And just like that it is the middle of 2011. People have moved, people have graduated, people have become parents. Six months is categorically short, a forgivable portion of our infinitesimally long and glorious lifetimes with seemingly endless possibilities. There is something to be said about every half year though, it has a standing, it has a place in our history. In ten years, most things that happened in that tiny slice of the time-space continuum will be mostly forgotten. But I can’t wrap my head around the truth that this was almost a whole 1.5% of my lifetime so far. That’s like that one long weekend we wait a hundred days for. That’s like the interest I proudly collect on my super prime special savings account once a year. It’s that one page in the weekly magazine that has the glaring advertisement. It’s that one stone in the fish tank. Though easy to ignore, its still there, its still space, its still our time, its still a piece of us.

Its that grim reminder that life happens in small days and long minutes. When its all shrunk and done, every day is a lifetime, every morning is a birth, every day is our prime, and every evening is a retirement and a long vacation, and every night is fading away into the dreamworld. I used to envy people who would gain immense satisfaction and joy from every morsel of what life threw at them, whether it was through whispers or whether it was through gusts; whether it was cooked or still pink, they still chewed it with a grin. I don’t envy them anymore. For I am reminded again that there is no such thing as a glory day. Why wait months and years to create only picture perfect experiences, why not enjoy a vacation every weekend, why not enjoy a feast on a tuesday, why not do a ridiculous dance in the morning sun, why not stroll in a midsummer noon breeze, why not stop counting percentages, why not use sunscreen, why not write a half baked blog entry.