I have been writing morning journals for couple of days now. It is either the very first thing I write in the morning, or I collate them as soon as I reach the workspace. It is like making a mental snapshot before the day unfolds. I want to log this particular entry.
Grief is a strange, solitary place. It's like being lost in a fog, but the one you have wandered through before. There is a familiarity to the disorientation, a weird sense of déjà vu. To find my way, I often escape into imaginary worlds, losing myself in books or movies.
It’s in this solitude that I often find myself wandering through memories, revisiting familiar paths that now lead to unfamiliar destinations. The person I was then, feels like a distant acquaintance, a ghost from a past life. To find a sense of perspective, I often look up at the night sky. In those moments, I find a quiet peace, a reminder that I am a small part of something much bigger. It keeps me alive; Makes me stay curious.
My friends think I am obsessed with time travel movies. However true, its more than that. Theory of relativity suggests that time isn't a constant, flowing river, but rather a dimension intertwined with space. The past & present, according to this perspective, exist simultaneously. It's a concept that both humbles and fascinates me. If time isn't linear, then perhaps the whole reality of mine is so trivial that it sometimes makes no sense at all, and definitely is not a common sense. I have always found that thought strange and comforting, like a pillow to sleep on.
According to this theory, we can image space-time as a stretchy sheet. Big things like planets can bend this sheet (I would like to think that even tiny objects create small bends, but either very minimal or has no impact on us). So, time isn't always the same for everyone. It can speed up, slow down, or even change direction. Since we encounter our moments with people, who live very close by, or exists almost in the same reality of time, we all experience this acceleration at a constant rate. For all of us, the river of time flows forward, at constant speed, because we are all stuck in the same boat; Moving forward.
So personally, each act, feels like a brushstroke on the canvas of my life. It’s a small, deliberate mark, a testament to the kind of person I aspire to be. In this context, treating each other with compassion and respect seems like the most natural chapter to write. The choices I make today are the blueprints for tomorrow. It is okay to make mistakes; It is okay to be rude sometimes, but is equally important to be kind. I would like to think that our lives are not merely lived, but also created. And in this creation, we are both sculptors and subjects, shaping and being shaped by the passage of time.
Comments