I’ve thought about this before. And honestly? I might get a little greedy about how I wish life could be in an alternate universe.
In that universe, I live in a quiet little village or small town, somewhere tucked between mountains and open fields, where mornings are slow and the sky feels wider. It wouldn’t be crowded with skyscrapers like the city I live in now—just open space, fresh air, and time.
Over there, I don’t own many things. I probably don’t need to. I like to imagine that currency doesn’t mean much, and inflation isn’t the daily worry it is here. Life moves at a gentler, steadier pace—no back-to-back meetings, no endless to-do lists.
I’d start my mornings in a sun-drenched kitchen with wooden counters and mismatched mugs. There’s always warm tea brewing, a sleepy cat on the windowsill, a dog running around the house… and maybe even a hamster. (Told you I’d be greedy—LOL.)
I’d run a small café-bookstore, with shelves lined with plants and handwritten labels on glass jars. The menu is simple—homey food made with ingredients I’ve grown in my own little garden. People would come not just for coffee, but for conversation, a bit of stillness, or to write on the old postcards I leave in a basket by the door. There’d be a corner for journaling, and on some evenings, I’d host little dinners with neighbours, barbecues out in the fields, or film screenings under fairy lights.
I’d still write—probably even more than I do now. I’d blog, I’d fill notebooks with thoughts I don’t plan to share, and I’d send long, meandering emails to friends who live by the sea or in cities I’ve never been to. I’d cook simple food, snap pictures of my lunch, and write about what it reminds me of—like sweet corn ice cream, or my grandparents’ soy sauce noodles.
I’d still travel—but not to escape. I’d go to learn, listen, and breathe in new air. I’d visit markets, sit quietly in temples, and always bring home something small—a stone, a scent, or a sentence I heard in passing.
And even in that world, life wouldn’t be perfect. I’d still get overwhelmed. There would still be days where I stay in bed a little longer. But I think I’d laugh a little more, cry a little softer, and truly understand what it means to live fully—even in the quiet.
What about yours?
Ashes in the Light 
Leave a comment