Once Upon A Memory - Part 2

Dear Papa,

Once upon a memory, we went off to work together, you and I.
That day started out as a normal day. Mom woke me up, gave me breakfast and helped me get ready. She combed my hair as I picked out a rubber band that matched my tee-shirt.
At the office, you were busy working and I was busy exploring. The fact that there was more than one clock intrigued me. One for East coast time, for West coast, for London, Delhi, and so on. Today I have a digital version of that wall on my phone - the world clock with all the time zones of places close to my heart.
Well, a kid can only explore so much and I'm sure I fell into a cycle of non-stop chatter soon after you explained the clocks to me. But you were used to that, weren't you? I used to always talk.
I remember feeling like a grown up when you gave me some work to do. Important work. I was really helping you out. There were some blueprints that needed to be stamped.
"Stamp here," you showed me. "Can you handle that?"
Apparently not. Did I stamp in the right spot? Of course. But apparently they were all upside down.
Regardless, all the hard work and effort I put in had made me hungry and my stomach was grumbling. Dad to the rescue, of course. We went to pizza hut and ordered take out. I ate an ENTIRE pizza all by myself (personal pan). Yet another accomplishment in such a short amount of time.
Finally, the day was nearing it's end so I drew on the dry-erase board while you finished your work (my work was already done because I was VERY efficient - even as a child.) I drew and drew and drew. So many different colors. Such a huge board. It was every child's dream*.
As you saw what I had drawn, you noticed something else too - the collateral damage. I had somehow managed to mess up the wall under the board. I hadn't drawn on it - I was way too professional to make an amateur move like that. But the particles from the duster must've gotten on my hands and then the wall. Let's be honest, I was short and the board was out of my reach. Something like this was bound to happen.
All in all, it was a pretty productive day. Probably the most productive that office has ever seen (no need to thank me). After cleaning up my mess, we took off and headed back home.
The end.


* At the time.  There was honestly nothing more fun. Kids today are missing out.

Magic8

Dear Magic8 Ball,
Please tell me what to do
Don't tell me "cannot predict now"
I'm relying on you

I don't need "it is certain"
Or "it is decidedly so"
I can work with "don't count on it"
Or "my sources say no"

Just don't leave me hanging
With "concentrate and ask again"
If I concentrate anymore
I'm sure I'll damage my brain

Is the future "outlook good"?
Do the "signs point to yes"?
Please tell me now so I can be
Relieved of this stress

So Magic8, please tell me
Don't be indifferent
Sincerely, a desperate
Final year student

Bliss

As I sit on this swing I can't help but wonder, "Can tomorrow not happen?"
Not that I'm avoiding anything, or dreading an event bound to happen, I just...Want to get lost in the moment.
There's nothing perfect about the moment. No special company, not an amazing day that I don't want to end, or an unfulfilled hope for which I want to stretch time.
Tonight, tired and sleepy, I feel distant. This happens every now and then - at the end of the day when I've stopped thinking, stopped reflecting, stopped worrying, stopped planning - just stopped.
Come to think of it, that's probably the perfection of the moment. I am just being. Nothing running through my mind, no task at hand, just nothing. Of course now that's not true. I'm writing now. But it still feels nearly the same.
Do you know the feeling? It feels like being a kid in the backseat of the car. Not a care in the world. Not late for anything. No where to be. Just watching the raindrops race down the window at night, as the street lights blur behind them.
That is the perfection of the moment. The simple bliss of a childhood which ended too soon. I realise that those older than me may consider my age as a part of those blissful years, but even they must agree that childhood goes by in a flash.
As I swing here, reminiscing, the moment ends abruptly. With these thoughts and memories buzzing through my head, I no longer wish that the day not end. A twinge of sorrow seeps through me as the bliss melts away. I lay down and close my eyes, the swing my lullaby. 

Eight Glances

First, let me tell you about the box.

At first glance, it was a pretty normal looking box. It was the kind of box you might receive if you order something online. Too small to fit a microwave in, but too large for a simple toaster. It was shabby and dented like it had lived a long, full life. Stained all shades of brown and slightly slant, it was impossible to take a “quick glance,” it was impossible to do much but stare. And as I stood there staring at it, I was so deeply captivated that I failed to notice that the box was even odder than it seemed.

At second glance, after you manage to pull your eyes off the box, the next thing you’ll notice is the oddity of its surroundings. This aged, strange, quirky box sat atop a recently polished grey table. The round table stood on a single, thick, central mast that was engraved in agonizing detail. As my eyes made their way down the table, I noticed that the stand was surrounded by green – green blades of grass to be exact. That’s when I recalled that I had been hiking through acres and acres of natural fields and hadn’t come across any other man-made objects other than a few vehicles, which passed by me on rough dirt tracks that cut into the fields.

