After school, my friends began to move forward.
One by one, they found jobs. Some complained about long hours, others about small salaries, but they were working. They were becoming. They were moving.
And I was still there.
Days turned into months. Months folded quietly into years.
For five long years, I searched and waited. I applied, followed up, hoped, and tried again. Each rejection felt personal. Each silence felt loud. I smiled and celebrated others while quietly questioning myself.
I wondered what I had done wrong.
I wondered if I had been forgotten.
I wondered if my life had somehow missed its turn.
There were days I felt invisible—days when effort seemed pointless and faith felt heavy. I carried my disappointment quietly because explaining it was exhausting. How do you tell people you are trying your best when your best looks like standing still?
But even in that stillness, something was happening.
Then, one day, the waiting ended.
When the opportunity finally came, it didn’t come small. It came whole. It came fitting. It came with growth, purpose, and a sense of alignment I could not ignore. The work stretched me, fulfilled me, and reminded me of who I was becoming.
So much so that I forgot the years I had not worked.
The waiting no longer felt like punishment. It felt like preparation.
What I once called delay revealed itself as protection.
What I thought was loss turned out to be timing.
Looking back now, I understand that my journey did not lag behind others, it followed its own path. And though it took five years to arrive, when it did, it arrived fully.
That is when I finally made peace with the waiting.
That is when I understood that life does not reward speed it honours readiness.
And that is when I knew, without doubt, that patience is indeed a virtue.
