I’ve never really had the right words to explain what I feel during certain moments. But maybe I don’t need perfect words, because the truth is, I just. And sometimes, those feelings come out in the form of tears. Not because I’m sad, but because I’m overwhelmed by how soft and full life can be. Like during sunsets. I don’t know why exactly, but something about sunsets gets to me. Maybe it’s how everything slows down for a while. How the sky changes colours from oranges to pinks to purples, and suddenly, it’s like my heart exhales. I hold it together all day, and somehow, the sky letting the sun so gently makes me let go. Or maybe it’s just the peace. The sense that, for a few minutes, the world is holding its breath.
I cry during sunsets because it reminds me that I made it through another day, even if it was messy or hard. They also show me that there’s still beauty left in the world, even when things feel heavy. And sometimes, against all odds and all logic, I cry because I still hope. As much as sunsets can look like endings, I think they’re actually about beginnings. Bern Williams once said it best, “It is almost impossible to watch a sunset and not dream.”
It’s not just sunsets, though. I find myself crying during what most people would call “normal things.” A warm cup of coffee on a rainy day. A view of mountains that somehow makes me feel like I belong there. The sound of birds early in the morning before the world starts rushing. Flowers blooming in random corners. Waves crashing while I sit quietly, just being.
Sometimes it’s something really simple. Like when a toddler runs up to me with their arms wide open, or when a small kid hugs me out of nowhere. When I smile at someone, and they smile back. Or when a stranger compliments my outfit or the way I’ve styled my hijab, not just for how it looks, but because they see me. I don’t know how, but those moments make me emotional. They make me feel seen, appreciated and alive.
There’s a particular kind of emotion that hits me when I see two people in love, not just in love, but also individually thriving, chasing their dreams, building their careers and making time for each other without holding the other back. That kind of love makes me believe that maybe it is possible to have both ambition and softness. Dreams and love. And maybe one day, I’ll have that too. I’ve cried while opening textbooks, too. It’s not just exam stress (although that’s very real). It’s more about knowing I’m studying something that generations of girls before me didn’t always get to. There was a time when women weren’t expected to take up space in classrooms or boardrooms. So every time I feel overwhelmed, I remind myself, I’m here because they weren’t. And even when it’s hard, I carry that with pride.
Some days, it’s the little things that hit me. Finishing a really good book after a long day. Having to wake up early when I really just want to sleep in, or when Monday rolls around and I feel like I’m still catching my breath. Sometimes I cry when I have to leave home after the holidays, packing my bags and going back to my “home away from home” is never easy. It’s that weird ache of missing something while still being grateful for it.
And honestly, I get emotional just looking out the window during rush hour: so many people and so many lives. Every person walking past me has their own struggles, memories, heartbreaks and joys. Everyone’s carrying something silently, and sometimes just knowing that is enough to make me tear up.
And then there’s the dreamer in me. I cry because I dream deeply, wildly, and sometimes beyond what feels possible. I dream of walking through cherry blossoms in Japan, roaming the souks of Marrakech with a film camera, eating a pain au chocolate while strolling by the Seine, sipping chai at a roadside stall in India and tasting freshly made pasta in a Nonna-Run restaurant in Rome.
I want slow mornings in a Parisian apartment with fresh croissants, quiet moments in a Viennese café with a slice of Sacher torte, the chaos of Times Square and caffeine-fueled walks through Hyde Park. I want to experience the thrill of an F1 race weekend at Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi and run barefoot along a white sand beach in Australia, with sand sticking to my skin and not a care in the world. I want to chase hot air balloons at golden hour in Cappadocia and zipline over the forests of Montenegro. I want it all. And sometimes, just wanting makes me emotional because wanting means I still believe there’s more out there for me: more beauty, more life, more moments that will make me cry in all the best ways.
But then reality checks me. So instead, I open LinkedIn and start looking for jobs because dreams need funding, apparently. Still, even when life gets practical, the dreamer in me refuses to dim. And that contrast between reality and possibility that quiet hope that I’ll one day get to live all the stories I see in my head is enough to make me cry, too. And honestly, that’s life. It’s not always big events or huge turning points. Sometimes it’s just a sunset. A soft memory. A baby’s laugh. A stranger’s smile. A compliment that stays with you all day. A friend who texts, “Did you get home safe?” A kind cashier. A good cup of coffee.
Big dreams and small glimpses of the life you’re building even if you’re not there yet. I do cry during sunsets and a bunch of other normal things. And honestly, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
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