A few years ago, I was living in a cramped dorm room after passing my third MB exams— a milestone that should’ve felt like victory. Instead, I felt defeated. My rent was overdue, and eating one decent meal a day felt like a luxury. I spent my days bouncing between friends’ rooms, hoping for a snack or a dinner invitation. Freelancing on Upwork, I was chasing content gigs that could change my life, but the opportunities were rare, and I wasn’t consistent enough to seize them. I borrowed money, failed to repay, and was overwhelmed by distractions. Depression quietly settled in, and my mind and room were both messy. I played table tennis or scrolled endlessly, trying to escape a reality that felt too heavy to bear. The worst part wasn’t hunger or debt— it was the gnawing feeling that life was moving on without me. I convinced myself I’d start living once things got better on their own— once I had money, stability, and a way out. But that never came.
A few years ago, while living in a cramped college dorm room, I had just cleared my third MB exams— a milestone that should have felt like a victory. But instead of pride or excitement, I felt defeated. Hopeless, even. My rent was overdue, and eating one decent meal a day felt like a luxury. Most days, I wandered from one friend’s room to another, hoping I’d catch them mid-snack or about to say grace for dinner.
I was freelancing at the time, trying to land content writing gigs on Upwork that I believed could change my life. But opportunity rarely knocked— and when it did, I wasn’t consistent enough to answer. I’d borrow money, then fail to repay— not from deceit, but because I simply couldn’t keep up. I wanted to follow through on my plans, but distractions were everywhere, and my energy was nowhere. I lived in a constant state of mental and emotional fog.
Worse still, I was drowning in clutter— both in my room and in my mind. Depression had started to set in, quietly, subtly. My room was a mess. I looked disheveled most days, and my friends weren’t shy about pointing it out. I spent hours playing table tennis or scrolling my phone screen endlessly, trying to escape a reality that felt far too heavy to shoulder.
The most painful part wasn’t the hunger or the unpaid debts— it was the feeling that life was moving on without me. There were no signs that things would look up soon. I was stuck. I convinced myself that the universe had dealt me a bad hand: my mom had lost her job at the time, and I was left to fend for myself in school. I had a thousand excuses on standby, each one more convincing than the last. I told myself I’d start living once I had money. Once I had stability. Once things got better on their own.
But here’s what I now know: things don’t just get better on their own! You must change first. And until you do, nothing else moves. I had unknowingly prolonged my suffering by folding my arms and hoping life would change while I remained the same. It wasn’t until I decided to stop complaining, stop waiting, and start owning my choices— messy as they were at first— that I began to climb out of that hole.
Here’s what I now know: things don’t just get better on their own! You must change first.
No matter how hard or dark your life feels right now, improvement is never impossible. Life can always get better— but only when you decide. The future is often just the compounded effect of our current habits. It’s a natural law that the moment one breaks free from destructive patterns and takes conscious steps toward growth, real transformation begins.
The future is often just the compounded effect of our current habits.