The most challenging part of endings is accepting that there’s a new beginning that’d one day lead to another end we’ll also become hesitant to leave behind. There’s something particularly sinister about endings, it’s like furiously inserting a sharp knife between a thing that held so much memory, and forcing ourselves to forge along like nothing happened.
New beginnings are quite like the blank writing page. We are often afraid to face it, anxious and partly excited about what we could do with it. But the difference between the blank page and a new life beginning is that with the latter, sometimes you have a glimpse of what you could do. But, with the other, you’re left wondering and wandering into the unknown, unsure, afraid, sometimes hopeful, other times, filled with sheer hopelessness.
That’s what it feels like when you have no choice but to continue into the unknown. You desperately wish you could keep the known a little longer. “Can you hang on there for even if it’s a sec?” you mutter in your head. How you wish it could listen and understand how desperately you need to cling to it.
The more I live life, the more I’m made to realize that the idea of hanging on to an ending moment, a moment in time, or a fading event gradually leaning towards its due date is not an expert way of buying ourselves extra time with the familiar. It’s delaying the pain of the unknown long enough, and the delusion that holding on a bit longer could ease that pain.
When can never run out of endings, or new beginnings. However, endings give us something to hold on to, but for beginnings, we are left to thread with uncertainties. And, hopefully, somehow we mould it into something tangible, something worth holding. Whether we can or not, entirely is on us.
