I ask myself this a lot. Some days, I feel like I’m just watching my life happen. Like I’m a passenger, not the one driving.

I wake up each morning to the same routine. Not because I want to, but because I have to. Wake up, work, worry. There’s always something. Many bills, food, family problems. Everything needs attention. Everything costs money.

And every day, I do what I must. I don’t complain. I just keep going. But still, I wonder—when do I get to do what I want?

People talk about dreams. About chasing your passion. About building the life you want. I hear this advice online. I see it in books and movies. But it feels far away from where I am.

Here, life is about surviving first. Dreams come later—if they ever come at all.

Some days, I feel tired. Not from working hard, but from having no choice. From waking up and knowing that my time doesn’t really belong to me. That my day is already decided by things outside my control.

I don’t get to say no. If I don’t work, I don’t eat. If I speak my mind, someone might take it badly. If I rest too long, something might fall apart. My life feels like it’s on a tight rope—always balancing, never resting.

Even my thoughts feel borrowed. I think about what I can afford, not what I want. I think about keeping people happy, not about what makes me happy. I’ve learned to push down my own needs, to be “realistic,” to be “grateful.”

But sometimes I stop and think—when did I start living like this? When did I start believing that life is something I must endure, not enjoy?

I don’t want to live my whole life waiting for a better time to live. Waiting for money, waiting for peace, waiting for permission. I want to live now. But how?

Everything costs. Even rest. Even silence. I look around and everyone is running. Hustling. Trying to get by. No one has time. No one has peace. Everyone is tired.

And it’s not just about money. It’s also about freedom. The freedom to speak. To say what’s wrong. To say what you feel. In many places here, that’s dangerous. You speak, you disappear. You ask questions, they call you trouble.

So you stay quiet. You keep your head down. You hope things get better.

But deep down, it feels wrong. It feels like I’m living someone else’s life. Like my real life is waiting, somewhere far off.

I look at my parents. They worked hard. They still do. They gave up so much so I could have a chance. But sometimes I wonder—did they ever get to live the life they wanted? Or were they also caught in the same struggle?

Will I be different? Will I have more choices? Will I ever feel free?

I don’t know.

But I do know this: I want more than survival. I want more than just getting by. I want to feel like my time matters. Like my voice matters. Like I can choose how to live.

Even if it’s just small things. Taking a walk. Saying no. Laughing for no reason. Speaking honestly. These things feel like gifts. Like tiny pieces of life I can hold onto.

I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know how to change the world. But I know I don’t want to live my life feeling like it belongs to someone else.

I want to live it as myself. Fully. Freely.

Maybe that’s what life is about. Finding those small moments that are truly yours—and holding onto them.