pages. I created a map to find my lost spark. With that vision in my mind, I began looking for ways to get out of the ocean—I enrolled in an online writing class.
Carrying a sunken piece of wood I found at the ocean floor, I swam back to the surface. I climbed onto my boat and used the wood as a paddle. Even though the direction was still unclear, I began rowing. I rowed and rowed even though the current was against me. Each stroke was a reminder that I was moving forward.
As I moved closer to the island, I could see the world slowly opening up again—old friends reached out, new opportunities appeared. When I had been stranded in the middle of the ocean, I believed the world had forgotten about me. But as I stepped onto the shore, I felt the warmth of new beginnings. I saw birds flying above, small waves crashing onto the sand, and trees swaying as the wind blew. For the first time in months, I felt alive again.
The air is still foggy. The forest dense. The island unfamiliar. I don’t know what’s waiting for me. But I survived the storm and I am no longer drifting. Though the path ahead remains uncertain, I am no longer afraid to face it. Now, February 2026, I am stepping forward—to explore the island, find a new home, rebuild my life, and love myself again.