The other day, I was walking to the train station, and I couldn’t help but wonder the usual : why is it, when you’re in a hurry, time seems to speed up as well? And when you actually have enough time, this walk, which usually takes me fifteen minutes, suddenly only takes five?

I remember as a kid, every year felt like a decade – even though I hadn’t even lived for a decade yet. Every birthday seemed so far apart that it felt like it must had been more than a year since the last one – even though it wasn’t. Because it was exactly a year, obviously.  And now, it feels as if my birthday is twice a year, if not more. Does that mean that in twenty years, every day will be my birthday?

My grandparents told me how time flies (for them), when I asked them what they thought about it. They see it as everything is over very quickly. I just don’t understand why, not completely anyway. Is it because, as we get older, we simply have more knowledge , more things we might risk losing, and more people who might disappear, compared to when we were younger?

Or is it simply because, as we age, we get painfully aware of our own mortality?


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