At third glance – after you’ve scanned the remaining surroundings for any clue as to what you are seeing – you’ll notice that the box is swaying as if by a wind which is strong enough to shake it without displacing. It isn’t a constant movement but it isn’t rare or periodic either. There seems to be no rhythm to the movement. As we blink, it sways. This way, or that way, and then still again. Walking towards it, loose strands of my hair flutter from the movement and as they brush across my cheeks, I realize that they hadn’t moved at all the entire time I had been standing there. I stop where I am and stare at the box in disbelief. My hair has ceased all movement yet the box sways. Despite the lack of wind the box sways again – and again. I realize now that I’m holding my breath, so I exhale and inhale and walk towards the table which is barely an arm’s reach away now.

At fourth glance – standing next to the table you can see that it may not in fact be new, but sharply contrasts the edgy box, which looks as old as the earth itself. Running a finger across the table, it feels smooth where the paint is glossy and a bit rougher where it’s been worn down. Finally, I reach for the box. It looks coarse and feels grainy. Picking it up with both hands, I am even more intrigued. It feels empty but at the same time, it is considerably heavy for something so ancient and frail. Perhaps that is the weight of wisdom, which comes with age.

At fifth glance – or rather touch – I jump in surprise, dropping the box. Even in my hands, it swayed. I could feel it move. Is something inside? Trying to get out? The flaps of the box are all folded under one another so I kneel next to the box and carefully open a flap. As soon as I let one flap loose, the other three fly open with such force that the box jumps about an inch off the ground and rattles all about.

At sixth glance – I see nothing but I can feel. I feel surrounded. I feel sorrow and loss. I feel excitement and joy. So many emotions, so many memories – memories I can’t remember. Memories I can’t see but I can hear in so many voices – memories that aren’t mine.

At seventh glance, I’m looking all around. I don’t know how long it went on but all too soon it’s silent. The sky is starting to darken as the sun heads for the horizon, and the box lays on the ground – lifeless. Not that the box was ‘alive’ before, but it had a certain charm which seems to have gone with the wind. Not remembering when exactly I stood up, I kneel next to the box once again and cradle it in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and the flaps close again – one under another. Smiling, I place the box back on the table and set up my tent nearby. The next morning as I have breakfast I recall my dreams aloud. Odd I know, but the box listens. It sways when I laugh, and it sways when I sigh, and it sways more and more as the stories go by. Finally, I pack to leave. I take one look at the box as I go – it is the same yet somehow changed.

At eighth glance, I’m looking at the box from a short distance. It is as mesmerizing as the first time I saw it. Although I hope to see it again, I know that won’t be the case. I inhale deeply, exhale slowly and then go on my way. I hope that whoever happens to approach it next experiences my stories and secrets as I did of those before me. For it didn’t make me a better person, it didn’t make me a bigger person, but it assured me I was not alone. All of us have our secrets. All of us have our own dreams. All of us have stories to share. And all of this is what makes us who we are.

Even when you’re by yourself, you are not alone. Someone has been there before you, someone will be there after you, you are not alone. 

Dreamland

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you just know you're dreaming? Not because it's miraculous or too good to be true. It could be as simple as walking down the street or sitting on a swing but in that moment something clicks and you just know. At other times it's far less subtle. You could be flying or surrounded by unearthly creatures when it dawns upon you that you're dreaming. Of course you could be one of those people who have never had a lucid dream, who've never been able to completely experience Dreamland and all it has to offer. Did you notice the capitalization of Dreamland? That's because it's a place, a real place where we start this once upon a time...

Walking through the amber field I can't help but notice how gold it all is. The sunlight shimmering on the field as far as the eye can see. All that's missing is golden butterflies I think to myself and suddenly I notice one from the corner of my eye. Turning towards it I'm awestruck. I hold out my finger and will it to land on me. I can't help but smile as it does so. I'm dreaming aren't I?
"What shall we do tonight?" I whisper to the butterfly. I let it go and sit down, closing my eyes. I can feel the breeze change as the warmth fades away. I open my eyes knowingly. Although it's dark and unknown, there's not a drop of fear in me as I let my legs lead the way. The once golden dream is now a dark forest night but I keep walking in anticipation.
After a few more steps I can see a faint light. I begin to walk faster now till the trees part and I reach a clearing.
Breathless, I walk in a few more yards. Sheer exhilaration has taken the air out from my lungs. Afraid to breathe, I hold my breath - fearing that that shimmering stars may just float away. Then carefully and ever so slowly I exhale. To my amusement the stars swirl in the sky like silver leaves floating in a deep black sea.
Fairytales and adventures may be the desired dreams of some but for me, for tonight this was the one. 

