Like Sand Between Our Fingers

Like Sand Between Our Fingers

As kids, we live our lives so very freely. Who cared about school, homework, or even work, what is work. All we wanted was play. And time passed pretty quickly, because all we did was play.

As teenagers, we weren’t that free anymore. That huge amount of homework kicks in. The friends and going out starts. And then there’s boys, and girls. Crushes. Maybe even relationships. Puppy love. Everything was sweet.

Then comes young adult hood. When you are 21 years old. Nothing much feels different. Besides having a hell lot more of work to finish, be it school or work. Meet ups with friends start to be scheduled at night, dinner or maybe supper. It isn’t as easy to meet your clique anymore because everyone has their own plans now, everyone is busy. We do what we do everyday and time FLIES.

And then comes the quarter life crises. 25 years old. When we meet our friends, we talk about ‘the good old days’. It’s really interesting though, to see how we’ve grown so far. But also intimidating. Because time is like sand, sipping through our fingers, but the only difference is that we can’t hold on tighter to slow it down. It rushes past us, whether we like it or not.

And soon after, my bestie isn’t gonna ask me ‘hey what should I wear for the date later?’ but rather ‘hey, can you babysit my kid for a few hours?’ And that is pretty intimidating. No I don’t mean the kid part, cause really I love kids. But I meant how quickly our conversation will escalate. From toys to hair to boys to clothes then to kids.

Honestly I am pretty excited about what the future holds. But at the same time, the uncertainty worries me. And how quickly time flies, scares me.

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The Bus Stop

The Bus Stop

Every morning, I drop by the convenience store near my place, grab a canned coffee, and head to the bus stop. Ever morning, at 7.56am, I would see this really beautiful girl walking to that same bus stop. She would be drinking her can of coffee, latte to be exact, while scrolling on her phone, and stroking her hair once in a while, to get some strands off her face. Her somewhat sparkly brown hair. Sometimes I see her being really engrossed in whatever she’s reading. She smiles, she laughs, and sometimes she even tears. Beautiful. And she is what I look forward to, every morning, at the bus stop.