There are moments when yearning takes a shape we cannot define. It isn’t just about wanting more—it’s about imagining an entirely different life. A life where we chose another city, another career, another set of people to surround ourselves with. A life where the “what ifs” outnumber the regrets, and the heart constantly wonders if it missed its own alignment.
But then the question rises—are we truly the architects of our lives, or are we just passengers on a script already written in the stars?
Yearning often carries us into parallel worlds in our minds. Worlds where love lasted longer, opportunities were seized, friendships didn’t fracture, and courage spoke louder than fear. Yet, as much as we might drift into these imagined lives, we return each morning to the one we are living—the one our karma seems to have woven for us.
Some say life is nothing but a stage, a karmic repayment cycle where we must endure what was sown long before. That loneliness, confusion, even the battle of existence itself, are part of debts being balanced. Others say fate bends when we act with clarity and intention—that destiny is not an unchangeable sentence, but a clay pot still soft enough to reshape with effort and will.
The truth, perhaps, is somewhere in between. Maybe we are here to experience the lessons meant for us, but how we live those lessons—whether bitter or beautiful—still rests in our hands. Maybe yearning is not a weakness but a reminder. A reminder that change is possible, even within the boundaries of fate.
And so, the question lingers: will things change this lifetime? Or will the longing itself be the quiet fire that keeps us walking forward?
No one has the answer. What we do know is that yearning is a mirror—it shows us the parts of ourselves that are still reaching, still searching, still unfulfilled. And perhaps the journey of life is less about erasing that yearning and more about learning to walk with it, to let it guide us into the transformations still possible.
Because even in the silence of this battle called life, hope whispers that not everything is already written.
