Dear February,


There is a deliberate time delay in live television broadcasts which a quick search says is exactly seven seconds. Its purpose is to have a bit of time to screen out whatever is undesirable for tv; sort of like a breathing room. I keep putting off taking stock of the events of the past couple of months, partly because whatever it is that is happening is not yet done and because I need that time delay to let things sink in to me. If I react too quickly, or conclude too easily, I may make decisions that will eventually fall apart in the long run. I need to squeeze out, as much as I can, the last of the fading light.

During the past several months, I have also encountered questions which I thought I have such ready answers for but have actually become more perplexing than ever. December last year, I climbed a mountain for the first time and as I struggled through felled trees, wild roots, and sharp boulders, or as I slid off a slippery path in the dark, scared for my life because a single misstep might mean death, I have realized how nature, despite its beauty and majesty, is chaotic and brutal and cares very little about the individual.

“Anyone who has been among mountains knows their indifference; has felt a brief blazing sense of the world's disinterest in us. In small measures, this feeling exhilarates; in full form, it annihilates.” (from the breathtaking documentary Mountain by Jennifer Peedom)

What then is the point of kindness, especially to the ones who will not do us any good in return?

Kindness is contrary to how most of nature operates, which is, ultimately, getting ahead for one’s own gain and survival. Kindness is, in a way, abandoning the self just to put others in the forefront. Have I not been shown any kindness — even once and no matter how little — I will never be able to grasp the answer to such a question. There may be no point to it, but kindness begets kindness: we try to ease the pain of others because we know how it feels to be eased of our own by another. As simple as that.


In Sofia Coppola’s film, Marie Antoinette, there is a scene at the end in which Louis XVI and his family were in the carriage as they were forced by the revolutionaries to leave Versailles for good. The queen, Marie Antoinette, was looking out at the window, calm but sort of remorseful.

As they passed by the palace gardens bathed in golden sunlight, Louis asked her, perhaps in mockery or perhaps because he was too out of touch at that point, “Are you admiring your lime avenue?”

She looked at him, with a resolute look on her face, and replied, “I'm saying goodbye.”

This scene stuck with me ever since but I could never comprehend why it felt so significant. But as I got older and as I became more sensitive to endings (not just the ones in films), I could now make better sense of that particular scene.

Some moments in the mountains: sitting by the river at dusk, washing off mud on our feet. Sunlight shining upon the mossy rocks. Sunlight after a long, cold evening. The taste of coffee by the hearth while the cats slept and purred. Taking naps at midday. Fog in the morning. The satisfying ache of the body. Being alone at camp and shouting at the mountains. Sharing meals with good people. Sharing jokes on the trail. Sharing music the morning after. Cold waters to wash off the grime. Shortness of breath. The silence of the woods.

And some moments from the past several months: staring at the rain outside the window, waiting for class to begin. Staying up late at cafes. Getting lost at a convention and ending up listening to an inspiring lecture about appreciating beauty. Calm Sunday afternoons in the car, listening to old songs. Walking around an empty city. Writing in my journal. Sunsets. Being alone in restaurants. Delayed flights and a good book to kill the time. Seeing my best friend and talking about all sorts of things.

Life may never run out of moments in which the heart will be filled with awe, but at the same time, with such bitterness, because beauty is — and will never cease to be — ephemeral. I thought of this as I washed dishes by a brook during the last sunset of our stay in the mountains, or as the group pack up camp, or as we make our descent, with our minds already filled with thoughts of home and going back to the arms of those we have left behind. The end of any good thing give off such feeling: the kind which we may first mistake as delight, or gratitude, or perhaps even serenity, but is really that of an aching farewell.

As the days close in to some kind of an ending, I am comforted by these words from Generation Why by Weyes Blood:

Going to see end of days
I’ve been hanging on my phone all day
And the fear goes away
I might not need to stay
On this sinking ship for long

with love,
abelink