By Laura Htet (UDE)
A year may seem long, but in reality, it is only thirty-six periods of ten days. At first, I never thought about it. But when I reflected on it, I was amazed by how swiftly time moves. Time keeps passing, and we can no longer afford to waste it lightly. If we meet once every ten days, we only meet thirty-six times a year. In this vast and magnificent journey of life, each meeting is quietly moving, step by step, towards separation as we count backwards. How precious every moment of life truly is.
Long-distance relationships have a way of teaching us arithmetic we never wished to learn. We begin counting days instead of memories, hours instead of embraces, phone calls instead of shared dinners. What once felt like an endless calendar suddenly becomes a narrow corridor of numbered chances. Thirty-six meetings a year. Thirty-six opportunities to look into the eyes of the person who feels like home.
When love lives in the same city, time feels generous. There is always tomorrow. There is always next week. There is always another evening to walk side by side without thinking about how many such evenings remain. But when distance stands between two people, time transforms into something sharper and more visible. Every ten days is like a single grain of golden sand in the hourglass of time. While waiting ten days to meet again, while planning ten days for a journey, while counting ten days from “I miss you” to “I finally get to see you”, time continues to slip away.
Time never stops. Like a silent river, it flows steadily forward, carrying people along with it, quietly leaving behind a destiny that never allows us to meet in time. Flights get delayed. Work becomes demanding. Unexpected obligations arise. Sometimes we miss a planned meeting and the arithmetic changes again. Thirty-six becomes thirty-five. Or thirty-four. Each lost meeting feels heavier than it should, because in a long-distance relationship, meetings are not ordinary events — they are the heartbeat of the relationship itself.
Yet every meaningful encounter leaves a beam of light in our lives, forming for us a sky filled with stars. The station platform where we wave goodbye becomes sacred ground. The small café where we talk for hours becomes a memory we revisit on lonely nights. The scent of their perfume on our jacket lingers longer than it should, as if even the air understands how rarely we are together.
Life is a cycle of meeting and parting. And because separation is inevitable, every meeting becomes even more precious. Those who love across distance understand the quiet miracle of ordinary moments. Sitting in silence next to each other. Sharing a simple meal. Walking without speaking. These become treasures because they are limited.
Distance tests patience, but it also refines love. It removes the superficial and exposes what truly matters. We learn to communicate more honestly, because misunderstandings cannot be solved with a quick hug. We learn to listen more carefully, because tone carries more meaning than touch. We learn to trust more deeply because we cannot watch over each other’s daily lives.
There are nights when longing feels heavier than hope. Nights when the phone screen becomes a fragile substitute for presence. Nights when the word “soon” feels both comforting and painfully vague. But there are also mornings when a simple message – “Good morning” – feels like a promise that love is still alive, still waiting, still enduring.
Do not wait for “later”. The best time is now. The longing we feel at this moment, the courage we have at this moment, the hands we can still reach out with at this moment – the present is the most valuable time of all.
In long-distance relationships, postponement becomes a dangerous habit. “We will travel together next year.” “We will celebrate properly when we finally live in the same city.” “We will take photos when life is less busy.” But what if life never becomes less busy? What if next year carries its own storms? The present moment is fragile. It does not wait politely for our convenience.
Let us meet while we still can. In these thirty-six encounters, let us create rich memories. Let us fill every meeting with warmth and meaning. Every sincere encounter is the gentlest way to resist life’s hardships – resisting forgetfulness, resisting loneliness, resisting distance, resisting longing, and resisting the regret of missing what should have been cherished.
When we finally stand face to face after days of waiting, the world seems to pause. The airport crowd fades into the background. The noise of traffic becomes distant. In that embrace, ten days of longing dissolve into a single breath. We realize that love is not measured by proximity, but by presence – by the depth of attention we offer when we are together.
And yet, even in the joy of reunion, there is a quiet awareness that the clock is already ticking again. Another countdown has begun. Another farewell waits somewhere in the near future. This awareness could make love anxious and fragile. Instead, it often makes love deliberate.
We speak more sincerely. We laugh more freely. We take more photos, not because we are obsessed with capturing moments, but because we understand how rare they are. We memorize the curve of their smile, the rhythm of their voice, the warmth of their hand in ours. We gather these details like treasures to carry back across the distance.
The beauty of life does not exist in some distant future, but in every “present moment” in which we are still able to meet. When the sunlight is bright, when longing still stirs in our heart, when it is not yet too late to say, “It’s been so long,” go and meet the one we miss, the one we long to see.
In a world that moves quickly and demands productivity, love can easily be postponed. But love is not an appointment to be rescheduled without consequence. It is a living connection that requires time, attention, and courage. Especially in long-distance relationships, effort is not optional – it is essential.
Thirty-six meetings a year may not seem like much. But within those thirty-six meetings lie countless conversations, shared dreams, whispered reassurances, and silent understandings. Within those thirty-six meetings lies the strength to endure another ten days apart. Within those thirty-six meetings lies the decision, repeated again and again, to stay.
Perhaps the true lesson of distance is not about sadness or sacrifice. Perhaps it is about clarity. When we know we cannot meet every day, we begin to understand the value of every single day we can. When we know time is limited, we stop treating it as infinite.
A year may seem long, but it is only thirty-six periods of ten days. Thirty-six chances to hold hands. Thirty-six chances to say, “I am here.” Thirty-six chances to choose each other again. And maybe that is enough – if we cherish them.
