Avi Core

One day you'll read today's worries the way you read your old diaries with compassion for the person who was trying so hard.

The dreams that once kept you awake are now the life you quietly live. The fears that once felt permanent became chapters with page numbers.

Keep collecting chapters, not because every one will be beautiful, but because every one will teach the next version of you how to keep going.

There are people who love beaches and sunsets, and there are people who love the rain. But I belong to a much smaller group—or maybe there isn't a group at all. Maybe it's just me. I love the combination of a beach and rain.

Maybe it's because I have so many memories there—both good and bad. But it affects me like nothing else. It's incredibly nostalgic and beautiful. I'm usually a clean freak; I can't step out of my house without sandals, even when the floor is spotless. Yet I love the wet sand, soaked clothes, the salty taste in my mouth, and everything that comes with it.

I used to walk along the beach with an umbrella during heavy rain. I remember how much fun it was. I spent a lot of time there with a friend who is no longer part of my life. But those feelings remain crystal clear in my memory. It reminds me of the most childish version of myself, the happiest version of myself. Even now, when I visit the beach during the rain, it brings back memories—not of the person I was with, but of the person I was.

I always wondered what was so special about sakura flowers. People say they symbolize new beginnings, but recently I feel like I relate to them.

Sakura blossoms bloom for only a short period of time, yet people wait an entire year just to witness them for a few fleeting days. The relationships I've had in my life remind me of these flowers. I have had more temporary relationships and friendships than permanent ones. Some simply faded away in the busyness of life, some ended naturally with the close of a college chapter or a particular era, and some ended badly, leaving behind a bitter taste.

Even so, I still look forward to the new relationships I will have and the new people who will become a part of my life, even if only for a short while. Nothing lasts forever, just like cherry blossom season. Yet while it lasts, it can be one of the most beautiful experiences imaginable.

Even the relationships that ended on bad terms were, at one point, among the most beautiful parts of my life. I try to remember them for the good and beautiful things they were, rather than dwell on the sadness of watching them fade away when their season came to an end.

I came across an old diary of mine, and reading it brought a wave of nostalgia. Back when my world was small, I somehow had so much to write about. The things that seem ordinary now once meant everything. Life felt more colorful then—little moments brought immense joy, and even the smallest achievements felt like major victories. Festivals, vacations, weekends—everything felt special.

Maybe it was because I was fully present in those moments. They weren’t just breaks from life; they were life itself. Family trips, beach outings, park visits—each one felt like an adventure. Even the mischief—doing things I wasn’t supposed to, breaking something, getting caught, being scolded—felt like part of the experience. And by the next day, it was all forgotten, replaced with something new.

I sometimes wish life still felt that simple, that carefree. Now, when something goes wrong, it lingers. Back then, I didn’t worry about what others thought—something that feels like a rare freedom now, when opinions seem to matter so much.

Why was I in such a hurry to grow up? Maybe it was the dreams. As kids, we believe everything is possible. There are no limits. And honestly, that younger version of me would probably be happy to see how many of those dreams we’ve already achieved. If we could switch places, even briefly, I think we’d both be proud—and happy.

But time doesn’t pause. Life moves forward. Things that once felt routine slowly turn into memories we look back on. There’s something beautiful about that transition—from living a moment to remembering it.

And if my future self ever reads this, just know: there are still so many dreams waiting. So much left to achieve. So much to be proud of. Look how far we’ve come—and imagine how much further we can go.

My school friends, college friends, colleagues, family, relatives, and neighbors all know very different versions of me. I usually avoid situations where these groups come together, because even I’m not sure how I’d respond in that moment.

I’ve often heard things like, “You’re so different with them,” or “How does your vibe even match?” or even, “I can’t believe you were friends with them.” Comments like these naturally make me wonder—which one of these is the real me?

But deep down, I already know the answer.

There isn’t just one “real” version of me. And none of these versions are fake.

Whenever we meet new people or become part of a new group, we adapt. We connect through shared interests, experiences, and energy. So each version of me exists because it has met a different kind of person, in a different setting.

It doesn’t feel exhausting, because I’m not pretending to be someone else. It’s still me—just expressed differently depending on the people I’m with.

It’s like dressing for different occasions. You may look completely different each time, but you’re still the same person underneath.

Have you ever done something even when you knew it might break you?

I have. I’ve stayed in relationships that had no real future, taken risks that could easily backfire, done things I was warned against, and held onto friendships long after I knew they wouldn’t last. And if you ask me whether I regret any of it, the answer is still no.

Because every single one of those moments was a choice.

A choice to live a life with fewer “what ifs.” A choice to experience joy, even if it was temporary, instead of avoiding it altogether out of fear. Sometimes, the fleeting happiness is worth more than a lifetime of playing it safe.

It’s a bit like drinking alcohol—you know the next day might come with a hangover, but in that moment, the high feels worth it. And maybe that’s what life is about. Not avoiding the fall, but deciding which highs are worth the risk.

What’s the point of living if you’re too afraid to experience it fully—the good and the bad?

I have been thinking about how some relationships are so short lived, yet they leave the deepest impact. May be thats what makes it so beautiful.

It reminds me of day & night. They are never meant to exist together, and yet they meet, briefly, at dawn and dusk. And in that short meeting, they create something incredibly beautiful. Maybe some connections are meant to be like that - never permanent, just intense in the moments they exist.

I have had long term relationships. Those feel different. They take time to build, layer by layer. The emotions are steadier, more balanced. You get the chance to work things through, to understand each other, to grow into something that feels safe. They become a kind of comfort - something you can rest in.

But the short lived ones, they feel like a completely different world. Everything happens so fast. You get close too quickly, feel things more intensely, you take risks you normally wouldn't. Its almost like a high - you're fully in it, fully alive. At the same time, there's this quiet awareness that i wont last. Still you don't hold back, you choose to live it anyway.