We’re all here for a short amount of time in an infinite loop of time. Who’s there to see the start of time, and who will be there to see its end?
If it is true, that people live and die and get reborn, we might actually be living the entirety of time. Just different names, different bodies. Different stories, different lives. Despite so, one thing remains, this inescapable loop of life and death.
When given this short amount of time to live and breathe as this consciousness, this identity we own right now, how do we decide what we want to do with it?
Birth is not a choice, and death sometimes may be. When the world oversees death, it sees too many, too much. That’s why it moves on, a new day, a new life, like nothing has changed. Death is only shocking to those who have a short time in one consciousness, people occupying this space in this one time frame cut out of eternity. We get surprised, upset, affected, when someone chooses to end something already so short. It’s wasn’t theirs to begin, but it was theirs to end, and it wasn’t our place to say otherwise.
Yesterday, at 6am in the morning, another person left the world on the cold hard floor of the recently built learning hub in our school. The blue tent and blue tape were there the whole morning, and students milled about with hushed voices, wide eyes. What happened? He was only 22, male, a second-year student. What a pity.
Today morning I walked into the building, with a bitter lump of emptiness in the back of my throat. What was I expecting? More explanation perhaps, explanation for things that were already clear as day. We are always seeking explanations for things we can’t explain. For things that supposedly did not make sense. But it did, and always did. People feel things that makes sense to themselves all the time, not anyone else.
Maybe I expected that classes will be moved away for the time being because hundreds of students pass by the area everyday but how could that even be? There was no reason to wait, when the world has shown time and again that it moves on well, and quickly. I stared at the empty spot where the blue tent was pictured yesterday. At the dirtied, grimy and rough brown tiles. It showed no trace, it was cold, unfeeling, and un-telling.
The spot where someone took his last breath yesterday morning, lying on those cold tiles in the cold morning before the warmth of the sun, broken and staring up at the circular piece of sky. The last piece of sky. Today, everything is back to normal. Tomorrow it’ll be as well. Time will pass and the past will be buried along with everything else.
Someone once explained that the night appeared to be apt for leaving and saying goodbyes, because it’s the end of a day. An end at an end. The next day will come and a brand new day will start. A new start means new beginnings, means proper moving-ons without yesterday’s weight. That’s why goodbyes in the mornings, it’s uncalled for.
Maybe it was a silent protest, because there are no good times for goodbyes, and no good explanations for one that’s been brought forward before it’s due.
Living, breathing,
living.
Tomorrow will come and it will go, and time will continue to live carelessly, the way it has always been.
Only those who remember become trapped in the past, trying to find sense within the cold mad world.
They never quite get away.
love; one step at a time. 