It took me fifteen years, four months and eleven days to figure why I hated a season named for the unstoppable, uncontrollable descent into winter. However that, there, is not at all the reason for my discomfort at all— rather, I am thrown by fall’s astounding beauty. See, in reality the brilliance of fall is rooted in death, and every 365 days we live though a season that inadvertently implies that the best way to be beautiful it, simply, to die. See, it’s easy to equate on life to another. We do it all the time- the cycle of nature is just like our life. That’s what we read, what we’re taught, taught, taught to find the symbols in everything. Sometimes we forget that real life is not a story, and sometimes the trees are just trees. Yet we still convince ourselves that the best way to be beautiful in this world is to go in a flaming burst of colour.
Let me tell you, no matter what it seems, it’s wrong. There’s so many better ways to live, and that’s why I’m so upset by this season where everything beautiful is everything dead, because we are not trees, and our beauty is not determined by our death but by our actions, and we have to recognize that we can only ever live while we’re still alive.