Write for the bad things, that are past

I've often questioned whether my English is good enough to fully express myself. Despite this, I strive to practice as much as possible, seeking every opportunity to improve.

I've spent countless hours pondering the roots of my depression. The thought of seeking death recurs in cycles, not as a threat, but as a genuine consideration. After a long nap, whether late at night or in the morning, I no longer blame myself. I think about animals, who endure hunger and pain yet cling fiercely to life. They never actively seek death, worry about the future, and never compare themselves to others. They live purely for survival, embodying mindfulness.

My hatred of people often turns into self-loathing. I've realized that much of life's pain stems from human interactions: between family members, friends, strangers, and acquaintances. I'm frequently ashamed of my past actions.

Until the existence of Master Minh Tuệ, his presence shattered my beliefs about desire, pain, ambition, ego, and fear. Is my trauma truly significant when there is a person who doesn't even need a delicious meal or a good night's sleep? Is my sadness justified?

Discovering Laozi's concept of wu-wei was a blessing. I was trapped in hedonism, constantly questioning if I deserved happiness. A plastic bottle of Coke, a pair of jeans, the scooter I ride, and the concrete house I live in which I used to think are cruel and destructive to the environment, disgusting lust – accepting these as aspects of wu-wei brought me peace. I also tried to adopt a broader perspective on pain, seeing it as an inevitable part of life. Stoicism had introduced me to this idea, but it wasn't enough to transform past pain into peace.

Despite my efforts to let go, I fear forgetting my dreams. My childhood aspirations faded when confronted with reality. Although my concept of happiness has evolved, it doesn't mean I feel happy. I have passions and aspirations, clinging to the dreams of youth that slipped away when I wasn't strong enough to pursue them.

My cousin constantly reminds me of these dreams. She hopes I achieve more while her life is limited by marriage and kids. But I tell her, I'm not sure... We often believe we are the main characters in our lives, with our pain and desires being the standard. Many don't realize that torment comes from focusing too much on themselves. Narcissism is the best way to hurt yourself.

I think my cousin regrets her youthful dreams, but she has learned to accept and find happiness by shifting her focus to others, with her children now as the main characters. But then what? Is she truly happy with her life?