Impermanence
I watched In the Mood for Love on my flight from Paris to New York. Oh man, I teared up at the thought of longing—longing for love that was forgotten, in places I may forget.
I met many people on my trip. Beautiful and flawed. I don’t know if I’ll remember them the way they deserve to be remembered. I want to, but I'm not sure.
I fear I'm living life without nostalgia, constantly making space for new experiences, new people, new things. I trade older memories for newer ones, uncertain which impressions will survive the swap.
Even “being present” has started to feel procedural. Like IKEA furniture: assemble depth, admire it, then disassemble it on schedule. As if the moment comes with a built-in expiration date.
And it isn’t cheap. It takes real effort to pay attention —to keep choosing the texture of the air, the cadence of a sentence, the way a room holds a glance. I build the thing while it’s happening. Then it’s gone before I understand what I made.
A moment can matter as much as we can hold space for it. And if we don't have the mental bandwidth, it slips through the cracks, unnoticed. It feels unfair that the most glaring fragments of life can vanish just because our attention were on the details. The type of glass shouldn’t matter.
I ache for things I can't name. Like sands of experiences slipping through my hand. Shouldn’t I know how to move forward? Shouldn’t I know how to carry this? But there’s no manual how I can own this beach. Perhaps out of my budget.
I feel everything and nothing all at once. My void has been carved by a utility knife. Each memory cut out, precise, distinct. I feel the absence of them, like shapes cut out of me. It's funny I feel those gaps like an inverted puzzle.
I wish I had more control. I wish I knew what was dissected. Maybe I adopt them back by taking more photos or writing about it.
I'm addicted to the newness, I think. Maybe longing is what shapes me.
As so, I will await a firm handshake with the lives I didn't live.
December 2024 — 11:16 PM
Red-eye flight, Paris to New York, New Year’s Eve
