Maybe I Should Start Looking Up

Maybe I can finally start looking at my future.  

Not that future I've been afraid of. 

Not the one where I'm still sitting here, stuck in the same place, replaying the same conversations, dissecting the same memories like there's some hidden answer buried somewhere between “what happened?” and “why?”

I've spent enough time looking backward. And honestly? My neck hurts. 😂

Maybe it's time to look up. 

Not because everything is suddenly okay. It isn't.  

My life is still a little bit of a disaster. 

Actually, calling it a little bit of a disaster is generous.

There are moments when I look at everything I need to fix and think “Wow. Whoever is in charge of this life needs to be fired.”  

Unfortunately, that person is me. So here we are. 😂

But maybe I can stop looking at the ruins for a moment. 

Maybe I can look beyond them. 

Past the heartbreak. Past the betrayal. Past the financial mess. 

Past the silence. Past the loneliness. 

Past all the things that didn't turn out the way I thought they would. 

Past the version of me who has been hiding behind everything that fell apart.

I want to see her. The woman on the other side.  

I don't know exactly what she looks like yet. But I think she's stronger.  

No. Let's stop saying maybe. She is stronger. 

And probably a little meaner.

Honestly? Good.

Not cruel. Not bitter. Just less available for bullshit.

She's learned. She knows that being kind doesn't mean being stupid.

That forgiveness doesn't mean handing someone the keys to your house and hoping they don't burn it down again.

That loving someone doesn't mean disappearing inside their life.

That being someone's home doesn't mean becoming homeless within yourself.

She learned those lessons the expensive way. 

Apparently, life doesn't believe in free lessons. 😂

But she's still here. And when I imagine her, she's laughing. 

That's the first thing I see. She's laughing.

Not that polite little laugh you give people when you're trying to convince them you're okay.

A real laugh. The ugly one. The one where you can't breathe. 

The one where your stomach hurts.  

The one that makes everyone around you wonder what the hell is so funny.

She's social again. She's surrounded by people. 

She's making plans. She's going places.

She's calling her friends. She's showing up for family.

She's saying yes to invitations instead of inventing excuses because she doesn't have the emotional energy to be around humans.

She's taking too many pictures. She's talking too much.

She's probably still overthinking.  

Let's not expect divine intervention. 😂

But she's living. Really living. And I think I miss that woman.

I miss the version of me who had plans beyond simply getting through the day.

The woman who could look at the future and feel excited instead of exhausted.

The woman who had dreams that weren't just about surviving.

Maybe she'll come back. Or maybe she won't. 

Maybe someone new will come out of all of this.

Someone who knows what she knows now.  

Someone who doesn't confuse suffering with strength.

Someone who understands that peace is not boring. 

That stability is sexy. That consistency is underrated. 

That being loved shouldn't feel like winning the lottery.

Because I've already done enough gambling with my heart.

I'm not interested in buying another ticket. 😂

I want her to have her life together. Not perfectly.

I'm not asking for some impossible Instagram version of happiness where everything is beige, organized, and nobody has emotional problems. That's not life. 

I just want enough together.

A career that's moving. Financial stability. Independence. 

A home. A place where she can breathe.

A place where she can close the door at night and think: “Nobody can take this peace away from me.”

I want her to have people. Her besties. Her friends. Her family. 

The people who stayed. The people who came back. 

The people who don't require her to perform happiness before they're willing to sit beside her.

I want her life to be loud again. Messy. Chaotic. Ridiculous. 

Full of conversations. Full of laughter. 

Full of people dropping by unexpectedly.

Full of someone saying, “Come on, let's go.”  And her actually going.

I want her to have stories that have nothing to do with heartbreak. Imagine that.😂

And maybe she finds love again. Maybe.  

But if she does, I hope it's different. 

I hope it's the kind of love that stays.  

The kind that doesn't make her question whether she's wanted.

The kind that doesn't make her feel like she's asking for too much when she asks for communication, affection, presence, reassurance.

The kind where she doesn't have to decode silence like she's solving an international crime.

I hope she finds someone who makes her feel safe enough to put her guard down. 

Someone who chooses her. Not once. Every day.

And maybe one day there will be little feet running around that home.

A mini-me. Maybe a mini-him. Maybe both. Who knows?

Maybe I'll have one tiny human with my stubbornness and his personality. God help the world. 😂

Maybe there will be toys every where. Tiny shoes by the door. 

Laughter in the kitchen. Arguments about bedtime.