Photographs

Remember when the term "camera roll" actually referred to a roll of film that went inside your camera? I couldn't have been the only one who got super excited whenever the film was developed and ready to be picked up. That feeling is lost in today's world where everything is ready in an instant. The number of photographs we can take is now limitless and they are available as soon as we click them - for viewing, sharing, deleting and retaking. I'll be honest, there's no practical downside to this. It saves a lot of money, time and disappointment (if the photo isn't up to expectations). But I still can't help but miss the feeling of going through physical photos and albums. Awaiting the photographs to be developed or even awaiting a letter from a friend or loved one. Despite the convenience of the digital world, instant pics and messages don't give the same pleasure as those letters long awaited.
WhatsApp messages and snaps have become routine - monotonous, expected and even annoying at times. Emails have become business oriented and letters very few and formal. Slowly we went from penpals to epals to WhatsApp buddies. The limitless storage of digital era is it's brilliance as well as it's weakness. Who has the time to go through the millions of saved photos like we used to go through photo albums? Did you even look twice at the 200 pics you took at your best friend's last birthday? So much digital data is lost or forgotten. Our generation captures each and every moment but in our free time we back them up instead of browsing through them.
Let's be honest, one of the only times we go through our pictures is when a friend's birthday is coming up and we need something to post on a social networking site or simply a special profile picture for that day. We click, caption, post and then forget about it until the next year when Facebook sends us a notification saying "You have a memory to look back on today" which means we must share it with yet another caption. Nowadays we click more for showing and sharing rather than for seeing and remembering. People are desperate to increase followers and likes rather than cherished memories.
Soft copies may be more convenient and in sync with the modern world but there's something about holding a simple photograph that just can't be beat. 

Timeless

Imagine a world in which all the days merge together. Where there is no darkness to indicate the passing of yet another 24 hours. How would you adapt to this world in which there was no sense of time?
Suppose there were no time telling devices either. Would your mind be in a state of havoc or peace? On the one hand this would create a beautiful set of circumstances for one to free themselves of all restraints and relax - eat, sleep, do whatever, whenever for as long or little as you want. There's no "oversleeping" or eating "too soon" or "too often" since time isn't kept track of.
However, on the other hand for those of us well adapted to busy, fast paced routines this may be a nightmare. The workaholics would get a panic attack without things to be done and deadlines to meet. They'd lose their grip on reality and be in a state of disarray.
One of the most unique concepts of a world where time stands still is having to live in the moment. You can't call up a friend and plan to meet "tomorrow" or "this weekend" or "next week" or even "later" in the day because there are no clocks, watches or calanders to coordinate by. This concept of "living in the moment" forces us to appreciate the present and enjoy our life as it currently is rather than focusing on the future and trying to meet the expectations that others and we ourselves have set.
Obviously this timeless world could never exist because even without the movement of the sun the human race would eventually invent clocks and other time tracking devices. Ever in a race to create the "next big thing" which will improve our lifestyle and move us forward, time is at the heart of everything we do. Everything is coordinated and planned - even spontaneous trips and activities have a time limit by which they must end. Every day and hour is planned - when we sleep, eat, work, relax, etc. Days of worship, work, celebration and weekends.
But I still consider this timeless world as a type of Utopia which lets us look at what's in front of us rather than always looking ahead. A world in which every business is working all the time. Why? Because there is no fixed time to sleep so there's no rush hour and accordingly no time in which almost no one will require your service. Some may look at this as the half empty glass - to keep a business open all the time requires more workers and hence more money to pay their salaries. But I say that's exactly why the glass is half full! Keeping a business open all the time requires MORE workers and hence creates more employment opportunities.
Let no one be told they are "late" or that they failed to complete a task "on time". Let mankind be free of this burden so they may relax a bit and see the world as it is. For in our race against time we often fail or see - or rather look past - the cruelties of this world and focus the Utopia we picture for ourselves at the finish line.
The more I write about this timeless world, the more I become aware of its flaws. However I still hold to my opinion of its Utopic nature but perhaps as a get away rather than a way to live. I would elaborate on this but regrettably I'm "running late" for class and must go.
Perhaps next time.