We all have 25,000 mornings. Just enough to understand that the world is round, that gravity exists, and everything will fall into place. Our minutes are numbered with significance and this moment is just a sigh we will remember the next moment. Our life is but a breath. A long, lingering breath.
When we were young, the first thing we knew is to discover how oxygen passes through our lungs to pump into our hearts. We didn’t know we were making out with nature. We didn’t know we were sharing breaths with the things we see in Biology class. All we know is that we live, we have shadows, we exist and we keep on. We didn’t know we have limited hours to live by. We didn’t know we have 25,000 mornings to count.
We never counted those mornings.
What we counted, however, are moments. We counted dates and boys, the number of times we say something smart over bitchy girls in high school. We count late night kisses, early morning reprimands, dangerous escapes and the different hairstyles we made ever since we were thirteen. We number the friends who left us and those who stayed; moments when a loved one dies unexpectedly, the sequels to our favorite movies and the celebrities we managed to take selfies with. We count days when we leave off to travel to a new country, or months after we have gotten our first job or years to get hitched again after going through a bad divorce.
Back then, we used to say we hate Maths. We didn’t know our brains love keeping scores like a loyal accountant. It lists down who we were, who we are, and maybe predicts who we’re going to be. We, unconsciously, love numbers. We, unfortunately, don’t know what better things to count.