Maybe This Life Is a Borrowed Dream
- Cedric Habiyaremye
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
A Soul Letter from My Journey to Yours
Prelude
This letter was born in the quiet hours—
between reflection and remembrance.
It is a whisper of gratitude,
and a hand extended toward yours.
May it remind you of this:
You are not a burden.
Your breath is not an accident.
You are not alone—
the world holds you, even when you cannot feel it.
Even in your hardest moments,
life has been gently shaping you—
carving strength into your spirit,
like the way you stood up again after that loss,
even when you thought you couldn’t—
making room for your light.
You do not need to earn your worth.
You came into this world already worthy.
You do not need to have it all figured out
to be enough.
You already are.
Let this page be a pause—
a breath of grace.
Because your existence is a gift.
And you are living a story
that still matters.
❧
Dedication
To the ones who carried me.
To those who left too soon.
And to every soul learning to breathe again.
✦✦✦
Maybe This Life Is a Borrowed Dream
A Soul Letter by Cedric Habiyaremye
From the Soul Letter Series
A collection of reflections for the heart—written to awaken, to heal, and to remind us that we are never alone in our becoming.
Offered from my heart, in gratitude.
The Soul Letter
There are moments, quiet and still,
when I pause—
and the weight of this journey rises to the surface.
Not as sorrow.
Not as regret.
But as gratitude so full,
it almost aches.
I look back—not just to see how far I’ve come,
but to remember the hands
that helped me rise.
The teachers who saw light in me
when I was still trying to find it.
The mentors who gave me space
to grow into my voice.
The farmers who believed in the seeds,
before they had ever seen them bloom.
The communities who welcomed ideas
carried on the back of childhood prayers.
I stand on their shoulders.
And still—there were days
when life felt like too much.
Too heavy. Too cruel.
Too fragile.
But life, in its quiet wisdom,
taught me something sacred.
Maybe this life I live
is a dream someone else never got to finish.
A friend.
A family member.
A soul who left too soon.
What if my breath is borrowed?
What if my waking is their wish unfulfilled?
That awakening changed everything.
I realized—
I had been walking through miracles
without even noticing.
And in those moments of clarity,
I wish I could whisper to the boy I once was—
those hungry nights were planting a fire
you’d one day feel.
You didn’t know it then, but the ache in your belly
was a seed—quiet, holy, and full of purpose.
I had been waiting for life to begin,
while life had already begun.
Now, I count the days
not by achievements,
but by grace.
Not by status,
but by the softness in my spirit.
Not by how much I’ve gained,
but by how deeply I’ve learned to be present.
I choose to smile.
To stand tall.
To walk forward with intention.
Because each moment is a gift,
and every breath is a silent blessing.
Gratitude saved me.
It softened bitterness into perspective.
It turned wounds into wisdom—
but only after I let them speak.
Only after I wept through the weight
of what I could no longer carry.
Some pain won’t leave quietly.
It stays until we name it,
hold it,
and thank it for what it came to teach us.
It reminded me that I am not here by accident—
and neither are you.
So if you are hurting right now,
if the world feels loud,
and your dreams feel far away—
hear me.
You are not lost.
You are becoming.
You were not meant to merely survive.
You were meant to awaken.
To remember that your life—
even in its imperfection—
is still your sacred story.
I once felt invisible.
Unseen.
Unheard.
Uncertain.
There were days I questioned if I belonged anywhere.
But I did not stay there.
I refused to let the shadows name me.
I chose to live in the space of gratitude.
To honor the pain,
but not let it define the rest of my life.
I worked.
I believed.
I dreamed beyond my limits.
And I kept showing up.
Because I knew—
if I didn’t move forward,
no one would walk it for me.
If I didn’t believe in my voice,
no one else could speak my truth.
And yet...
I was never truly alone.
There were friends.
There were teachers.
There were mentors.
There was grace.
There were people who were once strangers—
who became part of my life.
People who believed—
hands that lifted me from the soil of doubt.
Family and friends,
whose continuous devotion, support, and loyalty
became the ground beneath my feet.
Where I am today
is not just the result of hard work.
It is the result of people who chose to care,
to stay,
to lift.
