Next time means never?

It is true that in life, anything can happen. For example, the famous Notre Dame Cathedral in France suddenly caught fire one day, ending the 850-year history of a classic symbol of French culture and history.

Many of my friends who planned to travel to France this summer could not help but regret. Obviously, the French will not let Notre Dame “die”, but the Notre Dame of the future will certainly not be the Notre Dame of the past. Human regret is always associated with missed moments. Do we often plan to visit a certain land and then postpone the trip 1001 times for 1001 different reasons, both objective and subjective? Do we often tell ourselves “If I don’t go this time, I will go next time”, “Paris is still there, it hasn’t gone anywhere, so why rush”? Then one day, the Paris we wanted to see and admire is really gone. If we change, it is also counted as a departure.

I used to live in Paris. It's been a long time since I returned to my country, but I still read the news about that city like a person who breaks up and looks at their ex's Facebook. Although each time I feel sad because my ex has changed so much. I thought about going back to visit Paris but then I stopped. I miss Paris on those autumn afternoons when I wander through the streets, doing nothing but watching the busy people and walking slowly a few steps to feel more clearly than ever my small existence in the middle of the big city. Or those summer nights sitting on the stairs on the banks of the Seine listening to a street singer perform, waving to the groups of tourists on the cruise ship passing by and laughing with each other for no reason at all. Or those winter mornings when my cold hands happily press against a paper bag of roasted chestnuts, eating them so hot that my mouth is full and my fingertips are black, but I still want to stand forever by the homemade grill made from barrels of young immigrants. And I miss Paris with my friends, most of whom I have not been in touch with for a long time. Some are busy with their husbands and children, others are buried in work, too young to have free time to hang out together. Being far from Paris means we are also far from each other. A distance that no means can overcome. The distance of time.

We are always selfish, giving ourselves the right to change and assuming that everyone and everything around us must stand still and wait for us. Then one day when we look back, we feel disappointed and regretful when they leave us. Who can we blame but ourselves now, no one is here to hear us say words of love, let alone say words of reproach.

Don't let the things that are important to you wait for next time. Because next time, who knows, maybe there will be a next time?

Hai Trieu