Enough

There is a strange addiction in looking back. We treat the past like a favorite old movie, replaying the scenes where we laughed, where we loved, and conveniently skipping the parts where we cried on the bathroom floor. We polish our memories until they shine like diamonds, forgetting that diamonds are born from immense pressure, not from nostalgia.

I used to be a collector of yesterdays. I would hoard moments like precious stones, terrified that if I let them go, I would be empty. I thought my value was in what I had survived, in the battles I had fought, in the loves I had lost. But lately, something has shifted in my tectonic plates. A quiet tremor, deep within.

I do not want to repeat a single year of my life.

Let them stay where they belong — in the past. They are the sediments of who I was, layers upon layers of lessons, mistakes, and growth. They are the foundation I stand on, but they are not the house I live in.

The Magma Star in me knows the truth: happiness does not repeat. You cannot step into the same river twice, and you cannot feel the same joy in the same way. Trying to recreate a past happiness is like trying to warm yourself with yesterday’s sun. It doesn’t work. And pain? Pain is not corrected backwards. You cannot fix a broken heart by wishing you hadn’t loved. You fix it by loving again, differently, bravely, today.

I don’t need yesterday. I need today.

I need the messy, imperfect, beautiful reality of now.

Day by day. Without pathos. Without the dramatic soundtrack of "what could have been." Without proving anything to anyone — not to my parents, not to my ex-lovers, not even to the mirror.

I choose peace over nostalgia.

Nostalgia is a liar. It tells you that you were happier then, thinner then, more loved then. But it forgets to tell you how insecure you were, how much you doubted your worth, how you starved your soul for a crumb of affection. Peace tells you the truth: You are here. You survived. You are okay.

I choose truth over illusion.

The illusion is that there is a "perfect version" of me waiting in the future or lost in the past. The truth is that I am right here, in this body, with these scars, with this heart that still beats rhythmically like the earth’s core.

I want to be happy while I live.

Not "when I lose 5 kilos." Not "when I find the perfect partner." Not "when I publish the next book."

I want to be happy when I am tired, because tiredness means I have used my energy for something meaningful.

I want to be happy when I am strong, because strength is a gift I gave myself.

I want to be happy when I am chubby, because my body is the vessel that carries my soul, softness and all.

I want to be happy when I am fit, because movement is a celebration of life.

We spend so much time waiting for permission to be happy. We wait for the conditions to be perfect. But geology teaches us that nothing is ever perfect; everything is in constant flux. Mountains rise, valleys deepen, rivers change course. Stability is an illusion. The only constant is change.

Maturity is not about everything being easy.

Maturity is realizing that difficulties are just rocks in the path, not the end of the road. It is understanding that storm clouds will come, but they will also pass. It is the ability to sit with your own discomfort and say, "This too is part of the landscape."

Maturity is that I no longer abandon myself.

This is the most important vow I have ever taken.

For years, I abandoned myself for others. I made myself smaller so they could feel big. I silenced my voice so they wouldn't feel threatened. I gave pieces of my magma to warm people who only wanted to extinguish my fire.

No more.

Now, when I feel sad, I don't run away. I sit with myself like a good mother sits with a crying child.

When I make a mistake, I don't punish myself. I learn, I forgive, and I move on.

When I am happy, I don't apologize for my joy. I let it erupt like a volcano, unapologetic and bright.

And Magma Star whispers, quietly, but surely:

This is my life.

It is not a rehearsal. It is not a draft. This is the final print.

And it is enough just as it is.

I am enough. Not because of what I do, or what I look like, or who loves me.

I am enough because I exist. Because I am part of this magnificent, chaotic, beautiful universe. Because my heart beats in rhythm with the stars.

So today, I look in the mirror and I don't look for the girl I used to be. I greet the woman I have become. I see the lines that map my laughter and my worries. I see the eyes that have seen darkness and chosen light. I see the hands that have held on when they should have let go, and finally learned the art of release.

I smile at her.

"You are enough," I say.

And for the first time in a long time, I believe it.

Originally published on my bilingual blog Magma Star. If these words resonated with your own journey to self-acceptance, feel free to share.