To them—
and to the life I now cherish—
I am endlessly grateful.
And to you, dear reader:
Please remember this.
Your breath is not an accident.
Your existence is not a mistake.
You may not see the whole path yet,
but it doesn’t mean it isn’t unfolding beneath you.
Every day is a chance
to begin again.
To notice the small beauty.
To hold gratitude with both hands.
To become who you were always meant to be.
So don’t give up.
Not now.
Not ever.
You are here.
And maybe...
just maybe,
this life is a borrowed dream.
Live it like the miracle it is.
And never forget—
your existence is a gift the world needs.
________________________________________
IF THIS LETTER STIRRED SOMETHING IN YOU
STAY A LITTLE LONGER.
THERE ARE A FEW MORE THINGS I'D LIKE TO SHARE.
I wrote this letter for anyone who’s ever felt the weight of hunger—whether for food, for healing, or for a sense of belonging. I remember lying on the cold ground, unsure if life would ever feel full. I didn’t have answers then. Just a breath. Just stars. And a quiet, stubborn belief that maybe this life still held something sacred.
This letter is that belief, written down. A promise passed on.
A Mirror for Your Heart
Listen deeply and meet yourself with grace.
These questions were written to walk with you—gently, quietly—one at a time.
You don’t need to answer everything right now.
Let one speak to you.
Let it stay with you.
Let it lead you gently home to yourself.
· · ·
invitation & wonder
What small, everyday miracles have I rushed past without gratitude or wonder?
When was the last time I truly listened—to myself, to silence, to what my life is whispering?
What would it feel like to live this life wide awake—with nothing numbed, nothing withheld?
· · ·
honest self-inquiry
What am I still carrying that no longer belongs to me?
What truth have I been holding back from, afraid of what it might change?
What old wound or silent belief am I finally ready to release—to grow lighter, freer, whole?
How does gratitude want to shape the way I carry my pain… or tell my story?
Who carried me when I could not carry myself—and have I truly, fully honored them?
· · ·
becoming & hope
What part of me is longing not for fixing, but for tenderness?
What kind of legacy am I quietly building—not in things, but in how I love, lift, and leave others?
What long-buried dream is still alive beneath the surface, quietly asking for my attention?
If this life is a borrowed dream, how gently… how boldly… am I living it?
How do I want to be remembered—not someday, but now, in how I show up each day?
________________________________________
Return to these questions whenever your heart needs a mirror.
Let them meet you where you are—
not to be solved,
but to guide you gently back to yourself.
Take a moment to exhale. Let this space hold what’s stirring within you.
What’s whispering to you right now?
What truth are you ready to live more fully?
Take a moment to list three things you are grateful for today.
Echoes That Anchored Me
Here are a few echoes I carried through the hardest and holiest moments of becoming.
“Live in the space of gratitude.”—From the journey
“Inkuba y’uyu munsi siyo izatuma utabibona ejo.”(Today’s storm won’t stop tomorrow’s harvest.)—Rwandan proverb
“One day, the hunger in your belly will become the fire in your soul.”—From the Journey
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”—Rumi
“I am not what happened to me. I am what I choose to become.”—Carl Jung
“When you focus on the light, the darkness loses its power.”—From the journey
“Gratitude turns what we have into enough.”—Melody Beattie
“Gratitude is a quiet revolution—one that softens bitterness into perspective.”—From the journey
“Maybe this life is a borrowed dream… live it like the miracle it is.”—From the Journey
❧
Gratitude
To the people who were once strangers and became family.
To those who believed in me when I had nothing to show but a dream.
To the mentors who gave me space,
the teachers who saw light in me,
and the communities that welcomed a new way.
To my family and friends—
for your unwavering love, your loyalty,
and the quiet strength you offered me on the hardest days.
You’ve shaped me more than you’ll ever know.
You are woven into this story.
You are the echo in these pages.
I stand on your shoulders—gratefully.
✨
After reflection,
receive this blessing not as instruction,
but as an embrace.
Let these words settle over you
like light filtering through trees—
soft, sure, and full of grace.
🕊️
A Quiet Blessing
For where you are, and where you’re going.
May you walk slowly enough
to notice what is blooming—
in the world,
and in you.
