The night before, I once again found myself trying to grasp at Moments Passed, flecks of my life shaken up in flurries in front of me that seem no more like dust, except that I know they were real—as real as experiences can get. I have lived those moments, but I still struggle with being completely in the moment. My desire to soak everything in is always there, ablaze, but the knowledge that it will all soon come to an end always haunts me. This incredibly brilliant snippet by Shots of Awe explains this beautifully. The knowledge that it will all come to a fundamental end always eats away at me slowly even when I’m in the height of the moment, even when I’m at the peak of the emotion. While that propels me to embrace moments harder, to feel more, to open up the gates to my mind and heart a little more, in order to feel everything gushing into my heart, mind and being—that sadness of the impending ending will always linger.
And when it all really comes to an end, all I am left with are memories—shape-shifting, intricate filigrees in my mind, always changing a little, shifting a little to accommodate new memories. But these shifts and changes never undermine these memories and the fact that they are real—instead, these shifts and changes help my new memories to be built upon the old memories, so that all my experiences, all my memories will work together to become my experience. At times like these, in an effort to preserve these memories in their most organic forms, I do my best to write. To record them all down, so that months and years down the road, I can compare what remains in my mind and what I’ve recorded—any difference that surface don’t mean that one invalidates the other but instead, it helps unfold the many mysteries of the mind, of our memories and many more.