I had taken a turn away —
from the world of money,
from the world of needs,
from the world that creates a hunger
that is never satisfied — only multiplied.

I didn’t look back.
I didn’t allow memories.
I didn’t let anything tempt me into nostalgia.

I’ve carried too many stories.
Some grew quiet with time.
Some I buried with a smile —
determined never to dig again.

But the men of the world still come to meet me.
They consult me about things I have failed in.
I failed to earn a name.
I failed to earn money.
I failed to earn friends.
And therefore, I failed to earn respect — in the eyes of the world.

But as time passed, I began thanking God for my failures.
The successful carry burdens —
of things, of roles, of promises they can’t keep.

My path isn’t for everyone.
And it shouldn’t be.
But it has its place —
like everything else under the sky.

Strangely, I now understand those who dream the impossible.
Those who rush, build, believe.
They too have a place in the story.

And so, I meet people —
not like me, yet… strangely like me.
Differently placed. Differently dressed.
Differently led by the same universe.

And then, I find people writing about me.
Commercial people… talking about me.
It makes me think.

Integrity is often spoken of only after it’s lost.
Trust is built only when someone doubts.

I’m yet to understand this world.
But lately, the world seems to understand me.
Even in the most unexpected voices.
The silence, both within and outside, is no longer silent.