Between all that life has offered and all that life ever will, between watching our times change with the flipping of the calendar’s pages, between the perfect continuity of the narrative of this life, I see a moment of its own. It is what we all want. It is the moment before the moment. It is the moment tucked into the sheets like an infant, cranky and tired. It is the slice of time with no before and no after when you look at it, segment it under the microscope of retrospect, and yet, it is so vital, so critical to the grand story that it would not exist without what happened before it, and it will continue to trickle into what happens after, like a hue that accidentally mixes with the others on the palette.
In one such moment, I saw my brother, older than me and towering in how I have always looked at him, paying little heed to the fact that I grew taller at some point. Under the soft and dimming glow of the setting sun, I saw him play with the waves and jump in them, and for a second, for a second I will always remember like a slice of time you know you will never forget after you first look at it, I thought of the sheer humanity of him, of how he has always been larger than life for me, of how we have never given him the privilege to simply be a person. And I would speak for myself only when I say it did not cross my mind much. But there he was, standing with his son and his wife as the sand drew their silhouettes under their feet, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
In life, there are moments, and there are moments. There is no difference between them until you see them for yourself, and then, you know it suddenly, and then, you know it forever.