don't forget about me
on wednesday, jackets were left open, close-eyed smiles were turned at the sun, and hope was growing for the coming of spring. news about a snow storm were shared but the warm air worked against any belief. by thursday morning, all of the city’s sidewalks, benches, trees, balconies, and spiral doorsteps were buried under a sea of snow. just like that, overnight, the season changed backwards; hitting us, or me, with the all too familiar experience of, both, the expected and the surprise somehow occurring at the same time. though, as quickly as the snow came, it left. within a day, the born-again spring air melted all flakes above and below. it was a brief visit, almost as if to insist don’t forget about me, but instead all i’m reminded of is its—and everything else’s—impermanence.
like that dream that i wake up from in the morning. that dream that was so vivid and moved me so deeply, and that i’m so eager to share with the only person who is obliged to care, but that leaves me mid-breath. and all i’m left with is a plot with more holes than continuity, missing transitions, and little to no explanation as to why i might feel so blue or grey today.
or like that sunset that warms up the whole sky, which pictures won’t do justice but that deserves a series regardless. that sunset that makes you grieve its beauty when the sky turns cool then dark. that sunset that, though savoured and captured, still feels like it slipped through each and every finger—even if slowly, not quite slow enough.
or that book i’ve been reading for weeks, with characters i’ve grown to hold close, whose stories i long to know but dread to part with. that kiss that wasn’t great but i wish i knew would be the last. that whiff of a meal i used to eat. that fading family photograph. his laugh, her lightness. my childhood, soon youth.
when i was younger, i found solace in the fact that nothing is permanent. there was relief in the idea of things ending because ending is not only the antonym but also a synonym for beginning. the moment i learned that an irreversible change can happen before i could consider it, i knew that the only way i could prepare is by, not just expecting but, accepting that everything will inevitably change. so, instead of defeat, i chose a welcoming. a readiness granted by the privilege of having all of life still to be lived, i now understand.
because these days i have been feeling rather vulnerable to the idea of impermanence. i think often—maybe too often—about the things that once were and will never be again; how as time goes on, more and more will be placed in the forever past; how for some things, some really important things, there is only one now. i desperately try to find more space behind my eyes to safekeep all that’s precious, convinced that everything—even the mundane, especially the mundane—will feel precious one day. i’m anxious, terrified to forget because i realize i have forgotten too much already. at this point, i don’t know if i can bear either to witness or miss another once-in-a-lifetime moment; one i must remember but might forget, such as a total eclipse.