sometime memories

I am sometimes filled with a longing for what is gone and is now considered old. I look at old pictures of myself when I was only a little child, and I mourn all the time I’ve spent. When I’m walking around the house or doing anything else, I occasionally hear a child’s laughter from the street and I remember how I was as a child. I am always mourning the time I’ve lost, spent on things I’ve come to regret.

I don’t know much about life. I’ve scarcely spent it outside an urban home. I’ve never seen real snow in my life with my naked eyes; I’ve no memory of snow. I’ve gone to an amusement park three times, though. Once in Thailand, or was it Malaysia? My memory has already begun failing me. The other two times were at Disneyworld at Orlando when we were at the States. I don’t like to remember my past. It makes me feel forlorn.

I know there are experiences I’ll never go through ever again. Things that only exist in memory. Occasions include: well, that O levels award ceremony when I had to go onstage and meet the Minister of Education while posing for a picture (didn’t know who she was at the moment of capture) or when I went with my father and another father-son duo to catch some fish by the reef, or maybe those moments I used to walk with my parents through the suburban sidewalks. All these are experiences I’ll never have again. I can only cherish them, and do nothing else.

Memory’s a funny thing. There are memories whose authenticity I question. Were they real, or a dream? Conversations that may’ve been warped by the passage of time. Things. Yes, all things are subject to the passage of time. Even ideas. Both physical and tangible.

I don’t know what I’ll do now. Maybe I’ll just live my life doing the things I want, reminiscing on past memories and forgotten friendships. It sounds like an ordinary life. There are no quests to accomplish, nor special talents to pursue. There is nothing to my background but plain happenstance and commonality. I’ve spent my time mostly in waste, but is it a waste if I believe it isn’t? Maybe, or maybe not. I feel awfully tired now. The morning feels light but in a sense escapable. Night for me feels the exact opposite: tough and imprisoning.

I don’t know what I’ll do with my time. Guess I’ll spend it all on living, and on infrastructure that’ll support such an ideal. And maybe on memories too. Going through memories is a special type of living. Are there entire lives where people only spend their time in the past? I’ll leave this question be as I leave most things as they are: untouched.