25 Things I Learned in 2025

learning how to stay, leave, and begin again

CLRJNBADIL• January • 5 min read

A quarter-life crisis. The prefrontal cortex fully develops.

There is a quiet shift that happens when you reach a certain age. You begin to look back not with regret, but with empathy, knowing you were learning lessons only time could teach. You realize it was your first time living, your first time learning how to exist

As 2025 ends, these are the 25 lessons it left me with.

1. it looked like the one I prayed for, but that doesn’t mean it was my answered prayer.

It looked like the job I had been praying for. The position, the team, the opportunity—it all felt like an answer I had been waiting for.

But it wasn’t mine to keep. The role couldn’t give me the growth I needed, the path I was meant to take. Its timing didn’t match mine, and I had to let it go.

I felt the sting of almost—almost the perfect job, almost the career I imagined—but I also felt a quiet acceptance.

Because sometimes, letting go doesn’t mean failure. Sometimes, it means learning, growing, and making space for the opportunity that is truly meant for you.

2. all along, I was already pretty.

For the first time in my life, I changed the color of my hair. I looked in the mirror and realized something quiet but powerful: I am not ugly. I am just lazy. I hadn’t given myself the care I deserved. I hadn’t put in the effort to show the beauty that was already there.

Everywhere you look, the world whispers that you are not enough. Buy this to be pretty. Wear that to be wanted. Become this to be seen. Society teaches you that “enough” is always one step away and you believe it, because the reminders are everywhere: billboards, screens, filters and mirrors. A quiet, constant voice telling you that you are lacking.

But here is the truth: you are enough. God created you exactly the way He wanted you to be. The beauty you’ve been chasing was quietly waiting inside you the whole time. The beauty you were looking for was never in someone else’s eyes—it was always within you.

3. individuality is often misunderstood.

Everyone thinks you’re weird because you have your own world. You see things differently, think differently, move differently—and people who can’t hear your music call it strange.

As Nietzsche said, “ And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.”

Individuality is often misunderstood. What feels natural, joyful, or necessary to you may look odd to others. But the truth is, your world, your rhythm, your way of being—that’s yours alone.

And sometimes, being “weird” is just a sign that you are listening to your own music, and living your own life, unapologetically.

4. in a world where you can be anything, choose kindness

I was crossing the crosswalk when I saw a man searching for something in the middle of the busy street. We made eye contact, and it felt like he had something to say—but decided not to. I continued walking.

A few seconds later, he called my name. He looked like my father—the same oversized shirt, the same baggy pants, the same burnt skin. He told me he had lost his wallet and couldn’t go home because all his money was there.

I listened to his story. He was close to tears. At first, I didn’t offer help, because sometimes people just want someone to listen. But this time, he needed more.

He asked if I had any extra cash to pay for the bus fare. I told him I didn’t carry cash (it’s my father who usually does), but if he could wait, I would withdraw money. He said he would.

I withdrew the cash, gave it to him, and told him to eat something.

He thanked me many times and asked how he could pay me back. I told him he didn’t have to. I watched him walk away, feeling a quiet sense of connection and the simple truth that sometimes helping is enough.

And one thing I realized in that moment—aside from bringing cash all the time—is that being kind isn’t heavy. It didn’t feel like a burden at all. In fact, I felt happy watching him walk away, his steps a little lighter, his relief visible even from behind.

In that situation, I didn’t help him so he could pay me back. I helped because I hoped that if something like this ever happened to my father—he was always on the road—someone would help him just as readily, without questioning him, without mocking him, without making him feel small.

I prayed that if my father were ever in need, there would be a kind stranger who would extend a hand like a daughter helping her father—patient, gentle, and trusting. And in that prayer, I realized that small acts of kindness can carry so much love, even for people we don’t know.

5. until death, all defeat is psychological

When I quit my job, it felt like I lost everything at once. I went home hoping that home would give me answers. Instead, a few days later, my grandmother died. It was the first time in my life that I felt myself losing control.

I had no job, no plan B. My college classmates were in flight school, moving forward, while I stood still. And for the first time in my life, I had to buy flowers—not for celebration, but for my grandmother’s funeral.

I was losing it all. I hit rock bottom. But even then, I realized something: as long as I am breathing, I can still change the game. Nothing is final until my last breath.

As Coach Anzai said in Slam Dunk: “If you give up, that’s the end of the game.”

