The Pawn Who Said Yes

Perhaps it has been a very long time since I last truly sat down and continued writing with a quiet heart. Over the past period, life has been rather overwhelming. Certain things happened that made me stop, stay silent, and look at myself more than I looked at the page. I had days when I was exhausted, days when I did not know where to begin again, and days when I felt I had taken the wrong turn on too many roads. I left many people behind, and though it hurt, I do not regret it. I argued with people I once thought were kindred spirits, people I believed I would never disagree with. As it turns out, anyone can only share the same “viewpoint” and “perspective” with us for a short stretch of this life. At some point, a moment, an incident, or an upheaval will separate individuals, hearts, and eyes that no longer look in the same direction, sending them onto two different roads meant only for them. I hold no resentment, and I blame no one. The first person I blame is myself. But I do not regret that decision, because carrying a relationship that no longer fits is like a donkey on a long journey through the desert: already exhausted, yet still dragging along a pile of luggage it keeps “just in case it might be needed someday,” unwilling to throw it away out of fear that it will be missing when the time comes. But in truth, that time never comes. We cannot rely on vague feelings and regret to keep making ourselves more depleted. I once thought I would turn away from my passion and my profession. But after everything, I still returned to writing. Not because I am stronger than before. Nor because everything is completely all right. I returned because perhaps writing is still the only place where I can be honest with myself. It is where I can set down the things I cannot say, the regrets I do not know whom to send to, and the dreams that still smolder quietly, even though life has scratched them many times. This book, with Lucia, with Emma, with its wounds, betrayals, hatred, and irreversible choices, perhaps carries a part of my state of mind during those days. Not every pain can be repaired. Not every mistake will be forgiven. And not everyone who has fallen knows how to stand up beautifully. But I still hope Heaven will give me a chance. A chance to start over. A chance to make up for the things I did wrong. A chance to live more kindly toward myself, toward others, and toward the dreams I once abandoned halfway. If you are reading these words, thank you for being here. Thank you for giving your time to my story, even though it is not perfect, and even though the person who wrote it is also learning, day by day, how to become better. I do not know whether the journey ahead will be gentle or whether it will continue to be difficult. I only know that today, I have returned to my writing desk. And to me, that is already a beginning.

Thanks For The Book 😁🥂📖🍾🏁 Looking Forward for the Next Chapters 😎🍔📖🍟🍻

Honestly, when I first heard that she “ran away,” I was angry too. Friendship does not magically change my moral standards. I do not suddenly become blind just because she is my friend. Wrong is still wrong. A bad decision is still a bad decision. I am not here to wrap everything in soft words and pretend she handled it beautifully. She did not. But then again, what now? It is very easy to stand outside and say, “She should face it properly.” Wonderful. Very moral. Very clean. Almost impressive, really. But from what position are we saying that? From a stable life? From a family that still answers our calls? From a mind that is not collapsing every morning before the day even begins? Because from where I stand, if I want to judge her, then maybe I should also try being her for a moment. She did try to reason with people. She did try to talk things through. She even tried to make her family take responsibility with her for what she had done wrong. She cried. She begged. She got angry. She probably embarrassed herself more times than she wants to remember. And none of it worked. So what exactly was she supposed to do next? Slowly go to work and pay everything back while mentally destroyed, abandoned by her family, cut off, cornered, and barely functioning? Smile politely while everyone keeps discussing her life as if it is a public case study? Keep standing there so people can keep throwing stones and call it justice? I am not saying running away was right. I am saying I understand why a person might reach the point where right and wrong become luxuries they can no longer afford. That is the helpless part. You can condemn her. Fine. Maybe she deserves some of that. But if condemnation is all we have to offer, then let us at least be honest: we are not solving anything. We are just watching a broken person break further and congratulating ourselves for having principles.