Day8-Moments of Fading Light

While I was swamped with work in the office during the early afternoon, my cell phone vibrated softly. Glancing at the screen, I saw it was a call from my mother. I had told her that I often couldn't answer calls during the day due to meetings and tasks, and asked her to contact me after 9 p.m. So a call at this hour meant there must be something urgent.

I quickly picked up, and heard my mother's slightly troubled voice. "The number at the top right of my smartphone is decreasing from 19 to 18. What should I do?" she asked anxiously. She was probably referring to the battery percentage. I thought perhaps the charging cable wasn't properly connected. "Try unplugging the cable and plugging it back in," I suggested.

After a moment, she exclaimed happily, "It's gone back up to 19!" Hearing the relief in her voice, I felt at ease, but for a split second, I thought, "You didn't need to call me for something like this." Immediately, I regretted that thought. If her battery died and I couldn't reach her, I wouldn't be able to ensure her safety. In that case, I'd have to rush to her side.

Moreover, watching the number drop from 19 to 18, inching toward zero, gave me a sense of urgency, as if time were running out. I realized that if I ever lost my mental balance, I might not even know how to use a smartphone.

Perhaps those decreasing numbers weren't just about battery life but held a deeper meaning. It felt as though someone was urging me to "ponder the significance of this."

Looking out the window, soft sunlight streamed in. I took a deep breath, embedding in my heart the importance of paying attention to even the smallest things.