Today, I wanted to travel back into the past mentally, so I decided to clean the mess that was (alternative tense: is) my room.
Despite the hundreds of times I’ve attempted to organize the disorganization of my clutter, thousands of memories still await their rediscovery within it. That was why I wanted to see who I was like in the distant past and the near.
So I stripped my room (concentration: desk) bare, and uncovered a hundred treasures, stories of the girl that I was, of the people that kept my young planet in orbit.
Well, the villain of this story of nostalgic reminiscence was my allergic rhinitis. The destruction of dust bunny settlements in my room triggered upheavals in the form of sneezing and itching, so I looked like an inflamed dummy of an evil president, being burned to a plastic death. Not such a good sight.
Nevertheless, the trip to the past was sweet.
I was able to garner enough evidence to prove my Sentimentality Hypothesis (subject: self) to be true beyond reasonable doubt. My drawers kept spewing receipts (some already faded to nothingness), wrappers of all sorts (presents, candies, food treats, etc.) and even stones and shells I harvested from the shores of Bagasbas. Aside from that, I wrote a lot! Piles of diaries have hidden themselves in the corners of my drawers, composed songs of bitter love and sweet goodbyes, drawings of anime characters that used to fascinate my eye.
Some were really silly to the point of frowns becoming a necessity, some were understandable.
But then, I realized, I kept them because I had this main reason: to be able to preserve a tangible part of precious memories. Because I know someday, somewhat, somehow, I’d need a ticket back to the past.
People have these moments they’d wish to last forever; times they’d will to be of the only existence. Like being with someone one hasn’t been with for a long time, like winning over struggles, like being in love and being loved. Those moments that have that “perfect” quality all over them, who wouldn’t want to preserve such?
Sometimes, memory isn’t enough. Time can blur the sharpness of the picture, can muffle the clarity of the voices, can lessen the accuracy of the actions. Because of that, people seek a token, something real and solid to hold on to—for they fear those memories would be lost, would feel like mere products of a hungry, delusional mind.
That’s how I feel.
I fear I might lose what beautiful past I’ve had, if I don’t hold on to something. Something, just something.
According to the homily tonight, “When the mute is able to speak, Christmas is nearing.”
Silly enough, I took that literally, since it was basically on the Gospel. But I was wrong.
What it really means is that when one is able to speak out, to face their engulfing fears, Christmas would finally come to this person. Of course, Christmas there isn’t just the season itself, but the symbol of birth, of being in contact with the light.
Honestly, I have more fears than I wish to think of. One of them is losing my own self, that’s why I’ve embarked on this Soul Searching. Another one is losing people who mean so much to me.
Perhaps that’s the greatest fear I have: losing. Literally, and figuratively.
And I must add cockroaches on the list, and fear of roller coasters too.
Yet, the fears housing in my heart are the ones I am cowering away from. I am too afraid to face them, to confront them, to claim my victory against them.
But I have to, because only through that will I be able to find myself again.