what a privilege it is to ache
on nostalgia and missing what was once yours
I am leaving Singapore after ten months here — ten beautiful, extraordinary months. A life that I have built for myself, going to my favourite coffee shop with friends I hope to know for years to come. The mundaneness of the getting on the tube, listening to the jingle that plays to let you know the train has arrived — a sound I will probably never hear again. The hot weather and $1.50 ice cream sandwiches that London could never replicate, the hawker centres and art exhibitions and violin shows. My favourite book shop in Tanjong Pagar where I rejoiced in South East Asian literature, a privilege I wouldn’t have in the northern hemisphere. All of my favourite pastimes relegated to mere memories, because as soon as that plane lands in Heathrow this chapter closes indefinitely. I can’t say that I’m ready for it.
I have been thinking a lot lately about nostalgia. How the ache proves to be unbearable sometimes — how thinking about the past can induce a melancholy so potent that you’re left unable to move. The thought of carefree summers at 16 creating so much feeling, so much overwhelm and sadness, because that moment has been lost and it will never arise again. People move away, children grow up, circumstances change. And you are left chasing a memory that only grows weaker with time.
But how beautiful is it to love so deeply that you feel such an ache? That you are at such a loss because of all the incredible things that once existed? To think that you had such full and rich and meaningful experiences, memories will stay with you forever because they made such an impact. To have stories to tell and moments to be grateful for, because there has been so much love in your life that you don’t even know where to start. I like to think nostalgia is one of the greatest privileges in the world. Even though it may not look like it some days.
I am leaving this chapter and returning back to the pollution (and phone theft) that awaits me in London. It is difficult and it is painful, because life will never look like this again. I will never have mediocre dinners at the school canteen, late night ice creams at 2 o'clock in the morning, brunches with friends that make me feel grateful to be alive. I am leaving it all behind — there will now be an eight hour time difference between me and the kindest, most sincere and thoughtful people I have ever met. It is a difficult pill to swallow, to know I won’t see them again for a long while. To know that it is almost impossible to sustain a friendship when you are on the other side of the world. I already feel the pain and the sadness and grief of it all, left completely encumbered because I am leaving a life I love. A life I can never get back, no matter how hard I try. My international exchange is over and there is nothing I can do about it.
But to feel such an immense loss means you once had something so incredibly great — memories to cherish for the rest of your life, countless unforgettable moments that make life worth living. Experiences that make you feel whole, with people you love entirely. To be nostalgic means you are fortunate to have something worth missing, worth reminiscing about for years to come. To have something that moves you so deeply that it leaves an imprint. How hauntingly beautiful is that?
When you find yourself overwhelmed by the ache, remember that you will soon experience happiness like that again. It may look different, it may never be the same again but that is not necessarily a bad thing. Your new chapter will be just as meaningful and enjoyable and worthwhile. Sometimes the finiteness of an experience makes it all the more special — to know that your time somewhere is limited. You appreciate it more, you are able to reminisce positively knowing you made the most of it while it lasted.
Though the moment is gone, the way it shaped you remains, and you will carry those wonderful memories for as long as you live. There is still so much to look forward to.
To the future and all the incredible things that await,
Zahra ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.