I don’t quite know how to explain what I’m feeling right now. All I know is that I miss you.
In just a few days, we’ll be celebrating Eid. I’m happy, truly happy but there’s also this deep sadness sitting right beside the joy. Every time Eid approaches, the same heavy feeling returns, and it’s hard to shake. It’s not about what people might say or think about me. It’s something quieter and more personal: the sense that my life still doesn’t feel complete.
I watch my parents growing older, and it makes me think too much. Am I doing enough to make them happy? Will I ever be able to turn their dreams into reality? I worry that I haven’t become the child they hoped for, even though I know deep down that my mother would never judge me, no matter what path I choose. She loves me as I am. Still, the doubt lingers, and it hurts.
And then there’s you.
You’re the reason the sadness feels sharper this time. I miss the friend I used to talk to every night, no matter how exhausted I was. You were the one person I could always turn to, the one who made sharing everything feel easy and safe. Now the holidays stretch ahead without you, and they feel emptier because of it.
I miss traveling with you. I miss creating those small, sweet moments together. I miss the way we could enjoy everything side by side.
I know everyone makes mistakes, and I’ve already chosen to let the past stay in the past. I’ve learned from what happened, and I truly believe we need to forgive each other. But forgiveness doesn’t erase longing. It doesn’t bring back the latenight conversations, the shared adventures, or the simple comfort of knowing someone is there.
I understand I can travel alone now. I can make beautiful moments on my own and learn to love myself more deeply through them. That’s important, and I want to keep growing in that way.
But why does it still feel impossible to imagine those dreams without you? Why can’t we still make them real together? Why can’t we spend the holidays side by side, enjoying every little thing as we used to?
This Eid, I’ll smile for my family, pray with gratitude, and celebrate the blessings I do have. But in the quiet moments when the house is full of laughter and the table is covered with food, part of me will still be missing you.
And maybe that’s okay. Maybe missing someone this much is proof that what we shared was real.
I just wish you were here to feel the bittersweet with me.