The Beginning of The End, or The End of The Beginning?

What defines the "end"?

This question plagues me incessantly. More so, in this season of scheduled farewells and ambiguous new chapters, the rhetorical question that inspired the title of today often pirouette in my head across the twirling mathematics formulas, alpha-helix structures and osmoregulation steps.

Is this the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning?

I am entirely aware of the possible interpretations you may derive from the overused phrase: "the beginning of the end". Just to clarify, I do not mean it as "the point where something starts to gradually get worse", though it could be part of it; but rather, the start of the ending chapter of this phase of my life.

It's scary, yet exciting, to think about the future. Up to this point, it's still really hard to wrap my mind around the idea that in less than two months, I will be officially done with my program, and in another couple of months, I'll be leaving my loved ones, my friends, my hometown, and trying to live in a foreign country. So, won't it be the end of the beginning (my life up till that moment), then?

But what if, what if it is actually the beginning of the end? I'm on the cusp of change, in my last year as a teen. What if this is the last stretch to sprint, before I find myself suddenly thrown into the uncharted waters of true adulthood? Will this be the last song before youth becomes overrated? What if I lose my spontaneity, my passion-driven impulses, my mess of thoughts, my nonchalantness? Or would I not? I really can't say for sure, as much as I want to.

However, this topic of endings and beginnings led my train of thought off the tangent, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realisation of how often we cherish the "firsts", but neglect the "lasts". The first step, the first word, the first time you won an award, the first time you managed to make a perfect backflip.

But what about the last time you sat in your father's lap? The last time you had a tickle war with your siblings. The last flower you plucked from the garden and gave it to your mother. The last conversation you had with someone. The last hug. The last look. The last smile.

Perhaps we take things too much for granted. We are prone to assume that what we have would always be there, be it a skill, friendship, family or routine. We remember the first hug, but after fifty hugs, or even just ten, the novelty of it eventually wears off. Why? Why can't we ever cherish something, every time, every moment? It's hard to remember the instance of when the last time you did something was like. That's because when we were doing it for the last time, we didn't think that it would actually be the last time. Perhaps we assumed there would be a next time, or we never thought that it was even worth noting.

At this point of life, I think that this realisation is worth more than finding the answer to the original question itself. But without "lasts" there would be a closing-off of avenues that may lead to bigger and brighter "firsts", "firsts" that are as dazzling as they are colourful. So, I will not fear the "lasts", at least, no more than I fear the "firsts".

Cherish each moment like it's the last, and there will be no regrets.

"In the end, we only regret the chances we didn't take, the relationships we were afraid to have, and the decisions we waited too long to make." - Lewis Carroll

Love,

Eunice.