This year won’t be about achievement.
It won’t be about proving anything to anyone.
Not to tutors. Not to institutions. Not even to myself.

This is the year I let the slow burn happen.

I’ve chosen not to return to a place that couldn’t see me.
And for the first time in years, I’m not carrying the full weight of daily parenting.
Right now, I have 30% of that responsibility — and while I still show up as a father with love and presence, I finally have space to breathe.

And I don’t need to fill it.
I just need to inhabit it.

There’s no urgency anymore. No frantic grasping for identity.
I’m not abandoning myself to stay afloat.

Instead, I’m staying still — and letting the fire of becoming do its quiet work.

This isn’t the year I collapse.
It’s the year I integrate.
The year I choose slow over spectacle.
Truth over timelines.

And I don’t know what it will become —
But I trust that something real is taking shape beneath the silence.

So I’ll rest. I’ll write. I’ll feel.
And I’ll let the slow burn reshape me.