On Those Who Leave, and the Time We Have Left

On Those Who Leave, and the Time We Have Left

This week, I heard two pieces of sad news.

Two people I knew passed away, and their ages were not very far from mine. The news came one after another, almost without pause, as if life was gently , but firmly , knocking, trying to remind me of something important.

The first was Senja. Senja Febria Saptarini. We were in the same batch from high school until university. There are a few awkward memories between us that I do not need to tell here, but beyond that, she was a good friend. A cheerful person. Her smile was almost always there, and somehow, I always felt a positive aura coming from her. She was beautiful, and her name stayed with me. It was beautiful , just like her.

The second was Kak Imas. I called her “Kak” because she was more senior than me, not only in age but also in life experience. We once worked together as radio broadcasters at Radio Mujahidin. Even after she resigned, she remained active as a broadcaster. Through her WhatsApp status, I followed parts of her life from a distance. She seemed busy, moving from one activity to another, running a traditional snack business with her husband, and trying many other things. She often shared updates about her life, and I was happy to see that she looked content in a new place and phase of life.

Senja was different. After she decided to leave the English Literature department where we once studied together, I barely heard any news about her. We lost contact. Only recently did I realize that I had never even followed her Instagram account. Slowly, she disappeared from the small reach of my life, without me fully noticing it at the time.

As an introvert, social media is not just a place to show off life for me. It is the quietest way to stay connected. A space to follow the lives of people who once walked alongside us, even when we no longer meet in person. It may sound sentimental, but I am someone who values every encounter, no matter how small. I believe that everyone who comes into our lives and leaves a trace is someone to be grateful for. And following them from afar, through the digital world, is one of my ways of expressing that gratitude.

I remember a line spoken by Céline in the film Before Sunset: “You can never replace anyone because everyone is made up of such beautiful specific details.” And that is true. Every person has a uniqueness that can never be replaced by anyone else.

I do not know whether to call this a departure or an arrival. They leave this world, yet arrive in the realm of barzakh, moving closer to Allah SWT. Every time I hear news of loss like this, it feels like a soft but constant alarm, reminding me that our lives are not endless.

Each of us is given time. Limited time, even though we often live as if it will last forever. And at this point, I always ask myself: Have I prepared enough provisions to wait for thousands of years before the Day of Judgment comes? Or have my days in this world been spent mostly on things that do not truly matter?

These questions do not always have comfortable answers. But perhaps that is their purpose. To make sure I do not forget that life is short, that people come and go, and that every day is a chance to choose: whether to leave behind something meaningful, or simply pass through without a trace.