Hiraya Manawari
What happens when you grow older than some of your dreams?
When you're 36, nearing your 40s, and you catch yourself still saying the same words you said in your twenties
"Sana Matupad"
There is a strange kind of grief in that.
To remember how certain you once were that your life would become something beautiful. How easily you dreamed. How you spoke your wishes into the universe as if the future was listening.
I was so hopeful once that I had the words hiraya manawari etched on my chest, close to my heart.
May the deepest wishes of your heart come true.
It was a beautiful phrase for a dreamer.
But a few years and a few heartbreaks later, I found myself staring at those words and wondering...
Where did all that hope go?
The wonder?
The vigor?
When did hiraya manawari stop feeling like a wish and start feeling like a reminder of all the things that haven't happened yet?
There is a particular kind of sadness in getting older and realizing that some of the things you once whispered sana about are still sana.
Some dreams didn't happen.
Some prayers were answered differently.
Some versions of my life never came to be.
And for a moment, I wondered if maybe I had outgrown hiraya manawari.
But tonight, I thought of something else.
Maybe I knew myself.
Maybe the younger me already knew that my heart had a tendency to forget.
Because my heart gets broken a lot.
And when it breaks, it forgets.
It forgets that there are still things to look forward to.
It forgets how big the world once felt.
It forgets that there are still places I haven't seen, people I haven't met, mornings I haven't woken up to, and versions of myself I haven't become.
It forgets how to dream.
So maybe, all those years ago, I left myself a reminder.
I wrote it somewhere I couldn't lose it.
Hiraya manawari.
And suddenly, the tattoo feels less like a declaration of who I was and more like a love letter she left for who I would become.
Maybe she knew there would come a day when I would need those words more than she did.
Maybe she was saying:
I know your heart.
I know it will break.
I know there will be days when you will stop believing that beautiful things can still happen to you.
So I'm leaving this here.
Just in case you forget.
And perhaps I have been wrong about myself, too.
I've spent so much time thinking I don't know how to love myself because I don't always make the best choices for her.
But maybe I do know how to love her.
Maybe I just haven't learned how to recognize it yet.
Maybe self-love isn't always grand.
Sometimes it is simply leaving little breadcrumbs for yourself so you can find your way home.
A journal entry.
A prayer.
A promise.
A tattoo over your heart from a girl who still believed in your future.
So here I am. 36. Nearing my 40s.
Still wishing.
Still saying sana.
And maybe there is nothing embarrassing about that.
Maybe after everything that has happened, the fact that there is still a tiny part of me willing to whisper sana matupad is its own kind of miracle.
My heart will probably forget again.
That's okay.
I already wrote the reminder somewhere permanent.
ᜑᜒᜇᜌ ᜋᜈᜏᜇᜒ
Hiraya manawari.
Keep dreaming.
There is still so much of your life that hasn't happened yet.