Some wounds don’t bleed, but they ache in silence. Some dreams, though never realized, never truly die. They are those childhood yearnings that someone—a parent, circumstance, fear—stamped with a firm "no," and now, years later, they still pulse like ghosts in my chest. That is the nostalgia of what could have been: a dull but persistent pain.
I carry those dreams with me, too. I remember them with both tenderness and sorrow—I wanted to be a writer, but was told it wasn’t practical; I dreamed of traveling, but was convinced it was too risky; I imagined a life filled with art, but was taught that art doesn’t pay the bills. And so, little by little, my hopes bent to reality until I stopped speaking of them. But I never stopped feeling them.
Nostalgia hurts because it is the mourning of what never came to be. It is grief for the version of ourselves that was never allowed to grow. And though time passes, though we build other lives, there are days when those forgotten dreams echo like distant whispers, asking: "What if you had tried?"
But today, I choose to face that nostalgia head-on, without fear. Because maybe it isn’t just pain—maybe it’s also a sign, a reminder that those dreams aren’t dead. They’re just waiting. Waiting for me, no longer bound by childhood’s limitations, to give them a second chance.
Of course, the world still says "no." There are still obstacles, responsibilities, voices full of doubt. But the difference now is me—I’m no longer that child who needed permission to dream. Now, I have the power to choose. I can reclaim those old desires and give them new meaning. Maybe not exactly as I imagined at eight years old, but just as meaningful.
What if that nostalgia isn’t just sorrow, but fuel? What if that ache is actually a call to action? Not to reclaim lost time—because time, like water, never flows backward—but to honor that child who believed in something so purely. To tell her: "I didn’t forget. And though it didn’t happen then, it can happen now."
If you feel the weight of those forbidden dreams today, don’t ignore them. Embrace them. Thank them, because they are proof that your ability to dream never disappeared. And then, do something—no matter how small—to bring them to life.
This isn’t about turning back time, but about carrying that spark of hope forward and using it to light up your present. The world needs adults who haven’t completely killed off their childhood dreams, but have transformed them into something stronger, wiser, yet just as true.
You can be that adult. You can look at that nostalgia and, instead of dwelling on "what if," turn it into "why not now?" Because dreams don’t have an expiration date. As long as you breathe, as long as you feel that longing, there is still time.
So today, for the child you once were, take the first step. Not to erase the nostalgia, but to fill it with new meaning. Because life isn’t just about what was taken from us—it’s also about what we dare to reclaim.