6. you’re not behind — you’re on your own timeline

They took the aeronautical licensure exam. Some of them went to flight school. And here I am, stuck in these four corners I never wanted in the first place.

I used to feel behind. Everybody else seemed to be moving forward, chasing dreams, hitting milestones, while I was stuck.

And then it hit me: I am the one who set these imaginary deadlines.

I am not behind. I am exactly where I am meant to be. I am on my own timeline—one that only I can set, one that only I can follow.

No one else’s pace defines me. No one else’s path dictates my steps. I am here. I am growing. I am on time.

I will get there but right now I am here.

7. 1+1 =11

I’ve never had a boyfriend, not because I’m waiting to be saved or because I’m afraid of love, but because I don’t want to choose someone out of need. I want to choose someone because I genuinely want to.

I don’t believe in entering a relationship to feel complete. I’m already whole on my own. I have my routines, my quiet joys, my boring days that I’ve learned to love. If I ever let someone into my life, it won’t be to fill a gap—it will be to share what I already have.

I want an us that doesn’t erase the me. I don’t need someone to rescue me or fix my life. I just want someone who will walk beside me, not ahead of me, not behind me.

So for now, I’m not in a relationship. Not because love isn’t welcome—but because when it comes, I want it to be a choice, not a necessity. And when I finally say yes, it will be because I’m ready to ask, quietly and honestly: will you run away with me?

8. it's God's will at the end

I met a man last July, and somehow our conversation drifted to marriage. He told me he was ready to settle down, but he hadn’t found the right woman—the one he could choose every day for a lifetime. I told him I didn’t believe in marriage. It sounded certain, almost final, but it was a lie. The truth is, I do want to get married—just not now. Maybe in five years.

His readiness, my delay—we were like two ships passing in the night. Life rarely aligns perfectly. We can plan, we can hope, we can even convince ourselves of certainty, but some things are beyond control. That’s where the quote comes in: it’s God’s will at the end. It isn’t about giving up on what we desire; it’s about trusting that the right moment, the right person, and the right path will appear when the time is right.

In the meantime, we keep moving, learning, and preparing ourselves. The waiting isn’t wasted—it’s part of the journey, part of the plan, part of God’s will.

9. depression hates a moving target

Depression hates a moving target. It waits for stillness, for the moments when you believe your life has already been decided. So I move—not because I am healed, but because I am breathing. I move through grief, through uncertainty, through days that feel heavier than they should. I move even when I have no plan, even when everyone else seems ahead, even when all I have left is motion itself. Because as long as I am moving, the game is not over. And as long as I refuse to stop, defeat remains only a thought, never a fact.

I keep moving, even when I don’t know where I’m going, because depression hates a moving target.

10. to do things for the love of it

This website does not make me money. People always ask me, “Why are you doing it if there’s no income in return?” And my answer is simple: because I love it.

I love the act of creating, of sharing, of putting pieces of myself into something just because it feels right. I don’t need it to pay the bills, and I don’t need it to prove anything to anyone. My hobbies, my passions—they exist for me, not for profit. And sometimes, the freedom to do something purely for love is worth more than anything money could buy.

11. i did it out of love

Meeting you was not a coincidence. You needed to meet me so you could learn that you deserve to be loved, and I needed to meet you so I could learn that I deserve more.

You owe me nothing. I did not do it for love—I did it out of love. Anything I gave was never meant to make you love me; it was simply my way of letting you know that I loved you.

I don’t want a love that requires performance or manipulation. I want a love that chooses freely. Be a lover, be a yearner—feel fully, live fully. If love is real, it doesn’t need to be earned, proven, or negotiated.

What we shared may not have lasted, but it was honest. And that honesty is something I will always keep.

I needed to meet you, because God knew you were essential to my character development.

And if we are meant to meet again… I’ll see you later.

12. ending does not mean failure

I stayed in this school for seventeen months. I’m really thankful for the people who worked there—the people who took a chance on me, knowing I came from a different industry and had zero knowledge in this field. It was a risk for them professionally, and of course for the business side, too. But they gave me a fighting chance to prove that I deserved the opportunity they gave me.

But every story must come to an end. After two of my friends quit their jobs, I decided it was my time to leave as well. Everybody was telling me to wait until December, but my mind was already set. And to be honest, if I had stayed a little longer, I might have started a revolution—my horns were already showing. That was not a good sign. So I left, even though I wanted to stay a little longer.

