I ONCE cried about a student I met in my freshman year while working as a tutor on an online platform. I had just 30 minutes to teach him English, but as our session began, it became evident that something was amiss. The student, a college student residing in Singapore, was sipping from a bottle of wine, clearly inebriated. He confessed that he simply wanted to engage in a conversation about life.

It was the deepest 30-minute conversation about life I have ever had with someone. We delved into our dreams, our aspirations, and the myriad challenges that life had thrust upon us, such as facing family issues and trying to understand our true purposes. I never heard from him again—yet a couple of months later, I found myself sobbing just remembering our conversation.

This was a complete stranger, and I had already forgotten his name. I never forgot the feelings he brought out in me though—empathy for the situation he was in and curiosity about the complexities of life. I felt fulfilled from being able to connect to another soul belonging to somebody else.

Ironically, I have never considered myself a sentimental person. I have misplaced movie tickets from first dates, forgotten long-held gifts, and failed to preserve mementos with loved ones. It took me a while to realize that this, in itself, is my own form of sentimentality—my way of safeguarding against the heartache that remembering often brings.

I now realize that this is exactly what makes me sentimental. Remembering brings me to a time in black and white—one that I no longer have access to. It pains me to think of memories I can no longer experience, and it hits me especially hard when these come from people I have lost contact with. Reminders of people I once cared about serve as poignant triggers, highlighting my inability to express gratitude for precious moments and my inability to turn back time.

I think of the sweet child I once taught fractions to during a school exposure trip—the same child who concealed the scars of abuse when I asked about them. I often wonder if his situation has improved.

People who reshaped my understanding of life persistently occupy my thoughts, namely childhood friends, tutees, and professors. These individuals, like ghostly apparitions, continue to accompany me on my life’s journey, their presence felt but forever out of reach. I carry the echoes of our interactions: their voices and laughter, their hopes and fears, as if they were phantoms lingering in the periphery of my consciousness.

I also worry about the people I care about. I know that for some of them, I will inevitably have to say goodbye. Knowing that some people are not meant to be permanent fixtures in my life does not make it easier to let go of the vivid memories and feelings they bring. Perhaps, the only thing that can be done is to find solace in the discomfort.

Portions of my heart have been claimed by those who rightfully deserved them. It is both an unfortunate and a beautiful testament that I cannot sever these bonds. These bittersweet memories serve as reminders to love uncertainty, treasure the past, and embrace impermanence.

Sabina is an Interdisciplinary Studies student who is expected to graduate from the Ateneo de Manila University in 2024. She has a passion for people and a deep commitment to promoting mental health awareness.

Editor’s Note: The views and opinions expressed by the opinion writer do not necessarily state or reflect those of the publication.