May your breath remind you
of all that still belongs to you.
May you find peace in the waiting,
and courage in what’s still becoming.
May kindness meet you in quiet moments,
and grace surprise you when you need it most.
May you speak to yourself
with tenderness and truth.
And when the path feels uncertain,
may you trust the unfolding
that lives beneath each step.
May you never forget—
your presence is a gift,
a quiet blessing to others,
your journey is sacred,
and you are already enough.
⎯⎯✦⎯⎯
A Closing Note
With every word I write, I hope you feel seen.
This is not just a letter.
It’s a lifeline.
A mirror.
A whisper that you are not alone.
This soul letter was written in a moment of stillness—
a moment when I, too, needed to be reminded
of what matters,
of what remains,
and of what is still becoming.
I don’t write because I have all the answers—
I write because I’ve lived the questions.
I’ve walked through darkness
and carried light in trembling hands.
And through it all, I’ve discovered something sacred:
Gratitude is a quiet revolution—
one that softens bitterness into perspective,
without shouting,
without force.
Love is the real success—
measured not in applause,
but in presence,
in compassion,
in how we show up for others.
And becoming… never ends.
We all carry hungers—
some for food,
some for peace,
some for belonging,
and some for the quiet knowing
that our lives matter.
I remember one night in the refugee camp in Tanzania—
no shelter, my stomach hollow,
lying on the grass, the ground beneath me cold.
My mother covered my brother and me
with the only fabric she had—thin, worn, and far too light.
It couldn’t keep us warm,
but it was all we had.
I lay there, struggling to fall asleep,
the cold biting through,
my hunger gnawing quietly,
the darkness pressing against my chest.
The world had gone quiet,
and I didn’t know if the silence meant abandonment or mercy.
I looked up and saw a sky scattered with stars—
so radiant, so impossibly full—
they looked like they belonged to someone
who still believed.
That night, with nothing in my hands,
no promise, no proof—
I chose to hope anyway.
Gratitude didn’t come in thunder.
It came in breath.
It came in the quiet knowing:
I am still here.
And maybe, just maybe,
being here was enough
to begin again.
This letter is part of something larger.
A collection of reflections for the heart.
The Soul Letter Series began as a way for me
to honor the moments that shaped me—
and to speak to the parts of others that still feel unseen.
It was born out of hunger—
not just for food,
but for meaning,
for healing,
and for a deeper sense of home within ourselves.
I offer it as a quiet light,
a reminder that your story, too, is worthy of being held.
Of being remembered.
Of being loved.
So wherever this letter finds you—
keep going.
Keep growing.
And never stop honoring the story only you can tell.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for holding this letter in your hands.
It means we’re connected now—by story,
by breath,
by grace.
With all my gratitude,
Cedric
✦ ✦ ✦
A Final Whisper
If this letter met you in a quiet moment,
I hope it gave you something to hold.
If it moved you,
share it with someone still in their silent battles.
This soul letter will find them too—
and give them language for their healing.
You can also visit www.CedricNotes.com
for more soul letters, stories, and tools
to help you grow what matters—
in your life, your work, and your spirit.
Because stories are seeds, too.
And when we plant them together,
we grow a world that remembers what it means to belong.
· · ·
Who in your life needs this reminder? Please pass it on.
Biography
Cedric Habiyaremye is a Rwandan-born crop scientist, food security strategist, and storyteller whose journey from hunger to hope has inspired millions.
Raised in the aftermath of the genocide against the Tutsi, Cedric knows the ache of empty nights and the quiet resilience it takes to believe in tomorrow. Today, he pioneers solutions to hunger and malnutrition across Africa and beyond—from introducing quinoa to Rwandan farms and other African countries, to rebuilding seed systems that empower communities.
But Cedric’s work extends beyond soil and science. He believes human stories, like seeds, need nurturing to thrive.
This soul letter is part of his lifelong commitment to planting both crops that nourish bodies and words that nourish souls. His memoir, Thin Fabric, Full Sky, will be published in the winter of 2025.
Through his writing, Cedric invites others to uncover the sacredness in their own journeys, to turn silence into seed, pain into purpose, and struggle into stories that heal.
Just as seeds need light to grow, so do we.
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