A Year Before Tomorrow
Three months after Grandma Arlen passed away, Grandpa followed her.
There was no shock this time. No desperate rush. No disbelief.
Just a familiar heaviness settling over the house once again.
For years, they had lived side by side. They argued, favored different people, carried old grievances, and made choices that hurt others. Yet after Grandma's death, something inside Grandpa seemed to fade.
He became quieter.
Not immediately, but gradually.
And then, three months later, he was gone too.
The rituals began again.
The visitors returned.
The prayers were repeated.
The same faces gathered. The same condolences were offered. The same smoke rose toward the sky.
After everyone left, I found myself thinking about time.
About how quickly people become memories.
There is only about a year left before I complete my undergraduate degree.
A year.
Sometimes it feels like a long time.
Most days, it doesn't.
I have been searching for jobs online, but it is difficult. Most opportunities require experience, and I have very little to offer. The part-time jobs I find are often two hours away from home. By the time I travel there, work, and return, it is already late at night.
My parents keep telling me that a corporate job would be better.
Maybe they are right.
Maybe they just want security for me after everything our family has been through.
So I never let myself do what I wanted or take risks because I wanted stillness in my life.
After months of job hunting, without telling my parents, I have started earning some money.
Not much.
Certainly not enough to feel accomplished.
But it is something.
A small reminder that I am capable of contributing, even if the progress feels slow.
At the same time, I have been learning music and painting.
I don't know exactly when those things became important to me.
Perhaps it happened after years of feeling like life was only about surviving , meeting expectations, and disappointing people anyway.
M
Music and painting feel different.
It feels like I am in a different, peaceful place, away from all this noise.
They do not care how many semesters I failed or how uncertain my future looks.
They simply allow me to exist.
Lately, I have started understanding some moments of life differently.
A quiet afternoon.
A conversation that ends too soon and endless staring in emptiness.
The way sunlight falls across a room.
The expression on someone's face before they look away.
These moments disappear quickly.
My emotions that I want to capture and to feel.
Through music.
Through painting.
Through anything that lets them stay a little longer.
Sometimes I look at old photographs and notice how much has changed.
As the years pass, the brightness in my eyes seems to fade.
So does the harmless, joyful smile that used to come naturally.
Life has a way of replacing innocence with awareness.
Some days I miss the person I used to be.
Other days I barely recognize her.
I still do not know what my future will look like.
I do not know whether I will find the job I want.
I do not know whether all the years of struggle will eventually make sense.
What I do know is that I am still moving forward.
Slowly.
Imperfectly.
But forward.
And perhaps that is enough for now.
Perhaps after everything that has happened, I am finally searching for something beyond success.
Just something that makes me feel free.
Something quieter.
Something that belongs to me.
Something that allows me to smile without fear of scrutiny.
Something that brings me peace.
And maybe, after all these years, that is what I wanted from the beginning.