The Calling

Sometimes, life doesn’t scream your purpose — it whispers it.

And if you’re too busy chasing what the world calls success, you might never hear it.

I used to think my dream was just a childhood thing — to write stories, to let my words wander across places my feet had never been.
But lately, I realized something that hit me deep: I never stopped dreaming of being a writer. I just... forgot to remember.

Maybe that’s what the universe has been trying to tell me all along.

That the layoff, the sickness, the restlessness — all of it weren’t misfortunes.
They were signs. Gentle but firm hands guiding me back to where I truly belong.

To the page.
To the story.
To myself.

I’ve always loved stories because the universe itself is a storyteller.
It speaks through the wind that hums between leaves, the dust that dances in sunlight, the laughter that fades into quiet nights.
It paints mysteries in the color of roses and writes poetry in the rhythm of water.

And now, I feel it — the calling.
Not to chase stability, not to please the crowd, but to tell stories that breathe.
Because maybe that’s all I ever wanted to do —
to listen to the world,
and then let it speak through me.