Leaving made me feel like a failure. I felt like I failed the people who took a chance on me, the students who trusted that I would be there in every step of their journey, and even myself. I felt like I failed and betrayed myself. I could have done so much better if I had chosen to stay.

Leaving was heavy—like a lump lodged in my throat, like a weight pressing deep in my chest.

And looking back now, there is a quiet truth in that ache. Sometimes letting go of the hands that trusted you is not failure, but a step toward growth—and toward finding the parts of myself I had been missing.

13. the faster you get rejected, the closer you are to success.

Think about this: if you knew you would become a millionaire on your 20th try, you’d accept rejection a lot faster.

Rejection would mean nothing because the bag of success you’ve been dying for is waiting at the 20th level.

When I quit my previous job, I didn’t have a backup plan. I just told myself I would cross the bridge when I got there. But doing nothing for a month was depressing. Everybody seemed to be out there chasing their dreams, and I was just at home. I felt unproductive, so I decided to go back out and find my luck. It was a tough month because it was my first time really looking for a job after gaining experience.

One of the first schools I applied to was just 30 minutes away from home. It was very convenient, and I thought everything was in my favor. I went to the school, took their test, and to my surprise, I even perfected it. I thought I aced the interview too—but in the end, I was not hired. The reason was not disclosed. I was sad for only five minutes because I received a call saying I had my next interview in an hour, and another message informed me that I had a job orientation the next day.

My goal was to get hired by a good school, and the fact that this school didn’t hire me didn’t stop me from sending my resume to other schools, because I knew I was close. And the job orientation I attended? That school hired me.

Every rejection is a step forward, a necessary part of the climb toward your dreams.

14. be ridiculously optimistic about this life

This year felt like descending through every circle of hell, with each day revealing a new demon I never knew existed.

But this is what I want. It is a privilege to be dragged through every level of hell and still be allowed to feel—to experience love and hatred, guilt and leisure, despair and joy. This is my kind of optimism: believing that life is worth living not because it is gentle, but because it lets me feel everything. And if I were asked to do it all over again, I would still do it all over again.

That’s why I know it will work out one way or another.

I know I can because I am insane.

15. blessings never go to the wrong address

Blessings—big or small—never go to the wrong address. They arrive when it is their time.

It means that what is meant for you will find you, no matter the timing, the obstacles, or the chaos around you. Opportunities, good fortune, love, or guidance aren’t wasted—they are delivered to the person who is ready for them. Even if it feels like life is unfair or messy, the universe—or fate, or God—ensures that the things meant to lift you, teach you, or support you will arrive in your life when they are supposed to.

It carries a deep optimism: it’s a gentle reminder that you don’t have to chase every blessing desperately. Some things are already on their way, and what belongs to you will never get lost.

I looked at the rice, ordinary yet warm, comforting in a way I hadn’t expected. And then I thought about it: this rice didn’t just appear out of nowhere. It was planted months ago, carefully nurtured by hands that knew nothing of me. It grew under sun and rain, was harvested, polished, carried across distances, cooked with care—and all of that effort, all of that life, somehow converged to arrive on my table, here and now.

I ate the rice, smiling to myself, feeling a little lighter, a little seen, and infinitely grateful for the invisible journey that brought it to me.

16. know yourself intimately that no one's projection or judgement could ever disturb your reality of who you are

I just realized something, and it hits me all at once, like a wave I can’t hold back. I really know myself—deep down, at the core, in the quiet spaces of my mind where no one else has ever been. I know my fears, my mistakes, my weaknesses, and my strength. I know the ways I love, the ways I break, the ways I try and fail and try again. And suddenly it hits me: no one’s judgment, no one’s projection, no one’s opinion—none of it—can touch that.

Their words, their expectations, their ideas of me—they’re not mine. They’re just echoes of themselves, of their own fears and desires, bouncing off the walls of the world. And me? I am anchored. I am unshakable. I am whole in a way I’ve never allowed myself to be before, because I finally see it. The reality of who I am… it belongs to me alone.

And there’s a strange kind of freedom in that. A kind of lightness I didn’t know existed. I can breathe without carrying the weight of their assumptions. I can move through the world without fear that someone else’s image of me will fracture what I already know to be true.

I am me. Entirely. Fully. Untouchable.

17. one day someone will walk into your life and you'll finally understand why it couldn't have been someone else

This year, I met people—thrice the number of people I’ve known in my whole life. Faces, names, stories, fleeting connections, lasting impressions… it’s been overwhelming and beautiful all at once. I kept wondering why some of them stayed, why some left, and why some I couldn’t hold onto no matter how hard I tried.