Someone calling me from another room every thirty seconds.

And me standing there thinking: “How did this become my life?” 

Hopefully in the good way.

But maybe none of that happens. And that's okay too.  

Because that's the terrifying thing about the future.

It's completely unwritten. I don't know where I'll live. 

I don't know what I'll do. I don't know who I'll meet.

I don't know whether I'll fall in love again. 

I don't know whether I'll have children.

I don't know what my home will look like. 

Hell, I don't even know what I'm having for dinner tomorrow.

Yet somehow I've been demanding that myself have a five-year plan for my entire existence.

Maybe that's a little unreasonable. Maybe the future doesn't need to be figured out.

Maybe it just needs to be allowed to exist.

Because right now, sometimes it still feels like I'm inside a black hole. 

And not the cute little metaphorical kind. 

The proper kind. Dark. Heavy. No map. No exit sign.

No helpful employee standing nearby saying “The way out is just over there.” Wouldn't that be convenient? 😂

Sometimes I don't even know how I'm supposed to climb out when I barely have the energy to stand.

But here's the thing. I'm still here. That's not nothing.

I'm still dreaming. I'm still imagining a different life.

I'm still wondering what happens next.

And maybe that means there's still something alive inside me.

Something stubborn. Something angry. Something hopeful.

Something that refuses to stay buried. Maybe that's enough.

Maybe I don't need to climb the entire mountain today. 

Maybe I just need to move one inch. 

One application. One opportunity. 

One phone call.  One decision. One good day. 

Then another. Then another.  

Until eventually, I look around and realize: I'm not in the hole anymore.

And maybe someday I'll look back at this version of me and almost feel sorry for her.

I'll want to reach through time and tell her: You have absolutely no idea what's coming.

You'll have a life again. You'll laugh again. You'll love again. 

You'll have people around you again. You'll have a home.

You'll have money in the bank. You'll have plans. 

You'll have stories that aren't about surviving. 

You'll become stronger. Wiser. Maybe slightly terrifying 😂

You'll stop explaining yourself to people who already decided not to understand you.

You'll stop begging people to see your worth. 

You'll stop waiting for someone else to give you permission to be happy. 

And you'll realize that the woman you thought was broken was actually being rebuilt. 

Piece by piece. Painfully. Slowly. But beautifully.

Maybe she will have everything she once thought she lost. 

Maybe she won't.  

Maybe she'll have things she never even imagined.  

That's the part I like.

I don't know. 

For once, I don't want to know Because the future hasn't happened yet. 

Which means it hasn't disappointed me yet either. 

And that's strangely comforting. So maybe I'll start looking forward.

Not because I'm healed. I'm not. 

Not because everything is fixed. Far from it. 

Not because I've suddenly become some wise, emotionally evolved woman who drinks green juice at sunrise and has her life perfectly organized. Let's be realistic. 😂

I'm still me. But I'm tired of surviving. 

I want to live.  I want to build. I want to laugh. I want to work.

I want to travel. I want to love my friends. I want to be around my family. 

I want to create something that belongs to me.

I want to wake up one morning and realize that my life is no longer something I'm trying to escape from. 

It's something I'm grateful to wake up to. Maybe that's my future. 

Maybe that's my fairytale. 

Maybe there will be love. Maybe there will be children.

Maybe there will be a soulmate. Maybe there will be an empire.

Maybe there will just be me, living a ridiculously good life with people I love.

I don't know. And that's okay. Because I don't need the whole map.

I just need to believe there is somewhere worth going.

So, Future Me… 

I hope you're happy. I hope you're loud. I hope you're surrounded by people.

I hope you're loved. I hope your home feels warm. 

I hope you have someone beside you who stays. 

I hope your heart feels safe.

I hope you've built a life that makes the woman writing this cry—not from pain this time, but from disbelief.

And if you ever forget how you got there…

Remember me. Remember this woman. The one sitting in the dark.

The one who didn't know how she was going to fix everything.

The one who was overwhelmed. The one who was tired. The one who was scared. 

But still… looked up.

Because maybe that's where it starts. 

Not with having everything figured out. 

Not with knowing exactly where you're going.

Just with looking up from the bottom of the hole and realizing there is still a sky above you.

And maybe someday… I'll reach it.

Maybe someday I'll stand in the middle of a life I built with my own hands and finally understand: I wasn't buried here.

I was planting something.  And it grew.  So yes. I'm going to look at my future now.

