So seven years have actually passed
|So I recently became single again, and was told that, now that I have all this free time on my hands, I should find out who I am and regain that strong sense of self that I one had.
I have a lot of time on my hands, so I've been trying to find ways to fill that time.
I was once a creative, philosophical and an admittedly emo young man. at 16 years of age I began this account much for nothing, mostly as an additional outlet after Blogger and Windows Live Space began filled with stories of my daily teen angst.
Windows Live Spaces is long since been blown into oblivion. Probably a good thing, since I had so much teen angst it was unbelievable. My blogger had also changed back in 2010 when I met my now ex-girlfriend, who had tracked down my account, saw all my angsty posts directed at (and about) my previous heartbreaks; so naturally, that was erased.
Reading through those posts makes me nostalgic, just as reading through my high school posts made me nostalgic back then. I still feel bad, and it does hurt to know those times are gone. But I know it's for the better.
The thing that gets to me is that I now have to retrace my steps and sift through my past to find out who I was, and take all of the good that I was and leave out the bad. I need a time where I was bound to no one else, where I did not define myself in terms of my partner or crush.
Apart from a few spare diaries and a load of photographs, I now have precious few indicators of who I was in what seems like a previous life.
I am glad that I kept these digital items on this account purely for sentimental value.This account is one of the last, brief insights into my high school years. I am quite fond of my "Ceiling Epiphany" as being one of the more profound moments of thought which I concocted late one night in year 11.
Yet, when I sit and read this today, I am amazed that (1) It literally has been seven years since I wrote that item, and (2) how I have grown in those seven years.
I look at my Blogger posts and feel pangs of nostalgia and guilt over my now terminated relationship of four years. Yet it still shows me the good that came out of this relationship.
In a similar fashion, I look at these last remaining creative works with a similar optimism. Although my most prized item was my darkest, it shows me something. It shows that I was never content with what I had because that was not what made me happy. As I was, I knew what I needed to be happy, and if that was unattainable then I was content with being unhappy.
The girl who I wrote about originally in Ceiling Epiphany has moved on. I doubt very much if she still remembers me "on that cold night, when she can't sleep... staring up at that ceiling". She remembers me, but she has better things to worry about now.
When I read Ceiling Epiphany today, I did not feel as though it was me talking to her. Rather, I now feel as though I am talking to myself, seven years from now.
It is true. As life moves on, the joys of each day fade away, and one fantastic day can become a distant memory if you cannot force a memory to stick. However, holding on to each of those memories and making that your current thought is not moving on with life. It entrenches you in a place you cannot move from, where you do not develop as a person.
So when I read this piece now, I do not feel bad that I don't remember those little happy memories, those big moments of seven years ago. I am not the same person as seven years ago.
So no. I do not remember youwhile I stare at the ceiling; because I am a different person to who I once was seven years ago. And I am ready to being the next seven years