When I was in my twenties, my life felt like someone’s unending wedding party that I had to attend- joyful but stretchy.
I realized life comes with an expiry date only after entering thirties. Maybe that realization happened after I lost my grandfather, my uncle, a few good people, and a chunk of my childhood with them.
We have to die someday. Death is permanent. But life is not. Our memories fade. Our story keeps changing its protagonists and plots.
So when I hold my baby’s hands, I realize one day I have to leave her here, in this big bad world. I realize one day my mother won’t be here to tell me how much cumin powder I need to add in my favorite fish curry.
As I think about these things, I fall for every fleeting moment around me- the maple syrup and cinnamon smelling pathway of my building, gingerbread house kits on display in the local store, my usual sidewalk covered with dried leaves, a heart shaped red leaf looking so alive and in need of being rescued, a rainy November evening, some trees still holding on to a few colorful leaves, little kids in winter clothes, foggy sunrises, and all the pumpkin desserts.
Autumn is such a phase- transient, but you cannot ignore its touch. It makes one think about letting go; one to stand bare, leafless, fearless, embracing the cold wind; one to learn to live in the moment and be grateful for the little things- no matter how temporary they all are.