My previous entry lead me to a bunch of questions and thoughts: why is it am I not as attached to things as my father or grandmother are? Am I insensitive in that I am not easily bound by nostalgia?
There are times when I cannot easily sleep, and it is caused by too many thoughts. I remember seeing someone wearing a t-shirt that put a humorous but poignant twist on Descarte’s famous saying: “I think, therefore I cannot sleep.”
I find it funny that whenever I go to bed, it is when my thoughts race against each other in my head, like an overcrowded Rainbow Road on Mario Kart. Even with my eyes closed and my eye mask tight around my head, it felt as if bright lights were still flashing in front of my eyeballs.
I thought about organizing my room;
… the things I did not draw and still want to draw;
… trying to fit piano playing in my schedule;
… trying to fit workouts in my daily schedule;
… where I will temporarily put the things I want to dispose of;
… my online classes;
… how I am not getting enough sleep;
… how I actually need to be sleeping;
… Cielo, you should be sleeping;
… but you’re not relaxed enough, so try doing that muscle-tensing-relaxing thing;
… now try that “sighing” taught to you in PE class;
… like, sleep now— OH MY GOD WILL THOSE CAMPAIGN SOUND TRUCKS SHUT THE HELL UP OR I’LL SMASH THEIR WINDOWS NEXT THEY PASS —
… but that means getting up, and I don’t want to do that so: oh Lord, grant me sleep. I need You to knock me out with Your heavenly mallet.
— so on and so forth. You get the picture.
I wish I could stop thinking. Many times in my past, I wished I were a robot: either I can go around with near limitless energy, or just may be feel the empty bliss of a temporary death when I am completely shut down and charging.
What does all that rambling have to do with my questions above? See, I feel that whatever attachment I lack towards physical things, I make up by storing them all in my mind. I say that I don’t want to think, where in reality, I just want to remember. Sure, there are things I wish I could forget, but there are more things I want to remember.
I realize that I can be hypocritical when I accuse my father and grandmother of being hoarders. I hoard in a different scale, too: aside from the things I know I can give away at any time, or during Christmas, I have a small box dedicated to mementos. They’re tickets to rides or movies, name tags to events, souvenir pictures, cards, tags, badges, coasters – little things to jog my memory. So, no, I am not insensitive; and admittedly, I do enjoy the occasional trip down memory lane and get all nostalgic over songs and scents.
I have come to this age, realizing and making peace with the fact that I am limited: there are only so many things my hands (or my room) can hold until I stress over them. There are only so many thoughts I can entertain until I lose sleep. There is only so much time I am willing to dedicate to organizing, re-organizing, re-re-organizing things I might not even need, when I can spend it on music, drawing, and playing games with my nephew!
My past – my memories – only serve to remind me as to how far I have come in this life, and who have been instrumental in my growth as a person. But the past is past, and I refuse to dwell in it. I do not want to waste my life dwelling in a relatively small portion of my existence when I have so many things to look forward to. I want to see the future and enjoy it! I do not want to be tied down by pointless nostalgia just because there are a hundred of my old t-shirts I cannot let go of.
As Royal Tailor’s song goes, “the past is present ‘til we’re ready to move forward.” The future cannot happen unless I let the past step aside to make space for it.