The Persistence of Memory

I wonder why were we never told life would get so messy when we grow up. It is not just messy, it is complicated, somewhat confusing, and of course stressful. I have never in my life handled so many things at a time. So like I was saying, why weren’t we prepared for all these? Why were we always told fairytales with the happiest of endings and taught endless hopeful good things?

On my way home from my university, I was sitting in the car, stuck in the traffic, aimlessly staring at the gloomy sky and the birds. It was then when I realised I live in such a monochrome world. I sound worse than someone who is going through a break up; I felt and looked as miserable and hurt (it’s not that im over my past relationship yet, but that’s just another story).
I’ve been wondering how time change. With every breeze passing, with every cloud floating. flies away the most valuable thing of our lives – time.
Time is something I find very similar to sand, metaphorically, no matter how long you carefully try to hold it on, it will eventually disappear into the vastness of this paradox we all are a part of. Maybe that’s why we were taught ‘time and tide waits for none‘. Little did I know the significance of this phrase when kindergarten teachers made us fill pages with this line for hand writing practice. It’s funny how some meanings emerge so late.

Or maybe its just time, it gifts us experiences and maturity. Maybe that is what it is. So inevitably real. Reminds me of a painting by Salvador Dali, ‘the Persistence of Memory‘. I sometimes really wish I could just stop the time and live my fullest in some moments; or just travel back to the year when I was a child, busy running around my house, always roaming around my mom. I miss how papa used to lift me up and I used to sit on his shoulder, just like Abu from Aladdin. I miss how I used to hug and cuddle my mom and sleep, thinking her embrace will protect me from the monsters under my bed.
Why wasn’t I ever told that my mom wouldn’t be protecting me from ‘time’, which is no less than any monster I used to fear. Sometimes I really feel I have been a bad daughter and I honestly don’t know how to make it up to my parents. I wish I could be half as good and responsible as my parents have always been to me.
And time, I have no idea how I spent hours reminiscing.
Had I known growing up wouldn’t be as fun as I thought it to be.

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2 comments on “The Persistence of Memory

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