The flow of time
一转眼，时间就过了。
In a blink of an eye, just like that, time has passed—now it is the end of the year, and in two days, I will return to work and mark the end of my almost-two-year vacation. The arrival of the new year catches me off guard. Where did all my time go? What do I have to show for the last two years? What will work be like?—especially when I'm so unprepared for it?
It fills me with dread to start a new year this way. Even if time is a social construct, the perfectionism that is so ingrained in me readily deems the new year a failure simply because of a marred beginning. To top it off, this last day of the year did not start off well for me, adding on to the feelings of doom and gloom. Things did get better after, but I often feel like it's the end of the world when things go wrong, when I'm in the moment of it.
This perfectionism is like a curse, and though I have in mind a desire to be rid of it, it often creeps up in so many ways. It's silly how I can see clearly how illogical this thought pattern is and would likely be able to give wise counsel to someone else in the same position, but when it comes to me, I can't help but fall into these very unhealthy and punishing ways of thinking and being.
In addition to these thoughts, I've had other things on my mind lately that have led me to a conclusion of sorts on how I would hope to approach the new year ahead.
When the news of the Jeju Air crash came out, I was hit by that familiar feeling of dread that always comes to me in the moments of hearing of such tragedy. I thought of the painful loss of life and the people around who would have to grapple with that loss for the rest of their lives, and how I wished that such suffering would not befall anyone.
At the same time, I thought of how those on the plane would have boarded it thinking it was just another workday or that they would be home soon. Who really would think about death daily and confront the possibility that today might be their last day here on earth?
Come now, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit"—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.
I think of the news I got of a student's sudden passing over a year ago—she was only four. I heard that her mother expressed great regret, wishing she had treated her child better—how could she have known that that goodnight would have been their last moment together? I think of the day a few months later when I faced such fears myself in a hired car to the hospital as my son vomited in the backseat, and I worried about bleeding in the brain.
Jimmy: Life is long. I'll take my time figuring it out.
Ami: You never know if it's long or not.
I often live with a certain arrogance, a presumptuousness in believing that I am in control of my life when I'm really not. When I care for my child when he is sick, I often feel confident that I will not fall ill myself—after all, I'm feeling perfectly fine. Then when the tide suddenly turns, I find myself wondering how I could be so presumptuous in the first place, when everything can change in a moment.
I watched《青春18×2 通往有你的旅程》last night, and it left its mark on me.
与他道别之后，我想这也许是最后一次见面了。一位再也见不到的朋友，一片再也看不到的风景——但是我一定不会忘记和他相处的时光吧。在旅途中遇见的人，总会在我心中留下些什么。当时，我也有留下些什么在Ami心中吗？
After we parted ways, I thought I might never see him again. Friends we never see again, scenery we'll never revisit—but I'll never forget the time we spent together. The people we meet on our travels leave something in our hearts. I wonder if I was able to leave anything in Ami's?
I think of the flow of time, the city I left behind and the people I met there. I think of my youth and growing up and the people I know that are getting older day by day. I think of the letter I wrote to someone and all the hopes and emotions I have tied up with it.
I think of how I am still trying to adjust to all the changes in my life right now—doing my best to keep up with the washing of dishes now that I can't just throw them into the dishwasher, relearning how to use a gas stove because I used to cook with an induction one, trying to accept the loss of my unblocked view and that people from the opposite building are now able to look right into my living room—big or small, I wonder if I will ever grow accustomed to all these.
It's midnight. As we watch the fireworks in the distance from the window of our living room and wish each other a Happy New Year, I sense the unspoken words inside our hearts—the acknowledgement of the difficult year that has passed and the challenging year that lies ahead, our sincere hope for a better tomorrow, and the comfort we can mutually offer—that we are in this together.
It's almost the end of New Year's Day, and already I am pretty exhausted, and what's more, I start work tomorrow. The only thing I am holding on to that I hope will help to keep me going is this way of thought that I feel is rather sensible, and that is to live in this present moment.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
Often I find myself tangled up in the memories of the past and the worries of the future. I make current decisions based on my past experiences or my predicted outcomes, and I often shortchange myself in the process.
However, I have recently become a little bolder in not holding back on some things that I have in my heart to do despite my misgivings, driven by a single thought—I will regret it if I lose the opportunity to do this one day. And I've found this rather freeing even when I've ended up being disappointed at the way things turned out—because I followed my heart, I had no regrets. I wonder if I can one day be like that someone I know who lives with a motto of carrying no regrets—will I be able to be at peace with myself and my life one day the way she seems to be?
This present now seems to be the only moment that truly exists—the past is fuzzy and forgotten, and the future uncertain and unknown. And it is in this moment between memory and mirai that I hope to live, holding on to my past and carrying hopes for my future, yet never letting them tie me down in the here and now. Moment by moment, day by day—
一步又一步。