They say, "You must be so proud of how far you've come," and I smile. Because I don't know how to tell them that my younger self would be disappointed. The version of me who thought success was inevitable, who always scored At, who believed effort always paid off, he'd look at me now and wonder where it all went wrong. I used to chase perfection like it was oxygen. Now I'm just trying to breathe. Somewhere between enduring and surviving, Host that fire he had. And I wish I could tell him that I tried, that sometimes trying still ends in failure. But I can't. So I just smile and let everyone believe I'm proud.