Meeting Memento Mori...

It's day 193 of documenting 2025.

Well, it's nighttime already.

And it's pretty chilly 🥶

But I like it.

I've never really shunned the cold... except maybe when I'm down with an illness.

Growing up, I described myself as someone with a 'thick skin' because I don't feel cold easily.

I prefer that to the heat.

Enough of my temperature preferences...

Let's do Highlights and then I'll share a story that really says something.

It's still our favorite character, Ursula...and this time, she meets Memento Mori.

365 Days With Self-discipline 

📌 On Becoming a New Person 

"If you want to be a new man you have to stay in new places, and do new things, with people who never knew you before. 

If you go back to the same old ways, what else can you be but the same old person?"

Quote by Joe Abercrombie

Changing yourself doesn’t necessarily mean throwing away your old life, cutting ties with your family and friends and moving to another corner of the world. 

If, however, certain aspects of your old life clearly hold you back, it is necessary to replace them with something new to enable your identity to change.

There’s no way around it; if you want something new in your life, something old has to go, no matter how sentimental you are about it or how scared you are that the new thing might not work well for you.

Pretty straight forward, isn't it?

I didn't share the whole note, by the way...I just 'highlighted' the most important parts.

Hence the name, Highlights.

The lesson remains: trade something old for the new thing you want in your life.

I'm currently working on that right now...just hoping I can figure it out.

Anyhoo...

Let's move on to the exciting part of today's post.

(Really? 🤨)

Yep! It's fiction time!

Keep your eyes on the screen, my friend..it's gonna be good.

Meeting Memento Mori 

Ursula walks without a destination.

It’s just past midnight. 

The air is still, the sky a muted navy blanket draped over the city. The streetlights hum low, casting soft halos on the pavement. Her feet are bare in her sandals, but she doesn't notice the cold. 

Her body moves, but her mind is somewhere deeper.

Somewhere emptier.

She doesn’t know what she’s looking for; only that she can’t sit still. Not tonight. 

Not with this hollowness pressing into her ribs like hands trying to fold her inward.

She’s tired of pretending she’s fine.

Tired of the voice that says she should “just be grateful.”

Tired of looking in the mirror and not seeing anything clear anymore.

She feels like a house with all the lights turned off. 

Present, but uninhabited.

Her steps slow when she reaches the old footbridge. 

The path is deserted. Quiet. 

A hush hangs in the air; not fearful, but expectant.

And that’s when she sees her.

A woman stands at the edge of the bridge, veiled in a black shroud that ripples like smoke in the windless night. 

She’s not blocking Ursula’s way; just there. Watching the river below. Still. Timeless.

Ursula freezes. 

Not out of fear; something else.

Recognition, maybe.

The woman turns. Her face is pale, but not ghostly. Soft lines rest along her brow, as if she carries memories like others carry breath. Her eyes are deep; not dark, but endless. A place you could fall into and come back changed.

She doesn’t speak.

But Ursula hears her anyway:

“This too shall pass.”

Not in a patronizing way. 

Not as a cliché.

As a truth so deep it echoes.

Ursula’s breath catches. 

She opens her mouth to ask who she is, but the woman simply holds out her hand; not forcefully, not urgently.

Ursula takes it. The touch is warm. Solid. 

Not the touch of a ghost, but of something ancient. 

Living. Eternal.

They stand in silence, side by side, watching the river flow. 

The current doesn’t rush. It glides. Just like time. Just like the seasons of the soul.

“You feel empty,” the woman says at last, her voice softer than wind.

“But you are not hollow. You are clearing space.”

Ursula’s throat tightens.

Tears well up, not from sorrow, but release.

“You are not behind. You are becoming. You are not forgotten. You are just quiet enough to hear yourself again.”

The woman lifts her hand and gently touches Ursula’s cheek; not wiping away the tear, just honoring it. 

A priestess of grief. A witness of transformation.

“Remember…everything ends,” she whispers. So begin again...fully.”

With that, she steps back into the shadows.

Gone. Not lost.

Ursula stands alone once more, but something in her has shifted. 

She looks up at the stars, breathes in deep, and for the first time in weeks…feels something stir.

Not joy. Not hope.

Meaning.

She turns and walks home...slowly, steadily, as if each step is a vow.

Behind her, the whisper remains:

“Memento Mori.”

That's the end of the story.

I read it and felt something...even just now.

The part about beginning again...it resonated.

Honestly...it's been quite hard for me these past few days....

Or maybe not 🤔

It's just me thinking about how supposedly hard it has been, and ignoring the good things too.

It's quite a battle up there...I tell you.

That's why I'm just not shouting into the void anymore.

There's still internal work left to be done...and I'm the only one who can do it.

And that was the conclusion to this post.

I thank you for reading 🎀 

I hope you're doing okay where you are.

I wish you a wonderful weekend.

I'm Duon Ada.

I'm documenting 2025,

And I'll see you tomorrow.

Ciao 💕