Perpetual Time Capsule: I
I write our first ever journal. Our. Us.
For forever we have cussed our dodgy memory and wished that there were an account to always refer to; so that when we look back, we aren’t met by a quilt riddled with holes. I use ‘us’ because I want to speak to myself as I write, and to do so again when we read it afterwards — however many times we shall choose to fawn over this entry.
We are not the same person. The further each of us are from this moment, the more different we’ll be. I’d like to say that with age we have become more assured, less anxious, greater in our sense of self, and content with letting go. If there comes a moment when all these expectations are met, please note and celebrate it. Till then, the rest of us will take solace in our dreams of said celebration.
At this point in time, we are unsure, close to bursting from the inherent murkiness of the future and this world in general. We are young, braving real life for the first time. It is a crucial period; these final steps onto the ruthless planes of total independence. The decisions I make now are what will form each piece in the continuum that is us. The world is in flames and festers with enough vitriol for five galaxies. It is competition every step from here on out and we are tired, so so tired. We are tired from all the work that lies ahead. We are tired because we are lazy. We secretly nurture images of a remote cabin in a forest devoid of insects, and quiet, lonely days filled with books and football and unending catalogs of anime and manga. We aren’t interested in leaving our mark on the world. All we want is to be as we dream — not of riches or status; just a cabin and unlimited wifi. But we aren’t the only sucker out there with a dream. So we must work and fight. Because the alternative to not getting the cabin is not getting the cabin, and that just won’t do. In my uncertainty, I will try. Each of us must do so as well.
The rains have started to roll in. Against our current nature, we are beginning to make new, interesting connections. As is often the case, it is proceeding better than we feared. But that’s the thing about a person’s nature, isn’t it? Its immutability in the face of contrary logic and experience. I am curious to see where these friendships will lead. Mother continues to work hard. Her joints groan and she tires easily but she will not stop. I am in awe of her diligence — a gene that skipped us— and wonder what keeps her going. Responsibility? Love? Or perhaps a dream just like us? Whatever the case, she is a gem, and she must come before our cabin. This is non-negotiable. I can only hope that we never feel otherwise.
We injured our left hand while playing football a couple months ago. Do you remember? It was left a swollen stump after we instinctively reached out with it to break a heavy fall. It only hurts a bit now. I posit that it will do so for the rest of our life. When we twist it just right at the wrist, the pain that blooms is exquisite, eye-rolling pleasure. If it ever fully heals, it will be a sad loss. Have we found love yet? Not for some other person — that is unattainable; we simply don’t have it in us. I mean for ourself. Do we love ourself yet?
PS: It’s fine if we try and can’t get the cabin. Some things are better off being dreams anyway.
