What a Funny Time

I’m watching my little son as he sleeps. Marveling at this miracle we’ve created. Trying to wrap my head around how perfect he is. And how this perfect human being came from inside me.

It’s such a strange season of my life. My youngest turns 5 next month. And no matter how cliche it sounds, these years just flew by in the blink of an eye. They really did. There was a lot that happened in these five years, of course. There was a whole pandemic that turned the world upside down. There was a start of my writing career that turned my life upside down. There were struggles, adventures, learning curves, moments of joy. Tears and laughter, hellos and goodbyes. Everything you could imagine. And yet, I look at this little angel (aren’t they all angels when they sleep?) and wonder—when did this happen?

I’m about to book a one-way flight to another country for my eldest son. He’s 18. He’s got a life of his own and rarely finds time for me. And he’s getting ready to embark on a journey of a lifetime, going abroad to study.

For a year, to start with.

Although he’s planning to stay longer. Okay, in fact, he’s not planning to return.

Which is a good thing, of course. We can never truly go back, we can only move forward. Besides, every journey, every smallest trip we take always cause irrevocable change inside us. You just can’t come back as the same person.

I know it. And I love it.

When it comes to my journeys.

But as I plan for my young adult’s departure, I realize that those eighteen years also flashed by. My little baby is not a baby anymore. And I have no idea how it happened.

Years.

Decades.

I’ve been building my life.

And a life for my kids.

Rebuilding it.

Sometimes from scratch.

Making decisions.

Going places.

Changing directions.

Countries, cities, homes, identities.

Am I even me anymore?

Who was me, anyway, and does it even matter, if I’m not her?

Who am I now, and who will I be next year?

I’m just someone who finds herself in a funny time.

Turned 45.

Published my 4th book.

Got my 1st tattoo.

Celebrated my mom’s 80th birthday.

Choosing a cake for my son’s 5th birthday.

Hoping my other son can come home for his Christmas break to celebrate his 19th.

Numbers.

They don’t define anything, yet they carry so much weight. We always rely on numbers, don’t we? They scare us but also ground us at the same time. As if they’re something we can desperately hold onto in this whirlwind of a life.

Except we can’t. Because numbers tend to change. They never stay the same. Because this is how time works.

Funny, crazy, weird time.