"WHO AM I, LIVING IN THE MIDDLE OF HISTORY, TO TELL THE UNIVERSE THAT IT - OR MY OBSERVATION OF IT - IS TEMPORARY?"

I am just a dandelion – as every person inhabiting planet earth. Eternity is a concept beyond my grasps and comprehension. It comprises of thousands, billions of momentary lives – like mine and yours. We flicker on and out. We are here one moment and the next we may be gone. How much we manage to reach out, on how many things we do indeed put a finger on remains unfathomable. The only purpose in our lives that seems somewhat reasonable and credible is to find our purpose. What’s the point in living when you can be blown away by the wind any second now? However, it is an unpromising and unpropitious venture and whoever sets out to delve into the depths of the recondite and abstruse, lands up in the depths of despair instead. Needless to say, the only way out is dead-end street. I am just a dandelion – like you. I can get blown away by the harsh wind as I am sitting in my room and typing those words. I like being a part of that world, though… a world of so many unknowns. And I contempt the impending second when my observation of it will come to an end. I despise the fact that my story would be dwindled and lost among the hundreds other. I abhor the mere thought that my observation would halt. I hate it… But I am just a fragile dandelion – I am here and I am gone. Good riddance to bad rubbish. I grow to divulge the spring and the warm summer sun but I seldom make it to the hot days of August. The risen sun too bright in my losing eyes. The howling wind too wicked against my frail wings. Who am I to insinuate hatred towards that infinite magnificence of power?
I am just a dandelion but I do relish my tenuous being. Perhaps I am temporary. Perhaps what I get is just a glimpse of the marvels the universe beholds. But I retain my right to observe its glory and riot of colours. And I intend to indulge and bask in it. So here I am, sharing my momentary contemplation of a might too abstract and too arcane to name. My existence may be ephemeral but my observation (and my personal growth) would be conserved in the time capsule my essays are.