By Jenya Pandey
The fine china sits untouched, collecting nothing but dust, jealous of the used plates, each chip a declaration of love, of familiarity.
The owner of the fine china lies taking her last breaths in the other room. Her great-grandchildren will soon visit pawn shops, asking for money in exchange for what she considered priceless.
Yet not all stories end this way.
In another home, a woman brings out her finest dishes for every meal—birthday cake or scrambled eggs. Each chip and crack in her china is a testament to laughter, shared moments, and the refusal to wait for a "special occasion" that may never come.
They say time is infinite, yet here we are: finite beings, tethered to its relentless ticking. The paradox is undeniable: we act as though we have forever, yet we exist within the briefest flicker of cosmic light. The universe spans billions of years, an expanse so vast it defies human comprehension, and yet we, the ephemeral sparks, walk around with the belief it is ‘our world’.
Life is nothing but a singular breath, a fleeting wisp of cold air curling into an endless sky. We measure it in decades, clinging to the illusion of infinity.
How often do we say, “I’ll do it tomorrow”? As though tomorrow is a given, as though it’s stored with the label of our names. But infinity is not ours to claim. It is a mathematical abstraction, a concept that mocks our mortality with its boundlessness. And yet, we crush the moments we do have, saving our best words, our grandest dreams, our deepest loves, for a tomorrow that might never come.
Day after day, we save the best for last. We keep the fine china tucked away in cabinets, waiting for a special occasion that never comes. We buy makeup that sits unused until it expires, a testament to moments we planned but never seized. We hoard stickers, thinking we’ll find the perfect place to use them, only to see them gather dust, their adhesive dried up by the time we decide. These are the tiny tragedies of our everyday lives, reminders that our fixation on “later” often robs us of “now.”
What if, instead of saving the best for last, we brought it forward? What if we spoke the words that matter and embraced the people we love- not waiting for a tomorrow that is not promised but today, which for certain.
Time is not ourss to hoard. It is not a bank account we can fill with deposits of unspoken feelings and unrealized ambitions. It is a river, flowing ceaselessly forward, carrying us with it whether we are ready or not. To live fully is to step into its current, to immerse ourselves in the now. Not because it’s convenient, but because it’s as momentary as it comes.
In the end, the universe will go on without us. Stars will be born, galaxies will collide, and time will stretch endlessly into the future. But in our brief, luminous moments, we have the power to leave a mark. Not on the universe, but on each other. Not in infinity, but in the finite spark of a life well-lived.
So, do not save the best for last. There may be no last. There is only now, and now should be enough.
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By Jenya Pandey
Beautiful❤️