Coffee

I met my younger self for coffee today.

He walked in just like I remembered—bright eyes, quiet confidence, full of dreams too big for the room to hold. The best. The one everyone admired. The one I used to be.

He smiled when he saw me, but there was a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“You look different,” he said.

“I’ve lived a little,” I replied. “Stumbled. Learned. Fought.”

He sat across from me, leaned forward. “Did we make it?”

I laughed. “Not yet. But we’re on the way. The path turned out longer, harder than we thought. Turns out talent only gets you so far. But I’ve learned something more powerful.”

“What’s that?”

“Discipline. Grit. The kind you don’t need motivation for. The kind you choose when no one’s watching. I’m building that now—slowly, fiercely.”

He nodded. “So… all the expectations, the dreams, the weight of being the best—did we lose that?”

“No,” I said. “We just realized it’s not about being better than others. It’s about becoming the strongest, most unshakable version of us. For our family. For the people who believed in us. For ourselves.”

He looked at me differently then. Not with disappointment, but pride.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

“I know,” I replied. “I’m better. Because I’ve suffered. And I kept going. I lost but I didn’t quit. I didn’t let my pain and my failures crumble me.”

He smiled—genuinely this time. “Then go finish the job. I’ll be watching.”

As he walked away, I felt it. That spark. That fire he had.

But now, it was forged with something stronger.

Resolve.