Once. Tonight.

It is humbling to sit and be able to tell myself that I am currently sitting in my last night here.

Never have I realized how hard it is to take in twenty square feet of space.

I am sitting in my the middle of my queen-sized bed with my laptop resting rather warmly on top of its cooling pad, and its backlight display is the only source of artificial light, if I ignore the little red bulbs of the outlet extension console and the flickering blue light of the wifi router. And, aside from the computer's blinding screen display, I see nothing; not my half-empty closet or the shelf on which I have displayed the numerous figurines my friends have given me as farewell presents about seven months ago. I cannot see my fan near the doorway either, nor the guitar amplifier next to my bed just three feet away.

All I see is this white screen and these texts that I am currently typing.

While mulling this journal over, I have come to appreciate the word "once" and I find it rather fitting to be the name of a character one of closest friends had given me. It is one of those English words that has more than one meaning, yet it perfectly defines the same crucial thing.

A single time.

One that would never be repeated ever again.

Change.

Not every breath is taken in the same exact way, I realized. The quick inhale now can be a deeply filling one the next, and interestingly enough, the more you think about it, the more it changes, the more varied the action becomes.

You simply cannot replicate anything perfectly.

But what about blank space? What about a black canvas? Surely it would be easy to imagine sphere of utter nothingness, even if it does have blinking and twinkling little lights.

There is a catch, however, how does one replicate a void?

I am no stranger to change, yet I am also a creature who resists change. I think we all are, because deep inside our fortitude and courage, we are all cowards when facing the prospect of change. After years of moving around from one house to another, from one country to another, I could not imagine being rooted any longer. Everything I see is temporary, which leads to my apathy and cold indifference to most things. Nothing lasts forever as many say, and I completely agree with them. Although, I could not help but ask...

What about things that are meant to be permanent?

A home is one, a relationship is another. Many stories revolve around these key things which supposedly ground a person and serve as his or her foundation in life. And yet, homes are abandoned and relationships wither like summer flowers faced with the cold of the coming fall.

Life is such a temporary thing.

Perhaps I can just sit, watch it pass by, and still consider it not a wasted life. It will only prove how fleeting it is, how similar it is to staring at a bright screen while sitting in the middle of a dark room.

Once I was a student.

Once I was a friend.

Once I was a writer.

Once I was a confidant.

Once I was a person.

Once I was alive.

Once I was here.

Rather scary, is it not? To refer to oneself in past tense, yet it is only right to refer to myself in past tense because the present is but an illusion. Many people glorify the present, the now. But it is also very easy to say that it does not exist. I blink, and by the time I finished blinking, it is already in the past. It no longer exists. It once was. Although it still amazes me how this nonexistent concept still bridges the past and the future. The future is also a very human illusion, I think. Perhaps we are the only creatures in this planet to imagine it; certainly we are the only ones who have a word for something that has not yet happened. The past shapes the present, which in turn, makes way for the future. What once was becomes is then evolve into what will be, until the cycle continues in which will be becomes once again.

Infinitely looping.

Endlessly turning.

Indefinitely changing.

---------------------

To those who have read to this point and still understand what I am talking about, I salute and thank you. This kind of rambling happens when I immerse myself in black space with only mind as my companion. It is an addiction, a way of coping, and an opportunity to know myself a little better.

Sadly, the more I learn about me and the way I think, the less I understand.

Because even I am changing, yes?