Stains of the bygone
I would sit under the sun on an April afternoon and have a good book on my lap with a good song to listen to. That will be the day I would like to feel the pulse of life underneath everything. The day I would contemplate the things we tend to forget to acknowledge that left traces of permanence from deep within. The day I would like to understand how all of the single days have summed up a single life out of the chain of memories that have survived neglect.
For several years, I have seen the incredible aptitude of memories to change people’s minds as well as their views in life. It is fascinating to see how these pieces of memory can alter who we are forever. That’s how beautifully fragile we are. We tend to hold the most poisonous memories our minds pour and wonder why we feel so sick but still willing to swallow because these are the memories we’ve learned to grow flowers even if they died a long time ago, the most unforgettable, vivid, and heartwarming memories we hoard in the back of our minds and hid to the bottommost part of our hearts.
Hearing goodbyes today inflicts nostalgia as it likens to the last goodbye I heard. It left a stain that deeply marked my soul. The hellos I say and hear today resembles with the hellos I said and heard in the past. The goodbyes I experience today remind me of the painful goodbyes I experienced before. The felicity I feel at present is analogous to the affection I felt erstwhile. What happens in present playbacks what happened in the past. It terrifies me to feel the same thing over and over again but it also terrifies me to let go of what’s in the bygone. Because letting go means you are freeing yourself from the things that once made your life more meaningful, thus, we tend to keep these stains alive not because we’re not over it yet but because we want to acknowledge the fact that we survived the turmoil of saying goodbye.
I remember asking myself, if the chaotic youth is replaced by the delicate softness of age, would I still be able to remember the things in the past? When my face will be marked by the lines of every smile I have ever smiled, when every tear I have ever cried has left its mark upon my face, would I still be able to feel giddy about the things I felt before? Do our minds and hearts remember those moments even if they died a long time ago? With all these questions, I found myself answering yes. Because these memories have the tendency to give us an opportunity to remember and hold on to the past; to relive the days of both unfortunate and fortunate, feel the butterflies once again and for a moment, to be able to return to how starts die and how ends were born.
I always believe that memories are the echo of the past. It uncorks the stories that may either or not break our hearts to tell, but isn’t it enthralling how true it is that we have mastered the art of letting go and accepting what we have lost have eventually made us stronger? Yes, it is astonishing how things started differently but might end up with same exact thing. We must acknowledge pictures of the past because it is a challenge for us to know how vulnerable and strong we are. And sometimes, everything seems sentimental that even if it crumbled us, we still yearn and go back.
So one day, on an April afternoon, I would tell you a story, not exactly mine but it could be yours. (KRIZIA MAE PAGUSAN)