Sometimes, when it feels that time has stopped, it is a reminder to watch the home videos that have just turned 18-- the ones that remind you of the naivety & innocence you once had. Maybe you still have it, lying underneath the mental bruises you slowly acquire. Sometimes, we’ll wonder where they came from. Sometimes, we fall, even when we carefully calculate every move. Then, we’ll watch the videos that remind us that it was only a fall. Imagine if we never got back up. We forget that it’s inevitable.
The laughter-- the representation of our jubilant nature-- would resonate throughout our childhood home, bouncing off of the walls that have kept us warm and safe. Throughout the years, however, the walls would learn to hear teardrops and recognize the self deprecation disguised as jokes. It is through the same walls that I learn from a four- and- almost- a- half- year-old nearly two decades later: how to be a care-free painter, a poised ballerina, a loving older sister. Always smiling.
When the years are blurred into an endless, yet very detailed flip book, it’s easy to want to draw in a chapter that could’ve changed your trajectory. Then, you remind yourself that there wasn't enough space; every moment was followed by a changing season, followed by a new year filled with empty promises. The cycle was endless. We couldn’t keep up.
When time stops, we panic. We aren’t ready to relive the bittersweet memories. We aren’t ready to give updates on our dramatized dreams. We’re too scared of the gentle nudges, then exaggerate that they were too forceful.
The nudges aren’t the reason we wallow by the walls. They remind us of the reasons why.