Fleeting. We like to describe moments in life like sand constantly slipping away from our fingers. By each passing second, those little grain drops away from our palms and when we try to pick them up again, we are never really sure if that small mound we gather in our hands may still contain the same ones we have lost. And yet we keep on picking them up, not because we want to get something new, or find something surprising, but because we are mostly hoping that maybe this time, it will be better. Maybe it will not be as bad as it had been before. Or, if it had been a happy one, it will be even happier. More ecstatic. More terrific. More amusing. More. More.
And yet it is not.
And then life keeps screwing it up for us.
And then we are sad, bitter, and lost.
Everyday often feels like a search for something we have lost. It always starts with some papers we cannot locate even when we are damn well sure that we have placed it at the bottom of our top drawer. Suddenly, without realizing it, an image of a person comes to mind. Hey, I haven’t really talk to this one for years. The moments it take for the traffic lights to change is an inconvenience for any lost seconds that we could have been in the place we are supposed to be. Sometimes, we all feel like cursing the universe because the rain poured hard even when we are only a street away from our houses–or if we are really unlucky, it rains when we did not even have an umbrella in our bags.
Then, we have those times in our lives when put our utmost effort into something. We are proud of it. We all wish that the persons we are thinking of who will be proud and happy for it will actually be proud and happy for it. But they are not. Suddenly the validation we are craving for is never to be realized. We are not even sure if we can be proud of ourselves, too. This cycle goes on and on. Every single moment of our lives feel like a collection of mistakes. Then we think to ourselves, maybe we are mistakes.
It ends with us losing ourselves. A point of no return. A displacement we do not even notice as we go through each year because, really, who would? All hopes and dreams somehow gone with the wind. I was really going to be something by the age of 23, it says in the movie. And then we are 23, and we are still us. But this us, we do not even know anymore.
Again, tempted to start over.
But, does the fear ever go away? Probably not. So we ask ourselves, can we go back to who we were–to that person we have lost? Probably yes. As always, there is no harm in taking a few steps back. To see for yourself. And maybe, to also say goodbye.