What I Couldn't Say While You Were Here.

I opened my diary today.

I don't know why.

Perhaps because I missed you so much

or

Maybe because no one could understand me

or

May be because I had a question for you.

"Dada Ji... if you are watching me from heaven... are you still proud of me?"

I cried before writing the first word.

Not because I was weak.

Because I didn't recognize myself.

I called Warsha Di.

She is one of the purest people I know.

She has seen me in every form imaginable.

The laughing one.

The fake one.

The broken one.

She tried to console me.

But this time I didn't want to hear what everyone else had to say.

I wanted the truth.

I said,

"Di... please don't tell me what I want to hear. Tell me what I need to hear.

Would my grandfather still be proud of me if he could see me today?"

She was silent.

Then said only one thing,

"Think by yourself."

The call ended. (I already knew what Di meant. Because the truth was... I hadn't become someone I could be proud of yet.)

The room fell silent.

Only my tears remained.

I opened my journal.

Stared at the blank page.

Then I wrote...

--- 

Dear Dada Ji,

I miss you.

Life has been different since you left.

Maybe because I changed too.

I got so used to living for people that I forgot how to live for myself.

I bent for everyone because I never wanted to break their hearts.

While I was saving everyone else's smile...

I lost mine.

I became so good at saying,

"I'm okay."

That one day...

I actually started believing it.

I cried for people who didn't even know who I was.

I waited for people who never looked back.

I changed myself for people who would never change for me.

I kept thinking,

"Maybe if I become better... they will stay."

No one did.

The only thing that kept leaving me... was myself.

I used to be the boy who kept quiet.

The boy who ran away.

The boy who thought everyone else mattered more than me.

But Dada Ji...

I think I'm done.

I have no more reasons to change myself for people who never saw my heart.

I have no more reasons to cry for people who forgot my name.

I finally see the truth.

I had nothing to lose.

The person I was afraid of losing... was already gone.

Me.

Today...

I'm not writing this letter because I became strong.

I'm writing it because I'm tired of being someone I'm not.

Maybe history will remember my mistakes.

Maybe people will always misunderstand me.

Maybe some hearts will never choose me.

It's okay.

For the first time...

I'm choosing myself.

Not because I stopped loving people.

But because I finally learned that I deserve some of that love too.

I still want to change the world.

I still want to leave this world a better place than I found it.

But I won't disappear while doing it.

I hope one day...

When we meet again...

You'll smile and say,

"Welcome home, my Moonlight Ateet."

Until then...

I'll finally do...

What I wanna do.

Not what everyone wanted me to be.

From your Moonlight Ateet.

..................

I closed the diary.

For the first time...

I didn't feel empty.

I sat there.

The room was silent.

No phone.

No music.

Only the sound of my own breathing.

Then I pressed play.

MARINA began to sing,

"I got so used to it..."

I smiled.

Not because I was happy.

Because for the first time...

I wasn't listening to a song.

I was listening to myself.

People ask me why I love MARINA so much.

Perhaps because she never tried to sound perfect.

She sounded human.

Broken.

Honest.

She wrote the things people are too scared to say.

Sometimes I wonder...

Why do people dislike artists who speak the truth?

Perhaps because the truth is uncomfortable to hear.

It makes us confront the ugly parts of ourselves.

I think that's why her songs found me.

Not when I was happy.

But when I was trying to survive.

I looked at the last page of my journal.

There were tears.

A few years ago, I would have tried to hide them.

Today...

I left them there.

Because they were real.

They were proof that I survived another day.

Maybe healing doesn't begin when the pain disappears.

Maybe healing begins the day you stop pretending it doesn't exist.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring.

Perhaps more pain.

More anxiety.

More loss.

More reasons to miss you, Dada Ji.

But today...

I chose honesty over pretending.

And maybe...

That's how people begin to heal.

Not through miracles.

Not through magic.

Just one honest page at a time.