Diwali is over.
And just like that, everyone is leaving again.
The house that felt so alive a few days ago is slowly becoming quiet. The bags are packed, tickets are booked, and your mother has already asked three times if you’ve kept everything.
Some of you are on your way back already. Some are spending one last night at home, knowing tomorrow morning will be difficult.
And somewhere between all this, there’s a strange sadness you can’t really explain.
Because this time, you didn’t just come home to celebrate Diwali.
You came home and saw things you wish you hadn’t noticed.
Your father’s tired face. Your mother’s little health complaints. The conversations about money that suddenly stop when you enter the room. The responsibilities that keep increasing while you’re still trying to clear one exam.
And perhaps you realised something painful.
The people who have spent their entire lives making things easier for you are slowly growing older, and you still haven’t been able to make things easier for them.
You want to tell them that you’re trying. That you’re studying. That you’re not wasting their sacrifices.
But sometimes, even you don’t know whether all this effort will be enough.
Another year is ending.
Some friends have jobs now. Some have moved ahead in life. And you’re still carrying the same books, the same dreams, and the same fear of disappointing everyone.
You laugh with your family, take pictures, enjoy the food your mother makes, but somewhere in the back of your mind, one thought never really leaves.
“What if I go back and fail again?”
And then comes the hardest part.
Leaving.
Your mother stands at the door, reminding you to eat on time. Your father asks if you have enough money.
You look back at the house one last time.
And suddenly, all you want is a little more time.
A few more evenings with your parents. A few more meals together. A few more days of being someone’s child, without having to worry about becoming someone in life.
But you have to leave.
Because somewhere far from home, in a small room filled with books and uncertainty, there’s a future you’re still trying to build.
I don’t know when your struggle will end. I cannot promise that your next attempt will be your last.
But I hope life rewards your patience before it takes away the people you want to share your happiness with.
I hope one day you can buy something for your mother without checking your bank balance. I hope your father no longer has to worry about your future. I hope you finally sleep peacefully without calculating how many attempts you have left.
And I hope that when you return home for Diwali someday, you don’t have to pretend that everything is going well.
Because that time, it actually will be.
Until then, take that train. Go back to your books. Give yourself another chance.
And please, don’t be so hard on yourself.
You are trying to build a future while quietly missing a present that will never come back.
Take care of yourself. ❤️