Even if it's blurry. Even if I don't recognize it yet.  Even if I'm terrified.  

Because I have spent enough time staring at what I lost.

Now I want to see what I can still become. 

And whatever happens next— I'll meet it.

I'll fight for it. I'll build it. I'll live it.  

And if life wants to throw another plot twist at me? Fine.

But this time, I'd like the writers to at least give me a decent budget.

I've suffered enough on a low production budget. 😂

I'm still here.

And apparently… 

That's not the ending.

That's the beginning.

To the Woman Who Will Build an Empire

Dear Future Me,  

I don't know where you are when you're reading this.

Maybe you're sitting in a beautiful home somewhere. 

Maybe you're looking out at a city I haven't even seen yet.  

Maybe you're drinking coffee, looking at everything you've built, wondering how the hell the woman writing this survived what she's going through now.

I hope you remember her.  Because she's me. 

The woman sitting here in the middle of a financial mess that sometimes feels bigger than her entire life.

The woman who wakes up with a hundred things to worry about before she's even had coffee.

The woman who has been knocked down so many times that the floor is practically becoming familiar. 😂

But listen carefully, Future Me.  We are not staying here.

I don't care how ugly this chapter gets. I don't care how long it takes.

I don't care how many times we have to start over.  

We're getting out. 

And when we do, we're not just going to rebuild the life we lost.

We're going to build something bigger. Much bigger. You are going to become powerful.  

Not powerful because you control other people.  

Powerful because nobody can control you anymore. 

You will have your own money.  Your own career. 

Your own decisions. Your own home. 

Your own name. Your own empire.

And nobody will ever again have the power to make you feel like your entire existence depends on whether they choose you.

You will know exactly who you are.  

And you will never apologize for taking up space.

I want you to become the woman who walks into a room and doesn't wonder whether she belongs there.  

She knows. She belongs. She earned her place. She built the damn room if necessary.😂

I want you to become successful enough that the version of you writing this today would barely recognize your life.  

Not because success will erase what happened. It won't. 

But because you'll finally understand that what happened didn't destroy you.

It redirected you. Every betrayal. 

Every disappointment. Every door that closed.

Every person who underestimated you.  

Every night you wondered how you were going to fix everything.

Every time you cried and then had to wake up the next morning and keep functioning like a normal human being.

All of it becomes part of the foundation.  

The bricks. The scars. The architecture. 

You will build something out of them.   

And maybe the people who hurt you will eventually see it.

Maybe they'll look at you and think: "How did she become this?”

Maybe they'll regret what they did. Maybe they'll wish they had treated you differently.

Maybe they'll wonder how someone they thought they could leave behind ended up building something extraordinary.

And honestly? I hope you smile. 

Not because you want revenge. 

Well… Maybe a tiny bit. Let's be honest. 😂

But because you won't need their regret anymore.  

That will be the ultimate victory. They won't matter. 

Their opinions won't matter. Their apologies won't matter.

Their realization won't matter. 

Because you'll have already moved so far beyond the version of yourself who needed validation from them.

You won't need anyone to say: “I was wrong about you.”  

 You'll already know. You proved it to yourself. 

And I want you to be dangerous in the best possible way. 

Not cruel. Not heartless.  

Just impossible to break in the same way twice.

I want you to have boundaries that don't come with apologies.

Standards that don't come with explanations.

A heart that is still capable of loving—but no longer willing to abandon itself for love.

I want you to be generous without being easily used.  

Kind without being naive. Soft without being weak. 

And powerful without becoming the people who hurt you. 

Because that's the real challenge. 

Don't let the darkness make you dark.

Let it make you wise. 

Let it make you sharper. Let it make you stronger.  

Let it teach you exactly what you will never tolerate again.  

And then build.  Build everything. Build the career.

Build the business. Build the investments. 

Build the home. Build the friendships. 

Build the family. Build the life. Build the legacy. 

I don't want you to simply become financially comfortable. 

I want you to become financially free.  

Free enough to say no. Free enough to walk away. 

Free enough to help the people you love. Free enough to travel whenever you want.

Free enough to wake up without fear sitting on your chest.

Free enough to look at a bill and not feel your soul leave your body. 😂

I want your name to mean something.  

Not because you chased fame.  

But because you built something that lasted. Something that helped people. 

Something that grew beyond you. Something that your children—or whoever comes after you—can point to and say: “She built this.”

I want your legacy to travel farther than you ever imagined.  

Your name in places you've never visited. Your work crossing borders. 

