Some people wait for trains.
Some wait for life to change.
I had big dreams.
Marriage. A lovely wife. A happy life.
I focused only on my career, believing stability would automatically bring everything else, and in the process I quietly skipped friendships, conversations, moments where life actually happens.
Later, when marriage pressure started knocking louder than ambition, I tried to open doors I had ignored for years, mingling with a few people, learning social rhythms late, hoping time would be kind enough to wait for me.
And now… I’m still alone.
I lost my job.
I struggle to find a new one because of my visual disability, not because I lack skills, but because the world is not always built for people who see differently.
More than two years have passed.
My dreams aren’t dead.
They’re just on pause.
Some days, the pause feels peaceful, like a deep breath life forced me to take before rushing ahead again, and some days it feels heavy, like standing on a platform watching trains leave while telling yourself the next one will be yours.
I’ve learned that waiting doesn’t always mean doing nothing, because even in stillness you grow, you reflect, you unlearn false timelines, and you realise that life doesn’t end just because it didn’t arrive on schedule.
I don’t know when the job will come, or when love will find me, or whether my dreams will return exactly as I imagined them, but I know this — pauses are not failures, they’re spaces where strength quietly rebuilds itself.
And until life moves again, I’ll keep standing here, not giving up, not rushing, trusting that even delayed journeys still reach meaningful destinations.
(Image created using AI)
