The Art of Fading Away

People, places, and things I keep them so close, yet they feel so far. 

Although everything is perishable and comes with a shelf life, we still have a special place for certain things. It’s almost paradoxical how something can exist within arm’s reach but feel worlds apart.

Does this attachment make you materialistic? Or does it make you “too emotional”? What does it make you then? No one has a definite answer, because deep down, we all know it’s a paradox we live with every day.

It’s not just about material things. It’s about what they represent—memories, emotions, connections. A worn-out book isn’t just paper and ink; it’s the comfort of late-night reading, the escape into another world. A favorite t-shirt isn’t just a piece of cloth; it’s the comfort of it being worn so many times by the person you somewhere hold so close to you and the moments you have spent with your loved ones. These things are more than their physical selves; they are symbols of moments, feelings, and pieces of ourselves that we hold dear.

And yet, there’s a strange irony in our attachment. We know these things are impermanent. The book may fall apart, the t-shirt may fade, the places we cherish may change beyond recognition, the road you used to take earlier to see your special people has now been changed into a bridge and the people we love may drift away. Still, we hold on. Why? Is it because letting go feels like losing a part of who we are? Or because holding on is our way of defying time and its relentless march forward?

Perhaps being emotionally attached to things doesn’t always mean we want to relive the moments or feelings they represent. Sometimes, we hold onto them simply because they are a part of our story—a reminder of who we were, what we’ve been through, and how far we’ve come. A message from an old friend may carry the weight of a friendship that’s faded, but it’s not about wanting to rekindle the bond. It’s about honoring the role it played in shaping you. A souvenir from a trip of long relationship may evoke bittersweet memories once it's over, but it’s not about wanting to go back. It’s about holding onto the person you were in that moment, even as you’ve grown into someone new. We don’t always want to revisit those feelings or moments, but the objects tied to them become placeholders—a quiet acknowledgment of the journey we’ve traveled. They remind us of the complexity of our emotions, the depth of our experiences, and the resilience we’ve built along the way. 

Perhaps there is still a paradox that isn’t something to resolve but something to accept. It’s human nature to seek meaning in the fleeting. We attach ourselves to people, places, and things because they ground us, remind us of who we are, and help us navigate a world that’s constantly changing.

Being attached doesn’t make us materialistic, nor does it make us overly emotional. It makes us human. It makes us people who care deeply, who find joy and sorrow in the smallest details of life. The paradox is not a flaw; it’s a reflection of our capacity to love and value the world around us, even as we know it won’t last forever.

So, maybe the question isn’t about what it makes us. Maybe it’s about what it teaches us. It teaches us to be present, to cherish what we have while we have it, and to let go when the time comes—with grace, gratitude, and the knowledge that every person, place, and thing leaves a mark on us, shaping us in ways we’ll carry forever.

It isn’t about clinging to what was but about honoring the impact they’ve had on our lives. It’s not about denying their impermanence but embracing it with the understanding that every connection—no matter how fleeting—has shaped us in some way.

Perhaps the real beauty lies in the paradox itself: the ability to treasure what is close, even as it feels distant, and to find meaning in the transient nature of it all. Maybe that’s what makes us human—our capacity to hold on, to let go, and to cherish the journey in between. 

So, when we keep these things close, it’s not about longing for the past. It’s about looking at the art of letting go while recognizing the beauty in having lived it, and the strength it took to move forward. It’s about carrying those moments as lessons, not destinations. just like the people, places, and things—we keep them close, yet they feel so far!