YuHeng's blog

I’m posting now what I’ll only post in two days. Already I’m ahead of myself, and the moment slips. When I think of myself in the present, I’m no longer really here. Time folds, and I feel strange.

If you place yourself in the past, the so-called present immediately collapses into it. And the present you’re speaking from—the one that remembers—is already the future. So where is the present, really? It cannot be the past; the mind refuses to equate the two. Yet you can’t stand in both at once. Something has to give.

But once you stop believing in time as a straight line, does it matter what gives way? Maybe the present is less a point and more a slice—a cross-section of selves stretched across different temporal and spatial coordinates.

I won’t abstract it endlessly. The more I chase the present, the more it disappears.