Dear Public Diary ,

Some movies don’t just tell a story — they hold up a mirror. The Intern was that mirror for me. It’s one of those rare films that manages to be both inspiring and funny, simple yet deep, and it stayed with me in ways I didn’t expect. I first watched it years ago when I was still a student, and back then it was just a pleasant story — enjoyable, light, and motivational. But rewatching it recently, on an ordinary night when I was bored and it happened to be on TV, it felt completely different. I wasn’t bored anymore. I was suddenly looking back at my whole journey, my choices, my struggles, my career. The old man in the movie, Ben, became not just a character but a reflection of what it means to start over, to keep going, to refuse to quit.

The plot itself is simple: Ben Whittaker, a seventy-year-old widower played by Robert De Niro, applies for a senior internship at a modern fashion startup. On paper it sounds ridiculous — an old man surrounded by young people, laptops, and chaotic open offices. But what makes the movie special is not the comedy of that contrast, it’s the wisdom he carries with him. He doesn’t complain, he doesn’t resist change, and he doesn’t arrive with arrogance. He shows up with curiosity, kindness, and discipline. He takes the small tasks seriously — making coffee, fixing the desk chaos, listening to people who need to be heard — and with time, his presence becomes indispensable. As he once says in the film, “Musicians don’t retire. They stop when there’s no more music in them.” That line alone is enough to remind us that life doesn’t stop at a certain age, or after a failure, or when one chapter closes. It goes on, and so can we.

The first time I saw the film, I didn’t fully understand it. I was just a student with no job and no real responsibilities. Success and careers felt more like dreams than plans. I wasn’t reflecting on my future; I was simply entertained. But this time, I watched it with the weight of years behind me. Suddenly I had something to measure against: my studies, my failures, my small wins, the times I almost gave up, the times I surprised myself by holding on. Watching Ben, I thought of everything — the nights I questioned my path, the mornings I felt proud, the moments I wanted to quit and the ones when I didn’t. The film became a trigger, a way of looking back at my own map.

I took my baccalaureate in 2014 and chose architecture. It was partly random, partly planned. I was always good with my hands, I loved making little models, and my family encouraged me to use that gift. They thought architecture was just about building maquetas, but I quickly discovered it was much more than that. The beginning was brutal. I had to live away from home for the first time, and the professors seemed determined to break us rather than build us. I still remember one who gave us a week’s work to do in a single day, and she told us, “Don’t eat, don’t breathe, just finish it or you’ll get zero.” Many gave up. They said, “It’s not worth it, there’s no future in this field here.” And to be honest, in my country, they weren’t wrong. Architecture wasn’t supported, the laws didn’t help, and it often felt like a dead end. But I wasn’t the kind to quit. Even when I was losing, I kept going. Five years later, I graduated. I was officially an architect, even if the world didn’t seem ready for me.

After my diploma, I stayed home for a while, then found a job thanks to a friend. It didn’t last long before the pandemic hit. Suddenly everything stopped. Offices closed, projects froze, and for almost two years there was nothing — no work, no opportunities, just silence. But during those years of COVID I wasn’t just staying home and sleeping. No, I learned many things. I took online courses, explored UX design, dived into some basics of cybersecurity, project management, even picked up new languages. I read books, many, many books. I started a blog, deleted it, then started again. I began writing reviews about shows and went viral on Pinterest for a while. It was fun, refreshing, and meaningful to do new things. That’s always been my strength: learning. Reinventing myself through knowledge made the silence of those years less heavy, and it reminded me that as long as I’m curious, I’m never really stuck.

Still, when those two years ended, I found myself jobless again. Design offices were lifeless. And worse, I was being used as an example of “the hardworking student who still can’t find a job.” It stung. I hated it. That’s when I decided maybe I should try something else.

Life took me to a hospital, of all places. I got an interview for an administrative post, and months later, they called me: “You got it. Start tomorrow.” I didn’t know what to think. I signed the papers and started right away. At first, it was just a job, a paycheck, a chance to learn something new. And I did. I adapted quickly, and everyone was impressed by how fast I worked, how good I was with computers, how organized I could be. Soon, people started relying on me. What began as normal tasks grew into big responsibilities. At first, I didn’t mind. But slowly, I realized I was carrying too much. I was doing the hard work while others with higher salaries relaxed. I became the one everyone leaned on, but also the one who got blamed when anything went wrong.

By then, I understood how offices really work: it’s not about how hard you work, it’s about who you know, how you play politics, how friendly you are with the right people. If you don’t play that game, effort alone doesn’t matter. And as time went on, the office became toxic — too toxic. People turned on each other in seconds. It wasn’t a place I wanted to stay.

Watching Ben again during all of this felt like a reminder. Here was a man decades older than me, starting over with dignity. He didn’t complain about being underestimated, he didn’t see change as shameful. He simply showed up and gave his best. “You’re never wrong to do the right thing,” he says in one moment, and I believe that. His courage wasn’t loud; it was quiet, consistent, steady. And it made me think: if he could start again at seventy, why can’t I at my age?

I’ve always been restless. I don’t believe in staying in one job forever. I want change, I want growth, I want to see new things. Maybe that means going back to architecture. Maybe it means interior design. Maybe something entirely new. What matters is moving forward, not staying stuck. As Steve Jobs once said, “The only way to do great work is to love what you do.” And right now, I know I don’t love what I do. That means it’s time for another change.

Some people crave stability, and that’s beautiful for them. But I’m different. I love that I’m different. Everything I have, I worked hard for. Every failure taught me something. Every victory gave me strength. For that, I’m grateful — to myself, to my family, to my friends who stood by me. And I know now that shifting careers isn’t shameful. It’s brave. It’s necessary. It’s how we stay alive inside.

So if you’re reading this and you feel stuck — bored, depressed, trapped in a job you hate — maybe this is your sign. Life is worth living fully. As Maya Angelou said, “We may encounter many defeats, but we must not be defeated.” You are allowed to begin again. You are allowed to dream differently. You are allowed to change direction. One day, we’ll all be gone, and the only thing that will matter is how fully we lived while we were alive.