Your ideas living beyond your lifetime.

An empire that doesn't collapse because one person walks away.

An empire built on something stronger than another person's love.

You. 

Your vision. Your discipline. Your courage. 

Your stubborn refusal to stay down. 

Maybe it sounds ridiculous right now. 

Maybe the woman writing this has no business talking about empires when she's still trying to figure out how to climb out of this hole.

But you know what? Every empire starts somewhere.

Sometimes it starts with nothing but a tired woman saying:  “Enough.”

Enough surviving. Enough shrinking. 

Enough waiting.  Enough being afraid.  

Enough allowing other people's choices to define her future.

Enough. Maybe this black hole isn't the grave I thought it was.

Maybe it's the underground foundation.  

Maybe I'm not buried. Maybe I'm being built. 

So, Future Me… 

When you finally have the life we're dreaming about right now, don't forget this woman.

Don't forget how scared she was.  

Don't forget how overwhelmed she felt.

Don't forget the nights she didn't know what to do next.

Don't forget how many times she thought she wasn't strong enough.

And most importantly— don't ever tell her she was foolish for dreaming this big. Because she needed that dream.

She needed something to look toward when everything behind her hurt.

And if you're standing there one day with your empire around you…

with people you love beside you with a home that feels safe…

with financial freedom. 

with a life that feels impossibly far away from this one…

look back. Look at her. 

The exhausted woman at the bottom of the hole. 

And say: “You did it.”

Not gracefully. Probably not quietly.  

Definitely not without swearing. 😂

But you did it. 

You survived the betrayal. You survived the heartbreak. 

You survived the financial disaster.

You survived losing pieces of yourself. 

And then you did something nobody expected. You rebuilt. 

You didn't just survive. You became powerful.

You became successful. You became free. You built an empire. 

And you left a legacy so enormous that your name kept traveling long after people stopped remembering the names of those who tried to break you.

So keep going, Dika.

One step. One job application. One opportunity.

One decision. One day at a time. 

The empire doesn't need to be built today.  

Today, we just need to lay the first brick. Tomorrow, another.

And eventually… brick by brick… year by year…  

We'll look up and realize we've built something nobody can take away.

Not betrayal. Not abandonment. Not heartbreak. Not failure. Not anyone. 

Because this time… the life we're building belongs entirely to us.

And maybe that's the greatest revenge of all. 

Not watching them regret losing you. 

But becoming someone who no longer cares that they did.

Build it, Future Me. 

Build it so beautifully. Build it so fiercely. 

Build it so well that it outlives the pain that inspired it.

And when the world finally asks where all that strength came from… 

you'll know.

It came from the woman who refused to die in the ruins. 

She became the foundation.

And you? You became the empire. 

The Love I'm Waiting For

Maybe I'm asking for too much. Maybe.

But after everything, I've decided that if I'm going to dream about my future love, I'm going to dream properly.

No half measures.  

No “let's see where this goes.”

No emotional gambling. 

I've already played that game. The house won. I lost enough. 😂

So this time, I want a different kind of love. 

I want the one who stays. 

Not just when everything is beautiful and easy. 

I want the one who shows up when life gets ugly.

When I'm tired. When I'm difficult. 

When he's difficult. When we're both annoyed and neither of us is particularly charming.

I want someone who doesn't disappear when things get uncomfortable. 

Someone who doesn't use silence as punishment.

No silent treatment. No mind games.  

No making me guess what he's thinking.

No disappearing for days and then coming back like nothing happened. Please. I'm too old for emotional hide-and-seek. 😂

I want someone who talks. Actually talks. 

If something is wrong, tell me. If you're angry, tell me.

If you're hurt, tell me. If you're scared, tell me.

If you need space, tell me. And then come back.

Because I don't want a relationship where conflict means abandonment.

I want a relationship where even when we're angry, we still know: We're on the same team. Maybe that's what I mean when I say I want someone who stays.

Not someone who never gets angry.  

Not someone who never disappoints me.

Not someone who is magically perfect.  

I don't believe in perfect anymore.

I believe in people who care enough to repair what they break.

That's different.

I want him to adore me. Badly. Embarrassingly. Ridiculously.

The kind of adoration that makes his friends roll their eyes because apparently he can't stop talking about me. 😂

I want to be spoiled rotten. Not necessarily with expensive things.

Although… I'm not going to complain. 😂

Spoil me with attention. With affection. 

With time. With little surprises.

