As you grow older you start to be a tad more aware of the years that pass by you. You start counting them, you begin to pile up your accomplishments and come up with elusive equations that might sum up to what you have finally become as a person. Growing up isn’t much fun. It’s about realisations and regrets. But there’s always that one fact we all usually miss out on, “age is just a number”. This isn’t just an inspirational line you could pull out of a fortune cookie, nor is it one of Mandela’s wild-firing quotes. It’s a fact. I’ve seen and met enough people in my life to come to a fair conclusion that a 20 year old could literally seem much older than a 50 year old. You know that saying “you are what you eat”? It’s pretty much that. “You are what you believe”. If you believe that you are 20 and you’ve got a shit load of studies, a shit load of assignments and no time for parties and fun, you’re going to be the little dull jack who’s full of wasted energy and soggy age. If you’re a 60 year old, depressed that time has blinded you all those years and has lately only made you comprehensive to the fact that there’s not much time left, then you’re going to just keep believing that there are NO years left at the end of your age, when that clearly isn’t the case. Seconds, minutes and hours are only physics. Time is much more than that, time is what you make of it, time is that 15 minute nap that can take you to a dream that takes you across the Indian Ocean and back in literally only 15 minutes. We don’t live in physics; we live in an infinite interchangeable space that awaits a single tiny move to inevitably cause a drastic impact in your life.
Sometimes you look back and all you can think of is how much you yearn to seemingly time travel or rewind back to those happy times. It’s as if everything that had happened at any point in your past was absolutely perfect and now, your exact destination, is nothing but misery and loneliness. The memory is vague but it’s also very real. You relive it over and over again, and it starts to fill an empty space in your life that is in need of a quick solidification. The memories you relive start to actually affect your daily life. They create an obscured, foggy vision. They keep you blind. deaf. lost. They make you believe that you won’t ever deserve anything better. They fill a space they aren’t entitled to be filling. Every time you meet a new person, you see/ eat/ love/ breathe something new, you are creating life. You are filling that space. Because you are the creator of your own life. You can either sit there believing you can spend the rest of your life reliving something that is no longer yours to keep, that is no longer even real, or you can actually start making choices, start creating things, start manufacturing life by combining some raw nothingnesses of this world together. It’s hard to absolutely erase something beautiful that was once a part of you and has always been a part of you, but it’s also unfair to believe that it might ever come back again. Nothing comes back again. Especially when they’re manipulated, distorted, misleading memories of the past. They never come back again.