A date with impermanence

There are encounters in life that no one expects, but at some point, we must face them. It's when we suddenly hear the sound of time falling like a withered leaf, when someone's breath stops for a fleeting moment. At that moment, we suddenly understand that we have just had an appointment with Impermanence—an appointment without warning, without invitation, yet powerful enough to shake the heart.

I used to be like that. One windless afternoon, I sat counting my old dreams, the years I had held so tightly, yet time had taken everything away without a trace. On the other side of enlightenment, where the colors of the monsoon rain faded, no one was waiting for me anymore. The old path no longer shared my shadow, no one lit the old lamp for me. I understood then: once impermanence touches us, everything we once thought "mine" becomes as fragile as a speck of dust.

Life… turns out to be so short that we don't have time to prepare.

Just yesterday we met, we shared smiles, familiar words; but today, someone's breath has fallen silent forever. Each day passes a little, leaving a longer trail of memories, a deeper emptiness in my heart. There are loves I never had the chance to name. There are regrets I can never express. We—all of us—hide a wound in our hearts that time refuses to heal.

Having lived half my life, I've gathered the fragments of my youth like a lost soul retracing its own footsteps. At times, I feel like a traveler standing in the vast sky, not knowing where the harbor is, where home is. It was then that Impermanence sat down beside me, silently, yet so close I could hear my breath. It didn't scold, didn't teach, only spoke in a whisper:

"No one's life is perfect. To find peace, one must let go of the pain."

Those words were like a knife wound, but a healing one at that.

I began to see the world with a slower perspective. I started to appreciate every sound of the cars outside, every leaf falling on the eaves. The little things I had previously overlooked now became a test to know that I was still alive.

Then I realized the most shocking thing:

People aren't afraid of losing anything... they're only afraid of not having enough time to express their love.

Therefore, I learned to love again. To love more slowly. To love more deeply. To love others, and also to love myself—the one who had suffered for so long without speaking out.

But learning to love also means learning to endure.

Because no one goes through life without experiencing heartbreak at least once. On stormy nights, old wounds stir again. I thought it was a sign of weakness, but it turns out to be a life lesson. Each wound is a map guiding the way. Each tear is a milestone marking growth.

On some cold, windy nights, I feel myself growing a little older. Loneliness sits beside me like a long-lost relative. I used to think loneliness was chasing me. No. It turns out it's been there all along; it's just that only now am I calm enough to look it straight in the eye.

And in that fleeting, delicate moment, I realized:

Impermanence did not come to scare us.

It comes to remind us to live the rest of our lives more kindly.

Thanks to it, I am grateful for the people who have crossed my path – those who stayed as well as those who left. I am grateful for the love that blossomed and then withered. I am also grateful for the losses that once devastated me, because they taught me to cherish what remains.

Upon meeting with Vo Thuong, I bowed my head in gratitude.

Thank you, life, for letting me love once.

Thank you for the pain and suffering, for teaching me patience.

Thank myself for not giving up in the darkest times.

And somewhere, in the stillness of the deep purple sunset, I wondered:

"When will I truly be loved?"

Perhaps… when we are at peace enough to open our hearts.

Perhaps… when we learn to embrace all change with a heart that is no longer afraid.

Or perhaps… that question will never be answered.

But that's okay.

Because after that meeting, I learned how to slow down, how to smile in the face of imperfections. And most importantly, I learned how to embrace the rest of my life with both hands, gently yet firmly.

Source: https://baophapluat.vn/mot-lan-hen-voi-vo-thuong.html