The Older I Grow, The More I Realize Life Owes Us Nothing

There comes a point in life when you stop standing dramatically at emotional windows asking:
“Why me?”

Mostly because life has already answered with:
“Why not?”

And honestly, that is perhaps one of the most uncomfortable truths adulting quietly teaches us.

Life is too short to harbor grudges forever. Too short to carry bitterness like unpaid emotional EMI payments. Too short to spend years replaying scenes in our heads where someone wronged us, disappointed us, betrayed us, overlooked us, or simply walked away without explanation.

Because whether fair or unfair — life moves. Relentlessly. Some days it gives us choices. Some days it gives us circumstances. And some days it simply hands us chaos wrapped in silence and says: “Manage.”

And we do.

Perhaps badly initially. Perhaps crying in bathrooms. Perhaps overthinking at 2 am and getting our migraines. Perhaps dramatically eating namkeen or endless cups of chai while questioning the universe. But eventually…we do.

There was a time when I genuinely believed fairness was a natural law of life.

Do the right thing.
Be kind.
Work honestly.
Love deeply.
Stand by people.
And surely life would reciprocate.

What optimism!

Then life, like an experienced school principal, looked at me over its spectacles and said:
“Sit down. We need to talk.”

Because some losses never make sense. My mother going away. That remains one question I have never found an answer to. Why us? Why her? Why then?

Time softens grief perhaps, but it does not explain it.

Even today there are moments when the memory arrives quietly – unannounced, uninvited – and suddenly the world pauses for a second longer than usual. And no philosophy truly answers that emptiness. Then there were the friendships.

Ah yes.
Those beautiful emotional investments with terrible returns.

People you would have defended fiercely. People you thought would stand beside you when life became difficult. People who laughed with you, celebrated with you, knew your fears, your insecurities, your hopes. And then one day they simply became strangers wearing familiar faces.

Or worse.

Monsters.

At least that is how it feels initially. But age teaches you another uncomfortable truth: sometimes people were never who we imagined them to be. Perhaps they were always themselves. Perhaps we were the ones writing poetry over ordinary prose.

And that realization hurts too. But eventually even those wounds become stories.

Today when I stand at this strange threshold of life – somewhere between exhaustion and wisdom, realism and hope, acceptance and ambition – I look back differently.

Some memories make me snigger now. Especially the moments I once thought would destroy me completely. Some memories make me laugh. Mostly at my own dramatic reactions and misplaced trust. Some I dismiss entirely because frankly they no longer deserve rent-free space in my head. And some…Some remain wrapped in nostalgia.

Soft.
Golden.
Untouched by bitterness.

No, mine has not been a rosy path. But then whose truly is? That is another illusion adulthood breaks beautifully. We compare our backstage chaos to everyone else’s edited highlights. We look at successful people and imagine certainty.
Peace.
Perfect relationships.
Financial ease.
Confidence.
Luck.

But we only know the polished part of their story because success photographs well.

We do not know their loneliness.  Their compromises. Their disappointments. Their sleepless nights. Their private griefs. Their regrets. The battles hidden behind expensive smiles.

And truthfully, I cannot compare my life to even the richest person on earth because I have not lived their life. I only know the version visible to the world. That is not reality. That is presentation. So over time I stopped asking: “Why do they have it easier?”

And started asking: “What can I still do with what I have?”

That changed everything.

Slowly, quietly, imperfectly – it changed the way I looked at destiny itself.

And somewhere along the way, this thought by Allama Iqbal became less of a quote and more of a personal mantra:

“ख़ुदी को कर बुलंद इतना कि हर तक़दीर से पहले
ख़ुदा बंदे से ख़ुद पूछे, ‘बता, तेरी रज़ा क्या है?’”

Raise yourself to such heights that before destiny itself is written, God asks you:
“Tell me, what is it that you desire?”

What a powerful thought that is.

Not arrogance. Not entitlement. But self-belief so strong that fate itself pauses before you. Today I work with that thought quietly sitting somewhere in my soul. Today I work hard to turn tides that sometimes still flow against me. Today I wake up and try again. Not because life suddenly became fair. But because I finally understood that fairness is not guaranteed – effort is.

Choice is. Response is. Dignity is. Today I no longer blame the world endlessly for what I face.

Most of the time, if I am honest, many wounds I feel today, came from my own inability to read people or situations correctly. My own misplaced faith. My own emotional optimism. My own refusal to see reality when it stood directly in front of me waving red flags like the traffic police. And strangely enough, accepting that has brought peace. Because I feel blame keeps power outside us. Responsibility quietly brings it back. Today I forgive more easily. Though let me clarify – I never said I forget (!).

I am not spiritually advanced enough for memory loss. But forgiveness today feels less like charity toward others and more like relief for me – for my own self. Because carrying anger for years is exhausting. It ages the heart. It steals joy from my ‘present’ moments. It makes beautiful mornings feel heavy. It makes us suspicious of goodness. It hardens softness we once possessed naturally. And life is already difficult enough. Why make it heavier?

So now I choose differently. I choose peace where possible. Distance where necessary. Silence where words are wasted. Effort where hope still exists. And laughter whenever life permits it.

I still hurt.
I still overthink.
I still occasionally sit with old memories longer than I should.

But I no longer stay there permanently. Because I know life keeps moving. And perhaps that is the point. Not to become untouched by pain. Not to become emotionless. Not to become endlessly positive and inspirational like motivational speakers who seem suspiciously always hydrated.

But to continue despite everything. To continue softly. Quietly. With integrity intact. To live without intentionally making life harder for others. To keep doing the right thing despite adversity. And to trust – however cautiously – that somewhere beyond the difficult stretches, the plateau does come. Not necessarily grand success. Not dramatic victory music.

But peace.

Steadier ground. Clearer thinking. Better people. Healthier boundaries. A calmer heart.

And honestly?

At this stage of life, that feels far richer than perfection ever could.