There is the moment. And then there is the memory of the moment. And each time you remember the moment, the memory of the moment becomes less of the memory of the moment and just the memory of the memory of the moment. And, when you recall a moment enough times, there is so little reality left in the moment; the original memory just becomes thousands of impressions meshed together, leaving so little reality left in its wake. At one point, the moment loses its value as a moment and becomes a construction of our mind altogether. We take control of the moment, we possess the moment, and we carve it out however we wish.
We are our own little players of our own Minecraft sandbox. Of moments.
I cringe at moments of supposed intimacy in the past.
Some moments, even when cute at the time, cause profound derision in reflection. I think about these moments and wonder how could I have been so stupid as to believe that I could remember the moments fondly without the awkwardness that has defined the occurrences that followed.
Awkwardness is an idea that only exists in the mind. And, as such, awkwardness can be retroactively assigned to alter existing memories. While some moments could happen without awkwardness through the lens of romantic love, a different lens is applied when such feelings subside in the face of a break.
Breaks introduce reality. Or is it the other way around? Which is the reality, and which is the illusion? Or are they both illusions? Or are they both realities? Why is it that breaks seem to be a disillusioning force? And, if breaks offer the feeling of being a disillusioning force, does that mean that they are a disillusioning force?
Proof by seeming.
I would immediate open a tab and direct myself to Facebook or Linkedin. Something to distract myself. Mostly Linkedin; I don’t go on Facebook much anymore. There is very little content on Linkedin. No one actually uses Linkedin as a social media platform. I would just search up some companies that I want to work for, and that is the extent of my usage of Linkedin.
LinkedIn is a distraction from love. Is that what I am feeling right now? Am I using career anxiety to address my love anxiety? I’m not really anxious about love though. Well, maybe a little bit. But I am always anxious about love. In the past, there was very little to my life except anxiety about love. What is it? Coping mechanisms, how uniquely human. H y o o m o n, All too Human.
I played Illenium’s “Needed You” a lot during sophomore fall, the sophomore fall. Fall. I don’t really understand why I played this song that much. I think my disillusionment would have come regardless, whether I perceived someone being there for me or not. This song really isn’t that relevant to me. At least, the lyrics are not that relevant to me. Yet, it somehow still triggers me every time I hear this song. This song makes me sad. It reminds me — not of someone — but the feelings that someone caused me, namely, sadness. But it was a sadness that was inevitable. Sad.
Songs as time capsules, sponsored by Spotify Premium.
I flip through the photos in my phone often, especially when I am taking the train home at night. It is in those moments that I am too tired to read, and the only thing I have enough mental strength to do is listen to music and be sad. But I flip through photos through the headache I get whenever I use my phone in any transportation vehicle. I look through the selfies, the snapchats, the smiles. It was a happy time. Was it a happy time? It was a happy time. So much intimacy in such little time. So much, and more than I could handle. I used Snapchat back then. Oh, how they fall from grace. Like me!
Some people have really pretty names. I miss saying those names.
It is interesting, when you have a fallout with someone, you no longer say their names anymore. The name is still there, within you, but it does not roll along your tongue anymore. There is no context to do so. Since I tend to compartmentalize my love life from almost every other aspect of my life, some things end in a closed system. There is no contamination from one system to another system. But, because there is no contamination, the system dies within itself. Names die. At one point in the past, I said someone’s name for the last time every. I don’t even mention names in my writing, so I really said someone’s name for the last time ever.
Except when I journal. But I haven’t journaled in a long time. Even if I do, the source of my stress now isn’t really my love life, so I don’t even feel the need to write for the sake of therapy. Names. How powerful. Voices. How powerful. It is a quiet power. The ability to remember. I have no recordings of voices, yet I still remember what people sound like. Their voices. So beautiful. I wish I could forget because there are certain voices that allow me to see so much beauty, except, of course, I no longer can hear those voices. I don’t have recordings. I don’t have recordings. I wish I took some recordings. I still remember. Voice.
Lately, I’ve been trying to learn how to sing.
A.k.a. I’m just singing… and hoping that I get better… eventually…
When I back to my house, I get sad. Or, perhaps a better description is, I am sad all of the time, but I can’t really be sad at work because no one likes dealing with sad people, so I just wait until I get home before I let out all of the sadness. It usually takes the form of music.
It’s weird. Music is just sound waves. It really is just sound waves. Why do we enjoy listening to music. Is it aesthetics, but like, with sound? Acoustics? Is acoustics the sound version of aesthetics? Is aesthetics even visual? How do we justify aesthetics, or acoustics? I did attempt last semester to read some aesthetic theory by Hogarth. But then I gave up because Hogarth’s writing is dense af. But there’s something magical about music. Innit. If there is anything that would prove the existence of power greater than myself, and not in an economic or political sense, then I would think that music is a good justification to start.
I was wet earlier today. It is raining. When I walked to 11 Penn Plaza to attend a seminar, I realized that my umbrella had some holes in it. But it wasn’t the holes that got to me; it was my stinky feet.
Every time I take a step, I fling a little water upwards. The water would then get on my shoe — the upper portion of my shoe — and slowly, the water would seep into the interior. My socks would get wet. My black socks my mom had gotten me from Costco in high school. When I came back to the office, I walked into the bathroom and rung my socks over the sink. Then, I squeezed the remaining sweat and rain mixture into some paper towels. The paper towels would turn a greenish yellow. It was pretty gross. Then, I would put my socks back on and get back to work, doing more stuff to Excel spreadsheets. This is my life.
Hmm? Do you remember? Please don’t; thanks.