the notebook!
When I was in school, I watched a movie called "The Notebook," and for the first time, I found myself deeply moved, crying openly, understanding for the first time how love could drive people to do beautifully irrational things. It impacted me so profoundly that I saved it carefully on my old hard disk, promising myself I'd watch it again only when I truly felt something special with someone.
Yesterday, I rediscovered that old hard disk, hidden among forgotten things. As soon as I saw it, a wave of nostalgia hit me—memories flooding back of younger days, simpler dreams, and the pure belief in lasting love. With curiosity and sentimentality, I decided to watch "The Notebook" once again.
Watching it today, I found myself crying yet again, tears rolling freely, reminding me why this movie meant so much. It wasn't just a story on a screen; unknowingly, it had shaped the deepest corners of my heart, subtly guiding me in my search for genuine love, genuine connections.
Yet now I understand clearly—life is not a scripted film; it's unpredictable, real, and unique for each of us. Even when we deeply connect with others, their paths might differ from ours, and that's perfectly okay. Each person has their own journey, deserving respect and understanding. Embracing this reality has not been disappointing but empowering, allowing me to appreciate relationships and experiences more deeply.
Reflecting on my current situation, I realize how significantly my life has transformed. I completed my education, moved to a completely different country, and found myself in a world of unfamiliar faces, without family, without real friends, surrounded by a different culture, a new work life, and a deep sense of solitude. Yet in that quiet isolation, I discovered a strange kind of peace—one that came not from comfort, but from resilience and acceptance. Life seemed to change around me quietly, smoothly, as naturally as seasons shifting—but the reality was far different. The transition was filled with silent struggles, emotional turbulence, and the weight of adapting to a completely new world. Through these changes, I've come to a meaningful realization: achievements, money, pride, and societal image—these things are fleeting illusions. Though I always knew this in theory, now I truly experience it firsthand. Living through the contrast between expectations and reality has given this understanding a deeper, unshakable truth. They do not truly fulfill us.
What truly matters, what we genuinely crave, is human connection. We need like-minded people—whether few or many—who understand us, support us, and share our dreams and sorrows alike. The ultimate journey in life is about mutual support, helping each other find happiness, peace, and fulfillment. Yet sometimes this journey can be solitary, and there's beauty in that as well.
Ultimately, whatever our ambitions, whatever path we choose, we all seek one thing—inner peace. It's peace of mind we yearn for, the quiet satisfaction within our souls that tells us everything is alright. Sometimes achieving this peace is easy, and sometimes it's challenging. Sometimes we reach our goals, and other times we adjust our course. But peace remains our ultimate destination.
Comparing myself now to the younger version of me who first watched "The Notebook," I feel something deeper than nostalgia—it’s a quiet longing for a time when I believed everything would unfold the way stories do. Back then, I thought love was simple: you meet someone, fall deeply, and hold on forever. That belief lived in my chest like a promise. Watching that movie for the first time didn’t just make me cry—it gave me a lens through which I started to see the world, and unknowingly, I carried that lens.
But life, I’ve learned, doesn’t follow a script. It stutters, it surprises, it breaks and builds all in the same breath. And love—real love—isn’t always cinematic. It’s messy and complicated and sometimes ends before you understand why. Yet those early beliefs still shaped me. They made me look for depth in people, crave sincerity, and hold space for the kind of emotion that doesn’t need words.
Now, as I walk forward through unfamiliar cities and foreign days, I carry those memories not as regrets, but as reminders. They remind me that I once dared to hope purely, to dream freely. And maybe that’s what keeps me moving—not the search for a perfect love or a perfect ending, but the gentle echo of a younger heart that still believes, quietly, that peace, connection, and something meaningful might still be waiting somewhere, just beyond the bend. Who knows? Peace!!