A Walking Paradox

My Dear Stranger,

I am a walking paradox.

I carry depth, yet struggle to name what I want.

I feel everything, yet often can’t imagine anything clearly.

I long for direction, but freeze when asked to describe the destination.

There is also this quiet truth I rarely say out loud:

Something that also confused me;

I have no desire to build things in this life the way others do.

Not houses,

not legacies carved in stone,

not the kind of permanence this world celebrates.

I always feel like a stranger, a passerby.

Like this place is not my real home.

Like I am only passing through, learning, observing,

But never meant to anchor myself too tightly here.

And because of that, any form of attachment feels so scary to me. So heavy.

Not because I don’t care,

but because caring too tightly has always hurt.

My Dear Stranger,

Sometimes I wonder why I can’t be like everyone else—

Why can’t I simply enjoy this life, chase greatness, money, wealth, power,

become someone influential,

someone seen.

But then, every time I take the first step toward that world,

something in me pulls back.

My feet hesitate.

My heart retreats.

And I return—again and again—to solitude.

To the quiet.

To my hiding place.

Not because I am afraid of becoming something,

But because I am afraid of losing myself.

My Dear Stranger,

I don’t always know what I want because I’ve learned to survive by sensing,

by adapting, by staying flexible enough to leave if needed.

Not being able to imagine a future isn’t emptiness. It’s exhaustion.

A soul that has spent too long holding space for others, for pain, for uncertainty,

forgetting it is allowed to dream for itself.

I am thoughtful, yet unsure.

Rooted in values, yet unattached to outcomes.

Hopeful, yet careful.

I want meaning, but not at the cost of my inner peace.

And maybe that’s the paradox—

I am not lost because I lack vision,

But because I refuse to build a life that feels like a cage.

Perhaps clarity doesn’t come from choosing more,

but from releasing what was never meant to be held.

So I let myself remain free and light.

Unclaimed.

I accept that this world may only be a temporary place for me—

a chapter, not the whole story.

And in that knowing, I am learning to live with less attachment, less fear, and more truth.

I am a walking paradox—

not broken, not empty,

just a soul in transit,

on its way home.

Your stranger,

Vie