And then it hit me, slowly, like sunlight through a window: one day, someone will walk into my life, and I’ll finally understand why it couldn’t have been anyone else. All those encounters, all those moments of connection and loss—they weren’t random. They were preparation. They were shaping me, quietly, for the right person, the right connection, at the right time.

I don’t know when that day will come. Maybe tomorrow, maybe years from now. But the thought brings a strange kind of peace. Life has been teaching me patience, resilience, and trust in timing. And when it happens, when that person finally arrives, it will feel like everything before them had a purpose—even the fleeting faces I barely remember.

18. i could never force you to choose me

I feel like this year has been a whirlwind of people, places, and moments. I’ve met so many faces—more than I can even remember—but each encounter left a mark, even the brief ones. Some made me laugh, some made me question myself, some quietly taught me lessons I didn’t even know I needed.

And then I realize something: I could never force anyone to choose me. Not my friends, not my lovers, not even the universe itself. Choice is sacred. Connection is sacred. Everything that comes willingly is the only thing worth holding onto.

It’s strange, though, because in accepting that, I feel lighter. I feel freer. The people who weren’t meant to stay? They were just chapters, not the whole story. And the story isn’t over. One day, someone will walk into my life, and I’ll see why every person before them had to pass. It will all make sense—the timing, the losses, the small joys, the heartbreaks.

For now, I keep moving, keep noticing, keep learning. Life has a way of giving what’s meant for me, exactly when it’s supposed to arrive. And I think I’m finally ready to receive it.

19. everything is a win when the goal is experience

Many people think the last three years of my life were a mistake—a waste of time, a loss of youth, a missed chance to build a stable career while I was still young enough to recover easily.

Sometimes, I believe them. There are nights when I count the versions of myself that stayed on track, the life that looks cleaner and more respectable on paper, and it hurts that I don’t have a neat explanation to offer. No straight line, no impressive title—just detours, pauses, and uncertainty.

But I wasn’t doing nothing; I was living inside the confusion, learning how to fail quietly, how to begin again without applause, how to choose survival over pride.

Everything is a win when the goal is experience. Even the years that weakened my confidence taught me how to sit with myself without running.

Maybe I lost time. Maybe I arrived later than expected. But I arrived knowing myself—and that feels like a different kind of advantage.

20. you not finding me attractive is not going to stop me from being attractive

I’m a very curious person, and whenever I meet someone, I usually ask questions—I want to learn how things work, how they think, what they do.

But then I met this one guy. I introduced myself, ready to ask my usual questions, when he immediately told me, “You’re not my type.”

At first, I felt my ego bruise a little. But then I reminded myself: him not finding me attractive doesn’t make me any less attractive.

Attractiveness isn’t about one person’s approval—it’s about how I carry myself, the energy I bring, and the confidence I own. Just because someone else doesn’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there.

Curiosity, passion, confidence, kindness—those are what make me shine. And no one’s opinion can take that away.

I will continue sparkling.

And, if I’m honest… I was itching to tell him that his eyebrows were so ugly.

21. appreciate everything

I did not end up with the life I once wanted—the version I imagined was clearer, steadier, and easier to explain.

Still, I appreciate everything I have: the people who stayed when I was unsure of myself, the lessons learned from wrong turns, the strength built in quiet survival, and the freedom to begin again without being hollow.

I am grateful for a mind that kept searching, a heart that softened instead of hardened, and a body that carried me through uncertainty.

I appreciate the small consistencies—morning light, familiar streets, conversations that grounded me, and the chance to try again tomorrow. It isn’t the life I planned, but it is a life that shaped me, and that makes it worth appreciating.

I did not get everything I wanted—jobs I hoped for didn’t come through, I faced rejection, and I left opportunities behind. Yet, I appreciate everything I have: the job I have now that allows me to live rent-free, the people who supported me, the lessons learned from every “no” and every mistake, and all the little things that made life here in this world a little easier. Even the hardships—rejection, uncertainty, detours—taught me resilience, patience, and perspective. I may not have the life I dreamed of, but I have enough to grow, to learn, and to keep moving forward. And for that, I am grateful.

22. no one is really watching

I would have done a lot of things if I realized this earlier. No one is watching.

The thing that really holds us back from doing something—even if we really like it—is that we are afraid people will see us and judge us. So we end up doing nothing because being seen and judged is one of the heartbreaks that takes time to heal.

