“Time is subjective”. I think that’s what my mum once said to me in an attempt to explain the word ‘subjective’. I used to repeat the phrase because I thought it sounded intelligent. If I’m being honest, I still do this- plagiarise facts told by people I trust. Vegans need creatine supplements because it is only found in red meats? Okay, passionate-vegan-hating brother. I’ll tell my friends when the topic arises.
As with most lofty concepts, it takes time to construct a solid understanding, like plastering the walls of a mud-brick house. I accepted prima facie that time is more than the rhythm of the clock’s hand. It is an experience: the wait was long, the ride was short. But Spring Break operates on its own distinctive holiday time. I have all the time in the world, until the clock strikes nine and I have around three more hours until bedtime. I’m trying to train myself to wake up with the sun- it’ll be of use next quarter when I have my 8:00am classes. And I just like the idea of aligning myself with the natural cycle of the day. When I grow up, I want to be a morning person.
Anyhow, the day is extended, like a string of dough in my hands. With this freedom, I am so present walking by the neighbourhood houses, detecting pine and sweet blossoms in the air. I think about where I might want to live and work, where I might want my children to grow up. I read my book, I read the newspaper someone’s left on the table in Starbucks and I enjoy every human encounter. Costco employee, Apple genius, the man with his granddaughter in his arms. She waves goodbye enthusiastically until they walk far enough to disappear from view. I see a father pushing the shopping cart with his two daughters sitting up front, flying across the parking lot. I see a tattooed gentleman pull his wife back for a kiss before they depart and enter into different stores. In the absence of real responsibilities, I let the space be filled with life. In the stillness, my mind wanders. I want to learn the history of everything. I need to know of the battles that occurred in Cyprus, the details of the Victorian era. I want to read the works of Plato and Emily Dickinson, learn to cook red Thai curry shrimp. I want to absorb Ella Fitzgerald’s music and channel her feeling, understand encryption and watch John Oliver. Give me more time so I can do it all.
My friend and I like to check up on each other’s days. What was the theme of your day, the week, the month? What were the highlights, things that inspired you, things that annoyed you?
It’s a kind of love when you’re interested to know the mundane details- except they’re no longer mundane. It’s envisioning another world. To love is to long to know a person’s mind and to delight in its contents. Everything that has shaped them becomes endearing, be it Sailor Moon or crushes on Joe Jonas.
Find people who help you find yourself. And be that person for them, too.
Oh WordPress how I’ve missed you! I miss the mindless scrolling through my feed, previewing thought-catalog posts, surveying the newest variations in stories of love and love lost. But I miss the catalogue of lives the most: passing thoughts, poetic one-liners, moments of self-discovery. I also enjoy ironic posts: the writer sets up a journey that ends where it begins. Round-about narratives are kind of sad and funny at the same time.
Since I’ve been gone, I’ve found two silver strands sprouting from my head. I’m twenty and ageing fast. Don’t ask me how I am, because that’s boring and unoriginal. Atop of that, I’m burdened with the responsibility of being selective in my answer, honest, creative even. That’s a loaded question. It’s the opener to the brief conversation in line for coffee, or when I see a friend I’ve been meaning to text but haven’t gotten round to. If you really want to know, let’s be serious and do it well.
I’ve been all sorts of good, fine, okay. Each day has it’s peaks and troughs. Some days, I see beauty everywhere: the golden glow of the five-o-clock sun (my favourite time of day here), people laying out on the grass, crooning mothers, reflective windows, Professor Lee’s patience. Other days I waste away feeling like a shell of a person. Perhaps I was coasting before I bumped into you. Perhaps the gym and shower have taken their turns to ruin and revive me. Perhaps today I have no strong feelings about anything to report, which I think is sad. I still don’t have a plan for my next few years in college… or the rest of my life and sometimes I’m okay with that. Maybe you’ve caught me on days when I’m not. Worst of all, I probably haven’t thought about how I generally feel; there are too many things to consider.
I almost don’t remember how the year began; every month marks a transition, every season its own personality. Stories within stories within stories. It’s worse that the school year is misaligned with the calendar year. But let’s not rehash the details right now. I’m more excited about what’s to come: Beats by Dr. Dre. I’m motivated to make music again! I’m going to write again! I’m going to read during the Spring Break and I’m going to spend time doing the things that make me excited to be alive- things that make me want to learn and seek out the world.