As a closed fist
Everything has an end. We all know it, right? We know it, but the moment the thought crosses our mind, we push it away like a notification we don’t want to deal with. Or maybe we don’t forget it at all, maybe we just ignore it, because confronting impermanence is like being handed a puzzle with one missing piece. We spend our short existence trying to build something that feels permanent. Something stable. Something that won’t vanish the moment we look away. A relationship, a routine, a career, a future, a “plan.” We call it "forever", but what we really mean is: “I hope it lasts at least as long as I do.” But what does it even mean for something to end? I think we secretly believe that if something is permanent, then its value stays the same forever (with the above definition of forever), fixed, guaranteed, safe. I’ve always struggled with this idea. It affects my everyday life. And the clearest example is my habit of not fully being in the moment. I hold my feelings back be...