But here’s the thing: no one is really watching you. I mean, maybe for a split second they saw you, but these very same people will go back to themselves. They don’t really care because they are also busy thinking if someone is watching them.

And one thing I hate about this is that if you think someone is watching you, you forget your authentic self because you start performing for an audience. You need to remember: you are not performing for anybody, but for yourself.

So go. Do the thing your heart whispers for. Do the things that make your soul hum,
that make your chest rise with life. Do the things that remind you why living is worth every breath.

Nobody is watching. Nobody cares. Only you matter here.

23. chase everything but love and death — they will find you in time.

I’ve spent years exploring different paths—trying jobs, facing rejection, leaving opportunities behind.

I couldn’t force the career I imagined for myself, and for a long time, that felt like failure.

But slowly, I learned to sit with uncertainty, to let life unfold without holding it too tightly. I chased everything I could—growth, experience, survival, understanding—because those were things I could reach for. The rest—love, recognition, the sense that life is “perfect”—would come in its own time.

Looking back, I see that focusing on living, learning, and adapting wasn’t wasted.

Every detour, every closed door, every small victory prepared me for the things that truly matter.

When love, opportunity, or fulfillment finds me, it will mean more—because I didn’t chase it blindly. I was here, doing the work, showing up, surviving, and becoming. That feels like progress, even if it doesn’t look like what I imagined.

24. you can be completely alone and be at your lowest and the world will keep spinning

There are moments when I feel completely alone—so low that it feels like I might never get up again. In those moments, it’s terrifying to realize that the world doesn’t stop for me. The sun still rises, people still move on with their lives, and everything I feel so intensely goes unnoticed. Life doesn’t wait.

It’s a harsh truth, but maybe that’s what makes it freeing. I don’t have to wait for someone to rescue me, or for the world to pause, or for everything to be perfect. I can survive in my own rhythm, even at my lowest, because the world’s spinning reminds me that time moves forward, and so can I.

Being alone, being broken, being lost—it doesn’t define the end of my story. It’s just a chapter. And even when it hurts, I am still here. I am still breathing. I can still rise.

You got to stand for yourself because at the end of the day, the only person left to root for you is you.

25. no one will ever love you the way you wanted to be loved

I’ve been thinking about love today—how I’ve always wanted it, imagined it, measured it against some invisible standard in my mind. And the truth is, no one will ever love me the way I wanted to be loved. Not exactly. People love with the tools they have, with the understanding they’ve built from their own lives. That’s not their fault, and it’s not mine either.

So I realize now—it’s my job to love myself the way I wanted to be loved. To give myself patience when I fail, kindness when I hurt, and the understanding I once searched for in someone else. I can’t rely on others to fill the gaps I’ve carried for years. They will love me as they know how; it’s up to me to love myself as I need.

It feels heavy at first, this responsibility. But there’s also freedom in it. Freedom from waiting. Freedom from disappointment. Freedom to finally meet myself the way I’ve always wanted to be met. I think this is what growing up really is: realizing that love is not about perfection, not about fulfillment from others, but about the quiet, steady work of tending to your own heart.

If I wanted flowers, I should start my own garden.

bonus: we will all die one day, but live everyday

2025 taught me a lot about endings—how fragile life can be, how plans can crumble, and how people leave, disappoint, or fail to meet my expectations. I met more people this year than I have in my entire life, and I realized that not everyone will love me the way I wanted to be loved. That’s not a loss—it’s a lesson. It’s up to me to love myself, to give myself the patience, kindness, and care I’ve been waiting for.

I learned that growth doesn’t happen in comfort; it happens in chaos, in uncertainty, in the quiet moments when no one is watching. I stumbled, I lost control, I faced fears I never imagined, but I also discovered resilience I didn’t know I had. Every disappointment, every “no,” every unexpected twist was a teacher.

And now, looking toward 2026, I carry one truth with me: life is fleeting, but it is mine to live. We will all die one day, but live every day. If I want flowers, I should start my own garden. I can’t wait for the perfect moment, the perfect person, or the perfect answer. I have to plant, water, and nurture my own joy, curiosity, and courage.

2026 will not be about perfection. It will be about presence, about choosing to live fully, even when I don’t have all the answers. I want to wake up each day, aware of my fragility, but ready to embrace the beauty, the challenges, and the unknown that comes with being alive.

This is my promise to myself: to love, to grow, to create, to live—and to do it every single day.

Thank you for staying with me until the end!

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