Tonight, it is raining heavily.

Sitting here, listening to sad music, my thoughts somehow keep returning to my mother and father. Little things make me emotional. Sometimes, tears start falling without any clear reason. There is just this overwhelming sadness that I cannot seem to shake. Maybe all of this simply comes down to missing them.

There is something especially painful about missing people who are still here, people I can see and talk to but cannot be with whenever I want. Life has taken on a different shape now, with a husband, a child, and responsibilities that cannot simply be left behind. Going home whenever I miss my parents is no longer an option. Even a visit requires thinking about the cost of a ticket, which can sometimes be painfully expensive. And I hate that. Adulthood means there are so many things I cannot do, no matter how badly I want to.

If only time could stop. To be a child again, a daughter living happily with my mother and father, without worrying about them growing older, becoming weaker, or falling ill. To live in a world where nothing changes and nobody ever has to leave. The thought of them growing old hurts. The thought of them getting sick hurts even more. It feels unfair that the world keeps taking things away from us. All I want is for us to stay together, happy and safe, as though time has stopped and nothing bad could ever happen. But I know life doesn't work that way.

There is a part of me that deeply hates my younger self. So many decisions now seem stupid in retrospect, especially the choice to live far away from my parents. Perhaps, back then, having a life of my own seemed important. Making my own choices felt right, without fully understanding what it would mean to spend so many years away from the people who raised me.

Getting older seems to bring a certain kind of wisdom, one that often arrives later than it should.

So many things that once seemed difficult to understand have started making sense. My mother's advice, her decisions, and the things I might have resisted when I was younger keep coming back to me. Looking at them now, so many of them seem right. Sometimes, the thought of going back in time brings an overwhelming wish to change the way I saw everything.

Different thoughts, different decisions. Perhaps a greater effort to understand my mother before time made me realize just how precious those moments were. If only I had known I would feel this way, perhaps a different path would have been chosen. But I didn't know. And that is what makes me so angry with myself. There is no returning to those days, no undoing the choices already made. All that remains is the knowledge that some things are finally clear now, even though they weren't back then.

Wisdom has come with regret.

Sometimes, the person I am today is hard to accept because of all the regret I carry. Yet there is also resentment toward the person I was back then, the one who simply didn't know any better. Life is different now, with a child of my own. Being a mother, a wife, and a daughter all at once means carrying so many roles, thinking about so many things, and managing responsibilities that never seem to end. But tonight, being a mother is the last thing I want. Being a wife feels just as exhausting. All I want is to be a daughter. To have my mother and father close by. To go home and feel that I don't always have to be the grown-up who knows what to do. To be near them without calculating how long I can stay, when I must leave, or how long it will be before we see each other again. To be their daughter forever.

Of course, there is love for my child and a family that needs to be cared for. Still, a part of me is tired of constantly growing up, moving forward, and accepting that everything will eventually change. Sometimes, I just want someone to take care of me, too. A place to return to, not only as a mother responsible for her child, but as a daughter who still needs her parents. Is it wrong to want that?

Is it wrong to wish I could put down all my responsibilities for a while and return to the person I used to be, when my mother and father were still the people I could always come home to? There is no clear answer. All I know is that tonight, I miss them terribly. And the more I think about it, the more frightened I become by the possibility that there may not be enough time left. Living far away means I cannot visit as often as I would like. Tickets cost too much to make every visit possible whenever the longing becomes unbearable. So many things must be considered before a trip can happen. Meanwhile, time keeps moving. How many more chances will there be to sit beside them, hear their voices, share a meal, or simply be in the same house without needing a special reason? Things that once seemed ordinary now feel incredibly precious.

There is a fear that one day, even more regrets will follow. There may be things left unsaid, words that never find their way out. Perhaps one day, the desire to go home will be stronger than ever, only for everything to be different from the way it is today. And making peace with that possibility feels almost impossible.

The past is something I desperately want to change, yet the future I still have is something I am terrified of losing.

Living with my parents, perhaps with my child beside me, and building a life where we can be closer to one another sounds like a dream. But there is another life already built, too. A husband, responsibilities, and so many things that cannot simply be ignored.

There is no certainty about which decision would be right. What is certain, though, is the exhaustion of feeling so far away from the people I love most.

Tonight, my thoughts have even wandered to heaven. If heaven really exists, would it be possible to stop time there? To live with my mother and father forever? Could my child be there with us, too? Could we live peacefully and happily, without the fear of growing old, falling ill, or losing one another? Sometimes, a simple life is all I can imagine: my child, my mother, my father, and me, living together under one roof. No more worrying about expensive tickets just to see them. No more long goodbyes or counting the days until the next visit. Just us, together, living a peaceful life. A happily ever after.

But after imagining such a beautiful possibility, another thought creeps in, and it frightens me. What if heaven really exists, but I am not allowed to enter it? What if I end up in hell because I am not a good person? The feeling of being a bad daughter, a bad wife, and a bad mother becomes difficult to ignore. There are so many flaws, so many mistakes, and so many things that still need to be worked on. Tonight, they all seem like evidence of being an inadequate human being. And that thought makes me furious.

There is anger toward the decisions made in the past, toward the realization that so many things only became clear when it was too late to change them, and toward the impossibility of returning to a time when there were still so many opportunities to choose differently. There is even a fear that, after everything, a happy ending might never come. Nobody truly knows what happens after death or whether heaven is anything like the place imagined in these quiet moments. All that remains tonight is the wish for somewhere time can stop, where the people we love can stay with us, and where losing them is no longer something to fear. Perhaps there is simply a desperate need to believe that somewhere, life can feel lighter than it does right now.

Perhaps someday, this diary will be read again, and all these fears will seem like only a small part of a much longer life. Maybe the world will make more sense then. Maybe a way to live closer to my parents will eventually be found. Perhaps, with time, it will become possible to accept that the past cannot be changed, while the time that remains can still be shaped into something meaningful.

Or perhaps, one day, these words will be read again when my mother and father are much older, bringing tears to my eyes as I remember how afraid I was of losing them even while they were still here.

There is no certainty about any of it. For now, all these feelings simply need somewhere to exist.

If someone happens to find this diary someday, I hope they will understand that there was once a night when missing my parents hurt so much that I wished time would stop. That there was deep regret over so many past decisions, and a longing to be a child again. That even in the middle of life as a mother and a wife, there was still a daughter who wanted nothing more than to live with her mother and father. And that, once upon a time, the passing of time was terrifying, self-blame was overwhelming, and wondering whether I had been a good enough person was exhausting.

Tonight, there are no answers to any of these questions.