Time is an abyss to which our lives will eventually be lost, slowly eroded in the minds of the people we knew. We will just be stories to the people who comes after us, some of us become legends and heroes, some of us plain folks and some will me fondly be called upon as the nefarious villains on this big stage. It’s a strange feeling to realize our lives are books, we are the characters stepping in time to the pace and place written in our plots by the quill of fate. But who is this fate that decides for us? Is it ourselves or is it just written in stone? I’d like to believe it’s the former.
I will, in the end, be a faded picture, hopefully kept in an album to be passed on to generations. Perhaps my many great-grand children will wonder who’s that lost looking lady with the silly face? If my name is written on the back, will it ring in their minds and will inspire them to make up tales where I was a Lara Croft, or will they see me as a wacky librarian? Perhaps I was a wacky librarian who lead a double life of the adventurer or, heck, even a spy! I chuckle at the thought.
Time is a blessing and a curse. It’s a place where things happen; happy things, funny things and sad things. It’s a record in our heads that let’s us recall the golden days and forces to relive to dark, painful and rainy ones, like a strict school mam who mercilessly make you recite you tables drilling holes into your aching head. Most of all, despite the temperament, time is a precious jewel with each interval a facet, refracting in the light of the glorious blond sun.
My own memories, when I remember them they seem to taste like well aged wine sometimes, and even thought they might be sweet and tart they make me sad because it has past and I want to go back. I see it as a reminder, to make our present as good as that past, or to learn for the bad parts and make up for it now. In that respect, time is a teacher. I could go on about Carpe Diem but I won’t because we should all know by know that we must seize the day. It’s a whole other story getting around doing the seizing.
One day years from now I want to write a letter about my life and pass it down to my kids, I want to remembered, not necessarily by the world, by the people that mean a lot to me. I hope it would survive. Hey, why not start now? Each year end I’ll write a letter about the changes in my life and the new things added to my store of knowledge, then put it away for a time capsule? Hmm. I will think more on it. Does it sound like something Jo March would do? I would also go on about the many names and duties and pastimes of time, but it would take a very long time. Haha … aaah. Okay then. It’s something to chew on, isn’t it?
P.S: Here’s a song that’s been on repeat in my head for the whole day. Nostalgia anyone?