Here we go, another week of this shit. I’ll give you one thing though, you actually did everything you said you were going to do this weekend. So today feels a little bit different. It feels melancholic, like I know I’ll be leaving this place soon. I know because my work tells me so. If I continue to do the things I’ve been telling myself to do, there is no limit as to how high I can actually climb. The good part is that I’m the one responsable for that “if”. If I choose to continue doing what I’m doing, I’ll make it. It’s as simple as that. So walk in with melancholic eyes and see the day. Even if the day shows you a bunch of shit you don’t want to see. See it anyway, and reminisce over it because you are going to keep going up.
There’s something poetic about starting another week already knowing I won’t be here forever. I’m walking into a temporary reality, and I feel it in my chest like a farewell that hasn’t happened yet. It’s the kind of sadness that doesn’t weaken me—it strengthens me. Because it means I’m not stuck. I’ve been doing what I said I would. I’ve earned the right to feel like a visitor in this chapter of my life.
It’s easy to underestimate how far you can go when you’re surrounded by the same walls. But I know now—those walls don’t define me. My work does. My effort. My choices. I’m the only one responsible for where I end up next, and that’s liberating. If I keep showing up, keep chipping away at the dream, then my future is just a matter of time. That “if” isn’t some vague chance—it’s my next decision.
So I take the melancholy with me. I wear it like a reminder: this isn’t forever. These days, these frustrations—they’re fading. Every small action I take is another step up and out. Even if the day feels heavy, I’ll look it in the eye. I’ll see everything clearly, no matter how ugly or slow or repetitive. Because this is how I climb. And I’m not done rising yet.
