Looking back the past seems like a mirror of regrets, shadows of decisions gone badly. How did it change? Or did it even?
History tends to repeat itself they say, and yet knowing all this, we keep twisting the knife round and round in our own gut, refusing to budge. Think of the things you would say to the teenager you, or the child in you which kept rushing back to play in the sand, even when things bit, or the time when you didn’t stop playing, even when getting hit and getting back up felt like a matter of pride, or the young you, who didn’t think twice about ego or dignity when it came to apologizing for a deed gone bad.
Its life, you step out of one shoe, to try another, and then walk on with your life till that shoe tatters up. There is no time to stay still, you keep moving forward, and every time you find yourself looking back to the past, the shadows look distorted, they look bleaker the further you go, and you fail to recognize the person you were, or long to be that person again.
The sad reality is, you can’t be that person again, you can be a desperate version of that, but you can’t really be who you used to be, because life doesn’t work in backwards motion.
You can’t tire out, the option to give up, doesn’t exist in real life. You give up on things, on people, on decisions, but you don’t have the option to give up on time. It’ll always pass you by.
We spend half our life, trying to clasp the sand of time, manipulating the grains while we move along with it, trying to somehow, let just one tiny grain stay in our palm, just to make it last longer. And other times, we try to bury those tick tocks away in an afternoon, not knowing, we’re still moving to every second that the clock hand moves, trying our level best, to discover the finest definitions in life.
Definitions, are overrated, they are victims of our own experiences. The fact of the matter is that the most commonly felt, unruly, outrageously divine feelings and things are undefined.
We, as humans, have not one definition that sums up an entire individual. Is it not bizarre to be feeling blank when asked to answer the very simple question, what are you?
You are human, that is to say, are you black or white? Do you have a beating heart? Do you have two legs and arms that work? Can you feel all 5 senses? Do you have a brain that can think and a heart that can feel?
These questions define what you are; they scientifically prove you are human. But is it sufficient to say that, that is enough to describe a human being?
No, it’s not. A human is disastrous, is selfish, is amazing, is ordinarily extraordinary and is very simply, just human. It defines its own realm. You just need to be, to understand it.
Just like time cannot be explained with words and figures and numbers, it can’t be felt like a tangible thing, it needs to be understood, you’re supposed to have it, to lose it, to understand what it is.
It is like the most beautiful things in life are, the taste of the water, the shades of color, the light of the moon in the darkest of nights, the exact uplifting feeling of love, the idea of family, the heartfelt surety of friendships, the dark stab of hurt and the existence of God. They all have a factual explanation, the exact wordings to simplify their meaning. But at the end they’re all undefined.
Then why do we spend our lives, wasting time, looking for definitions to our horrors of the past, to the future as undisputed as it is to arrive, to the recklessness of our mistakes, or the beauty of the things gone by. Their significance, their purity lies in the simple structure of it, that it has no one meaning. It doesn’t have to have a meaning; it just needs to be felt as abstract and as unique as it is.
For the most part of it, this is their magic, and to evaluate their existence, to analyze its essence, is to be slowly bringing the enchantment out of it.
There is a reason that our life process is made up of undefined moments, we are born, we are taught how to walk, to talk, to live life as the challenge that it is, to get hit, but learn to get back up and fight.
To love, to hurt, to breathe no matter how hard it gets. To not treat time as it is always going to be there, to eventually grow, to find a way to put things in their own order, the past with no regrets and lessons learned and the future for the opportunity to be better, and the in between precious hours, that you managed to still keep safe within, without regrets, without the determination to find a definition of those moments, for the highest of high moments, and the lowest of lows, and the best and the worst of all things to come and are, undefined.
“Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.” ― Gabriel García Márquez