Well… when I was five, to be brutally honest, I didn’t even know there was something called “future.” Future? What future? I was too busy living in the present like a tiny Buddha, enjoying my roohafza, running around barefoot, watching cartoons, and just being blissfully unaware that one day I’d be expected to answer deep philosophical questions like “Where do you see yourself in five years?” (Honestly, even now I don’t know, but we move.)
Back then, life was simple. Tomorrow was just another day to eat more mangoes and dodge homework. But when I hit 12, something inside me clicked, probably puberty and a mini existential crisis combined, and I started thinking, “Wait… am I supposed to grow up and become something?” That’s when the brainstorming began.
First on the dream list: Badminton player. I was obsessed! Loved the sport, and not to brag (okay, maybe a little), but I was pretty darn good at it too. Give me a racket and a shuttlecock, and I’d be flying across the court like Saina Nehwal’s long-lost cousin. I sometimes wonder, if I had proper training, maybe I’d be playing at the nationals… or even internationals. Maybe the world would know me not as a quiet introvert but as the Smash Queen. But alas, dreams are not made with just talent, they need support. And mine came with a big ol’ “ye sab kya karna hai, koi job thodi hai isme” (What’s the point of doing all this? It’s not like there’s a real job in it) from the fam.
Then came my artistic era. Ah yes, those glorious days when sketchbooks were my best friends and the smell of acrylic paint was better than any perfume. I’d sit for hours sketching, painting, losing myself in colors and creativity. Honestly, if I had continued, I could’ve been a full-blown online art entrepreneur by now, selling aesthetic prints online, posting soothing art reels on Instagram. But no, my parents one day decided my art supplies were clutter, and my sketches? Gone. Just like that. Thrown away. Tears were shed. So were dreams. (And no, I’m still not over it. It still hurts like it happened yesterday. But kher jo hona tha ho gaya (Well what had to happen, happened).
After that heartbreak, I tried to find a new purpose. I thought, maybe I can become a counsellor or therapist, you know, help others find the peace I was desperately searching for. But life, being the mischievous plot-twister it is, had other plans. My mental health started crumbling. Depression, anxiety, health issues, basically a full package deal. And guess what? I couldn’t even see a therapist myself. Because therapy? In our family, that’s just “drama.” It’s “bas overthinking hai, kuch nahi hota aise (You’re just overthinking, nothing like that actually happens).” So, I coped alone. No dramatic therapy sessions like in the movies, just me, my prayers, and a quiet faith in God that maybe, just maybe, He had a plan through all this chaos.
Now, finally, I’ve found a path that feels like me, being a content creator, author, blogger, and maybe someday even a vlogger (who knows?). I love working on my laptop in peace, quietly building my little empire, word by word. My family still wants me to become an assistant professor because, of course, “yehi toh sahi career hai (This is the right career).” But I’ve compromised enough. I’ve sacrificed enough dreams. Now? I’m choosing me.
I’ll write, I’ll create, I’ll share, I’ll inspire. Whether it’s a blog post, a book, a YouTube video, or a late-night poem written under the stars, this is where I belong. And this time, I’m not looking for validation. I’m not asking for permission. I’ve decided to do what makes me feel alive. And the rest? I’ll leave that to God. Because I know He’s been listening all along, even during those tear-filled nights when I felt invisible. He hasn’t forgotten me, and I haven’t forgotten myself either.
So yeah, five-year-old me didn’t know the word “future,” but today’s me? I’m building one I can be proud of. One that’s finally mine. 💻✨
The Thought Box 
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