The
pristine white… nothing mars its surface. And I am loath to put pen to it,
spoiling the perfection that is so becoming of it. But it cannot be helped. I've been deliberating on this exercise for so long, I feel any further delay will
not be for the best.
But
when you look at it, isn't it in these most tangible things that our lives’
memories are stored? An unwritten page… the drying ink well… the coffee growing
cold… the splatter of the rain against the window pane. All those inexplicably
tangible things… they all remind us of certain events in life.
Some
of these events we cherish and bemoan the fact that they’re long gone, already
a memory. And some, we wish would remain in the past and not ravage our minds
with the pain we have associated with them.
This
memory… of a lazy afternoon with the rain pouring from the heavens above… with
just myself for company as my favorite song keeps playing in a loop – I’ve long
since associated this with utter bliss. A time when things were so
uncomplicated and simple. I claim simplicity is an illusion that one would do
well not to cling onto. But I know I’m the hypocrite here. How I long for the
simple past where I had stories to hide myself in… stories that I had made up
in my mind, with characters from a well-loved book or from a television series
that I just couldn't get my mind out of.
But
it is the very fact that we can never go back to those simple times that makes
them all the more precious. And all we have are remanences of those times left
behind in the many tangible objects, the connection strangely and ironically
intangible!
Maybe
if given enough time, we can transfer our entire life’s essence into enough
tangible receptacles to live on… even if only to the select few who can make
the connection.
A
moment immortalized until there be someone to remember.
And yet, our lives continue on as ever with hope as the driving force. And I am no different. Having a name which alludes to the same bane hasn't helped my cause at all. On the contrary, it has only driven me into an abyss of despair with a will-o-wisp dancing away in the distance... sometimes drawing me towards light and an answer but mostly only to entrap me in a mire far too deep to extricate myself from.