in bloom
seasons, impermanence, time and the pursuit of virtue
Spring has arrived again—a gentle yet profound reminder of time’s ceaseless march. At first, I barely noticed, caught between the quiet intensity of exam preparation and the ceaseless hum of ongoing projects. Then, in a brief pause—a stolen glance through the window—I saw it clearly: blossoms erupting, sunlight lingering, and something intangible shifting. It was spring—undeniably beautiful and undeniably fleeting.
Lately, as I've watched the world bloom and revive, I've found myself reflecting on how swiftly time slips by. Caught in the flurry of deadlines and endless to-do lists, weeks blur into one another, leaving little space to notice transformations unfolding within and around me. Yet, stepping outside on a spring morning, feeling the warmth return to the air, seeing buds open and petals drift, I'm struck by a vivid awareness: time is moving, life is changing, and so am I.
This realization brings a blend of wonder and anxiety. Wonder at how fluid and beautiful life's transitions can be; anxiety over whether I'm fully engaging with my own journey. Have I noticed how I've grown, how my priorities subtly shift with each new challenge and insight? Or have I been too distracted, caught up in the daily rush to acknowledge these subtle yet significant changes? I love my routines and structured days—I eat the same breakfast (and dinner) every day: a protein shake with oats, a double scoop of whey, a banana, and some flaxseed; I have coffee and schedule my 'deep work' sessions consistently. But sometimes, despite these routines, I find myself missing the forest for the trees. The structure that stabilizes my days blinds me to the broader narrative of my life—the gradual evolution of my character, relationships, and aspirations... sleepwalking through pivotal moments.
i. nothing lasts forever
Impermanence is life's fundamental truth. Empires crumble, mountains erode, even stars eventually die. The saying, "this too shall pass," echoes universally, offering comfort in sorrow and humility in triumph. Moments of profound joy and deep suffering both inevitably fade. Heraclitus said, "No man steps in the same river twice," underscoring that everything—ourselves included—is in constant motion. Yet I find myself resisting impermanence, craving permanence in relationships, success, and possessions, ignoring the truth that everything I love and seek out is already changing.
Impermanence, though painful, also brings possibility. Friedrich Nietzsche embraced it through "amor fati"—the radical love of fate. Reading his work has been challenging me to live so fully that impermanence becomes irrelevant, embracing every moment passionately. Buddhism, from what I’m learning, advocates nonattachment, teaching that suffering arises from resisting inevitable change. Rather than grasping tightly, Buddhism encourages flowing gently with life's currents, embracing each moment without clinging.
Nietzsche and Buddhism both reject clinging to permanence but approach it differently—Nietzsche through relentless mastery and defiance, Buddhism through surrender and acceptance. Perhaps the answer lies between these extremes: embracing life passionately yet letting go gracefully.
ii. time itself is relentless
Time is both a healer and teacher. It passes regardless of our readiness. Time teaches me how precious THIS moment is. This instant, this day, this season, this age—it only happens once.
Attempting to fight against time's flow only causes pain, which brings to mind something else—time is deeply personal. Everyone’s clock ticks with its own rhythm. No one can definitively say you're wasting time, because what seems wasteful to you might be someone else reclaiming theirs. It's up to you to understand your relationship with time, though it proceeds with its own agenda, regardless of what any of us wants.
iii. greatness & the pursuit of virtue
Virtue has quietly become the guiding star of my thoughts this year. The idea resonates deeply, perhaps because I've begun shifting my view of potential—from burden to profound gift. Everything around me now seems charged with opportunities for virtue, balance, and excellence. Whether it's the generous investments from my family and scholarship trustees in my education, my passionate exploration of genuinely intriguing ideas, or the inspiring brilliance of my peers at Imperial College London, gratitude has transformed my perspective. This has awakened a realization that greatness isn't merely possible—it is within reach, nurtured gently each day.
Historically exemplified by figures like Alexander the Great, greatness begins not with action but mindset. Though I'm slowly reframing my mindset, I'm learning, like Alexander’s ambition shaped by Aristotle’s virtues of courage, wisdom, and balance, to seek avenues to refine what greatness means to me and to base it, to a great extent, on kindness, prudence, and virtue.
Such ancient stories and explorations, moreover, tend to lead to a chain reaction of some sort, with one deep question/insight igniting even more profound questions like: Can I wholeheartedly embrace life in all its fleeting, imperfect beauty? Can I genuinely welcome every twist and turn, knowing they shape my evolving self? What does greatness or success truly mean in the context of a single human life? How many things can I genuinely master, and what must I willingly set aside to pursue true excellence?
For a long time, I hesitated to define success clearly. Perhaps I feared that my goals were overly influenced by external voices or fleeting desires. Now, with time, my understanding is maturing. I'm aiming to measure my success by whether I do great work, solve high-impact problems, and, most importantly, help people. Equally important are grounded aspirations: accepting my financial ambitions without shame has freed me, helping me see money as simply a resource—valuable when aligned with deeper values, particularly providing security for myself and those I love. Money is harmful only if it becomes life's sole driving force.
But am I willing to make sacrifices for it? If so, what must I let go of to carve space for clarity and lasting fulfilment on this journey? I don’t yet fully understand the grand sacrifices, but I know I must willingly give up fleeting comforts, transient pleasures, and distractions that erode purpose over time. While I'm unwilling to sacrifice friendships, family, or health, I accept occasional all-nighters, temporary mental strain, or missed hangouts—yet these sacrifices must not define my life's overarching story. This kind of balance is something I will make a point to rigorously assess as I go along.
iv. spring and seasons
As spring unfolds, reminding me of life's relentless yet beautiful rhythm, I find myself circling back to the beginning, reflecting deeply on change—not just in the external world, but also within myself. This change in season from winter's stark stillness to this vibrant renewal mirrors my own internal journey. Just as I first noticed spring through that fleeting window glance, I've begun to recognize the subtle shifts within myself: perspectives evolving, priorities clarifying, and new understandings taking root.
This spring, in particular, has awakened something dormant in me. Perhaps it's the contrast between nature's confident renewal and my own hesitant evolution that has sparked these reflections. While trees unfurl new leaves without questioning their worthiness to grow, I'm learning not to spend countless hours wondering if I'm progressing as I should, changing in the right ways, blooming at the proper pace. I am blooming now, and for now that's enough. And when the seasons change, I know everything is going to be okay.
And so I am committing once more to cherishing this endless flux—in the quiet mornings with my unchanging breakfast, in the structured routines that anchor my days, and in the gradual unfolding of ideas that shape my understanding of greatness and virtue. Also, I now understand that none of this transformation has to be dramatic; sometimes it's as subtle as buds forming imperceptibly on branches, visible only to those patient enough to notice. And perhaps, within this constant motion, I too can find my steady rhythm, welcoming each change not as an interruption but as a continuation. Living fully and mindfully, promising myself to pause often enough to notice the shifting seasons within my own heart—the winters of doubt, the springs of possibility, the summers of abundance, and the autumns of reflection. Each has its purpose, its beauty, its necessary place in the cycle of becoming.
Spring's return is more than just a reminder; it's an invitation to renew our relationship with time, virtue, and greatness—to remember that our personal growth is as natural and inevitable as the changing seasons. Time continues its unstoppable flow, and within this continuous motion, lets learn to discover a steadier rhythm of our own. Each day, each experience, becomes an opportunity to meet life's impermanence with courage, grace, and gratitude, embracing the endless cycle of becoming. And that, perhaps, is one of life's greatest gifts.