jiefo Blog

A good movie makes me sit in awe. Sometimes that means I’m the only one left in the theater, watching the credits roll, as I yearn for the scene to continue. Some movies are so good you just don’t want it to end. So instead of going back to my regular normal life where big grand romantic gestures don’t truly solve everything, and fate and destiny don’t guide me through every pain — I sit there, reading the names and wallowing in this weird delicate balance of joy in watching a great story, yet an overflowing sadness that it’s over. I’m never the first person that wants to get up out of my seat in the theater. Why are people so eager to leave — to return to the hum? Life moves too fast sometimes, and I’m afraid I’ll miss it, so to me there’s nothing wrong with sitting here, just a few more moments longer, to appreciate it all…

This is how I feel about the close of fond chapters. Fleeting experiences that I wish I could capture in stillness. Where did all the time go? If only I could press pause. There are only a few moments in life that I can recall having this strong desire — a sunset on the Great Wall, a moment of joy shared with friends, or a spark of romance. These moments where you just know that in the future, you will look back on so fondly of, that you are in awe of yourself for having been a character in such a poignant scene to remember.

And so as I sit in an empty theater, it’s as if I am bargaining with the universe, negotiating with a future sequel that will never be. But at least the emptiness will provide room for my saddened nostalgia to breathe. 

I think this is maybe what Love is. To Love something is to be willing to be sad. In a bid for Love you risk your own self, to experience real loss. “Real loss only occurs when you love something more than yourself.”

To Love a project enough that you are willing to go through continuous failure, interminably bound to never actually achieve the goal, because the goal itself is infinite, yet you choose to raise your bid each time. And thus the only true lifelong projects worth pursuing are these infinite growing beauties: happiness, health, friendship, and love. 

This is why grief hurts so much. This is why the pain of losing a loved one never fades, because it is a loss of yourself. Grief, suffering, sadness, the passage of time — the existence of all of this has no inherent meaning, but I can allow it to be instructive.

And so if you truly Loved something, you’d be okay with doing it alone. Just like watching a great movie. Like me, you’d be the last one to get up and leave. Like me, you’d be the one that stays till the end, long after the curtain closes, even if there is nothing left but a black screen. Like me, you’d stay till silence fills the room, even if it means you have to face your dreadful fear of abandonment, looking around the room searching for a familiar face only to realize you are all alone. Actually, you realize that you went to the theater alone. But perhaps it’s better that way — life is so. Because when I go watch a good movie by myself, I can watch the credits roll for as long as I like. And in that moment of stillness, I can give my sadness a quick monologue, and although I want to interrupt I won’t, because I know what comes after are scenes of growth and happiness.

There are so many parallel universes of experiences that my life could be. But although parallel lines may be right next to each other, they can never actually touch, only coexisting but never meeting, and so many experiences escape me. So for these rare beautiful fleeting experiences, I too must let them go because I never owned them, but I can be eternally grateful that there was a moment of tangency, a momentary spark of fate, that our paths crossed.

Inspired by “Morii: The Desire to Capture a Fleeting Experience” by John Koenig, Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows