Taking care of 12 minutes, 23 seconds


The thing with resolutions, despite their display of a sort of finality, and one that is positive, is that they are likewise vulnerable to the tidal force of change. One moment, you are resolved, the next moment, you no longer are. It’s part of the large-scale deceptiveness of everything, the lack of fixity that always asks us to be not too complacent with our positions.

In the gall of randomness, while lulled in a jeepney ride, a long, jeepney ride, and just listening to The Decemberists, I became thoughtful of the simultaneously beautiful and threatening nature of impermanence. I thought of beautiful, seemingly perfect-with-nature moments with you. We strive to grasp each other in several seemingly innocuous moments. We were subconsciously aware of the fact that what we were having are only momentary, that they will end just when they ought to end – when external factors call them quits, or when we have finally succumbed to the call from the outside. But during those moments, there is a spirit of harmlessness, a beautiful sense of security. Our eyes will meet at the high fogs laughing at our heads. You will hold my hands sometimes, like it is the most natural of all that we are, all that we do, all that we have during those moments. You’ll talk about the psychoanalytic lack, I’ll write my name in your back. We are all alone in that sphere that is only for both of us, in moments when it is only ours and ours alone. There is a security that I can sense, like a mutual trust that we will be fine with each other. My eyes will be safe in yours, your back will be safe in my arms.

But all these do not negate the reality of impermanence. But we will still cling on them – those moments that are ours alone, and perhaps look forward to the next ones with anticipation, with certainty. Like when a child is called, the party is over, it’s time to part with your friends, and all the kids will console one another, heartily and with joy over sadness, see you again soon, in school, or in your house, I’ll go there. We can never be unflagging in the face of the momentariness of moments, we will eventually submit to them. We only have to be unflinching in asserting ourselves in the face of the momentary circumstances, that is the more vital thing, I must believe.

Impermanence, thank you. Cognizant of a definite end point, we have become keener in our experience, in our presence, in the presence of others. We would hold on to it more firmly, more lovingly, more specially. And with our greater preoccupation in these moments, they get more weight, more opportunity to be sensed, to be appreciated, to be understood. Although that seems to make our departure with them more painful, I believe we would eventually resign peacefully to that fact: departures happen. But along with that, we will realize that departures are not permanent as well. That they foretell the coming of returns as well, or resurgence, or resuscitation. And these things tell that everything could be better, more special, more beautiful than before.

Ultimately, despite the threats of departure, of termination, of impermanence, we will carry on. There is a perspective that says they are inevitable, but despite that, there is the sweet potential for betterment as well. Most important of all, we decide on the fate of these things, whether they return and wilt and die, or reignite and reach a greater level. Yes, I tell you impermanence, just stay there and I will act to make things better

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