In one week, we’ll be packing our bags to fly back home. As I write this, I’m in disbelief at how quickly this program has gone by. At first, it felt like we had endless time to explore everything Cape Town has to offer, but now I feel a growing sense of urgency, wanting to soak it all in before this place becomes nothing more than a memory. This lingering feeling reminds me of a quote by Marcus Aurelius that my middle school English teacher would share with us at the end of each school year: “Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place.”
At the beginning of the program, that river felt calm. Time seemed to flow from one excursion to the next, each day unfolding gently. But now that same river feels more like the ocean outside our hotel window—the one whose waves I hear crashing each night. Its current is no longer gentle but relentless, sweeping the little time we have left out from under my feet. Looking back, I remember wondering how I would ever spend six weeks living in a hotel and finding it almost impossible to imagine. That feeling stands in stark contrast to this week, when most of our days were spent in the conference room planning our filming. On Wednesday, after the DTTC spent nearly the entire day in meetings, Sam, Lidya, Nardeen, and I finally stepped outside for the first time. By then, the sun had already set, a small but piercing reminder of how fleeting the present really is.
My perception of time has always been centered around my academic calendar. Semesters, exams, breaks, and deadlines have dictated the rhythm of my life. During this program however, time has been measured differently, not by grades or due dates, but by interviews, excursions, and the stories we’ve been trusted to tell. Time has flowed more freely, measured instead by early morning departures, long days of filming, and conversations about the lived realities of TB survivors. While this slower rhythm encouraged me to be more present, it also made me lose sight of time’s larger current. It wasn’t until I looked back that I realized just how swiftly it had been carrying me toward the end of this experience.
The past few weeks of listening to the stories of TB survivors have completely changed how I think about time. We spoke to mothers who described months and years shaped by TB, including the grueling timeline of recovery carved out by uncertainty and anticipation for their loved ones’ futures. Their timeline looked nothing like our own which was stored meticulously on a long Google Docs sheet listing all our goals for the project. While I measured my six weeks this way, they measured time by diagnosis, treatment, healing, and coping with all that TB had taken from them.This idea also makes me think of a philosophical concept of time. While we use creative inventions like clocks or art to visualize time and its effects on us, time is actually less like a clock and more like a mirror. It doesn’t just tell us how much time has passed; it forces us to look at ourselves and reveals what we truly value. When I look back on this program, I will not remember every lecture or meeting. Instead, I will remember the conversations that challenged my assumptions and the laughter I shared with my groupmates, reflecting back to me not just where I’ve been, but what mattered most.
Six weeks ago, I arrived wondering how I would fill the days. Now I find myself wondering how there could possibly be so few left. Somewhere between the first excursion and our final week of filming, Cape Town stopped feeling like a destination and started feeling like a routine. That quiet shift happened without me noticing, only becoming clear as the end approached. Marcus Aurelius was right that time sweeps everything forward. But I think he left room for another truth: while we cannot slow the current, we can choose how fully we experience the moments before they pass. If time is a river, then maybe our memories are what allows us to look back from the shore and cherish the journey.