Nothing went wrong.
That’s the hardest part to explain.
There was no big failure, no dramatic ending, no moment where I decided to give up on my dreams. Life simply got louder. Responsibilities spoke first, and dreams—being polite—stepped aside.
I told myself it was temporary.
Just until things settled.
Just until I caught my breath.
Just until I became more “stable.”
Days turned into routines. Routines became habits. And without realizing it, I learned how to function without asking myself what I wanted.
Standby is a strange state to live in. You’re active, but not advancing. You wake up, do what needs to be done, and sleep without questioning much. From the outside, it looks like progress. Inside, something stays quietly alert.
Every once in a while, a thought slips through. A version of me that had plans. Not regrets—those are louder. This feels softer. Like a reminder tapping gently instead of knocking.
I used to believe delaying dreams meant losing them. Now I know better. Dreams don’t disappear when ignored. They conserve energy. They wait without drama, without resentment.
I’m not chasing them yet.
I’m not calling this a comeback.
But I’ve stopped pretending they’re gone.
For now, they’re on standby.
And so am I—just closer to pressing resume than before.
(Image created using AI)
