Odessa Zara's

While rummaging for a certification, memories flooded back to my school days—a time of achievements, certificates, trophies, and medals scattered around like confetti. Yet, a thought struck me: "Aren't these certificates just paper?" Not entirely wrong, but it feels a tad off. Past-me, the Zara of yesteryears, must be rolling her eyes. I find myself projecting the 'bad' present Zara onto those innocent past versions. In my mind, those Zaras didn't know a day off. Monday to Friday was all about school and tutoring, with olympiads and competitions filling every free moment. Weekends were dedicated to more olympiad classes or college exam tryouts. Present me, thought waking up at 5 AM and getting home at 10 PM was a feat. Yet, here I am questioning the purpose of all those certificates. How pitiful, am I? Those past Zaras would probably be furious with me. But the truth is, I am the one who assign meaning to them, or the one who let them gather dust. It's my