I've been thinking about a question lately: why do I love open endings so much?
Whether it's watching movies or reading novels, those endings that leave things unclear—what really happened, whether the protagonist ended up happy, what that look really meant—always leave me pondering for a long time. At first, I would feel frustrated and unwilling to accept it, but gradually I learned to embrace that "not clearly stated" state, and I even started to enjoy it.
Because it's real.
Because it resembles our lives so much.
In life, we often don't get clear answers.
What you think is a deep gaze might just be the other person looking over by chance.
What you muster the courage to say as "Are you there?" might forever remain at "The other person is typing."
You think there's still time, only to realize that day was actually the last time you met.
Some words will never be spoken, some people will always remain in the "later,"
And the word "later" itself is synonymous with an open ending.
We always want to find an explanation. We want to know if this choice is right or wrong, if doing it that way would yield better results. But where are the clear cause-and-effect relationships?
Many times, we just randomly choose a path at the crossroads of time, or simply have no choice, and then we walk and walk until we reach now.
Later, I came to understand that an open ending is not an escape from closure, but a form of honesty.
It acknowledges our uncertainties, recognizes human complexity, and accepts the ambiguity and uncontrollability of emotions. It’s not like a fairy tale that insists on telling you whether the prince and princess end up happy; it’s more like reality, giving you a vague blank space to feel, guess, and accept on your own.
Have you ever felt this way?
Some people you haven't contacted again, but you know they still reside in some corner of your heart.
Some things you haven't brought up again, yet every time a scene flashes by, your heart still stirs slightly.
That’s not regret, nor is it remorse. It’s just a part of life, with no ending, and no need for one.
Not all stories have an ending.
Not every relationship needs to be settled.
Some things should just stay in that moment, preserving their most authentic form.
Slowly, I began to feel that the most touching parts of life are not those perfect moments, but the unfinished emotions. It’s an "I actually..." that didn’t get to be finished, a "Are you okay?" that you wanted to send but deleted, a reunion that you only dare to replay in dreams.
What open endings have taught me is to let go of the obsession with perfect answers and to accept the ambiguity and uncertainty of life.
Perhaps this state of "not knowing what will happen next" is itself full of vitality.
Our lives have always been a continuous process.
There are no final drafts, no previews, and no deleted scenes.
Everyone is improvising in their own story, acting and getting into character, crying and laughing until they reach this point.
What that final scene looks like is actually not important.
What matters is that in those moments of "not yet spoken," we truly lived, invested, and loved.
Open endings are the norm of life.
And we, in such endings, gradually become ourselves.
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