With remembering the things I casually mentioned three months ago.

With showing up. With asking if I've eaten.

With sending me something stupid because it reminded him of me.

With holding my hand in public. 

With pulling me closer just because he can. I want to feel cherished.

Not because I'm perfect.  But because I'm his person.

I want loyalty. Real loyalty.  

Not the kind that only exists when nobody is watching.

The kind where I don't have to wonder.

The kind where trust isn't something I have to constantly monitor.

I want to feel safe enough to put my heart down and leave it there.

I want him to treat me like I'm precious. Not fragile.

There's a difference. 

I don't want someone who thinks I need rescuing.

I want someone who respects my strength and still wants to take care of me sometimes.

Someone who looks at me and thinks: I've got you. 

And actually means it. Maybe I want something a little royal too.

Not because I need to be treated like a queen every second. But because I want to feel valued.

I want a man who knows that loving someone is an honor, not a burden.

Someone who doesn't make me feel like I'm asking for too much when I ask for the bare minimum.

Communication.  Affection. Presence. Consistency. Loyalty.

These shouldn't be luxury items. 

And maybe I'm a little stubborn about this now.

Because I don't want to gamble anymore. I don't want to fall in love with someone's potential. 

I don't want to spend years trying to convince someone to love me the way I need to be loved. 

I don't want to disappear inside another relationship. I've done enough disappearing.

This time, I want to remain fully myself. 

And I want someone who loves that woman.

The loud one. The emotional one. The stubborn one. 

The ridiculous one. 

The woman who laughs at inappropriate moments.

The woman who overthinks. The woman who talks too much.

The woman who sometimes needs reassurance. 

The woman who has scars. The woman who has dreams.

The woman who still believes in love despite everything.

I want him to know all of her. And still choose her. 

Again. And again. And again.

Maybe that's asking too much. Maybe. 

But I don't think I'm asking for perfection.

I'm asking for someone who shows up. 

Someone who doesn't leave me alone in the middle of an argument just because he's angry.

Someone who can say, “I'm mad right now, but I'm not going anywhere.”

God. That sentence alone could probably repair half my trust issues. 😂

I want someone who wants me around.  

Not because he's dependent on me. 

Because he genuinely enjoys my company.

I want to be the person he wants to tell things to.

The person he wants beside him when something good happens.

The person he wants beside him when something terrible happens.

The person he looks for in a crowded room.  

The person he comes home to. And I want to do the same for him.

Because love isn't supposed to be one person chasing while the other decides whether to stay. I don't want that anymore.

I want mutual. I want ridiculous. I want soft. I want passionate.

I want playful. I want deep conversations at 2 a.m.

I want stupid arguments about what to eat. 

I want laughing in the kitchen. I want road trips.

I want ordinary Tuesdays that somehow feel special because we're together. I want a love that feels like home. 

Not a home I have to constantly prove I deserve.

A home where I know I'm welcome. Where I know I'm wanted.

Where I can finally exhale. And maybe, someday, there will be more than just the two of us.

Maybe there will be little footsteps. A mini me running around.

A mini him causing completely different kinds of chaos. 😂

Maybe our house will be loud. Messy. Full of toys. Full of laughter.

Full of arguments about bedtime. Full of love.

Maybe I'll look across the room one day and see him holding our little ones and think: So this is what I was waiting for.

Maybe that's my future.

Me. My soulmate. Our mini me. Our mini him.. 

Our ridiculous little family. A life that isn't perfect. But real.

Safe. Full. Loved. Maybe it's too much to ask. Maybe it's unrealistic.

Maybe someone will read this and say I'm dreaming.

Good. I've spent enough time dreaming about things that made me miserable.

I might as well dream about something beautiful now.

Because I don't want to gamble with love anymore. 

I've already paid the price. 

This time, I want to choose carefully. I want to be chosen carefully.  

And when I finally give my heart again, I want to give it to someone who knows what it is worth.

Someone who won't make me regret giving it. 

Someone who stays. Someone who shows up. 

Someone who loves me loudly, consistently, stupidly, completely.

And maybe that's the future I've been waiting for.

Not a perfect man. Not a perfect marriage.

Just a man who looks at me and says: “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.” And then proves it.

Over. And over. And over again.

That's the future worth waiting for. 

And if that makes me unrealistic? Fine.

I've survived worse things than being called a hopeless romantic.

Beside I've already survived the heartbreak.

I think I've earned the right to dream about the happily-ever-after.