It all boils down to this: the past. It’s funny how things were and how things are. Comparison of the two is an inevitable part of life that nobody wishes untrue. What normal soul wouldn’t want to remember their childhood sweetheart? Who wouldn’t want to remember acting foolish with their friends? Who wouldn’t want to remember anything? I know I wouldn’t.
Memory is a part of life, and whether or not we like it, we have them. I cannot claim that there is a particular reason behind this. I cannot claim that such cases of divine proportions have led us to this point in time. I also cannot want more than those circumstantial emotions memories can provide. With time as an apathetic concept that leads us more than we know, we cannot as well, say that we’d rather not have it. If we have it, we have the past, which in turn induces memory. Time’s a pretentious bastard, making himself more important with every growing measurement of all that is encompassed in a single action, in that single moment. We love him for this.
Take the term “missing”. When used by many to describe another’s state of being, it basically points to someone being “lost” or someone whose presence is not felt by those who feel they need his or her (the missing person’s) presence. When one is missing someone, one has a sense of longing, and that sense of longing for what is no longer present would cause such behaviours that may seem uncanny, but is nevertheless auspiciously common. This emotion of missing, evokes action, and such acts lead to a change. A ripple, if you may, on the demigod-like powers of the emotion pool. It has the capability to send millions of people ajar with their feeling right that moment, and that moment swiftly slipping into the past may lead to the memory of what once was. It’s a cycle, and so, nobody is ever truly lost.
Chatting with an old friend at around 2am, I couldn’t bear to say goodbye. After all that time we’d spent with each other, months ago, things changed. Faster than the heat that travels from the sun to Earth. Eventually we did, and I found my heart running itself into walls. I still knew her, and I was the only apparent person who noticed the difference in her. Just like a childhood memory, all we could do was talk about it. Re-enactment was nevertheless lacking in taste. Good wine gone stale. It had however, brought out the emotion evoked by memory.
People today generally overuse the word “miss”. Of course, I do not mean this in the title sense, but rather in the sense of longing for something that once was. The esoteric Father Time had never deigned to provide us with an accurate perception of himself, such that we are forever bound to our limitless counting and re-counting of the moments that slowly drive us by as we communicate right now. The concept of the sentence “I miss you,” seems to be a concept so overused that the beforehand meaning and lustre of the term is no longer recalled. The irony however is that when one misses another, one recalls the past events shared.
I am not driving at any other point than this. With our memories to run through, all we can do is communicate, such that we make another memory and so on. I do not wish to preach some commonly abused sayings that float through the internet like water in a beach resort theme park. Why I claimed all that is above is as simple as the ground we walk on (which is ironically not as simple as it seems), all these partake in my memory, and I hopefully had portrayed it vaguely enough for us to realize that we all share these memories and that as we communicate, this becomes a new memory for us. In simplicity, I wish to remind us all to take the time out to talk to an old friend, recall the experience, and like the mental plague that is; knowing we are all bound to death, let us know enough to truly miss someone, and to amend the lost causes that were once our conversations, feelings, activities, states of mind, and above all else, each other.
* This is meant as a Happy Birthday essay to a good friend Christopher S. Aguas who I’d first encountered in Kindergarten.
(c) Anachronic Works 2011