Thousand Degrees of Separation of Time and Memories
One day, we will only be living on mere memories. We will just be remembering how the sun rays dramatically touches the green plant, or how the vast blue sky would be reflected on a clear ocean. We will only be reminiscing how great the day was. We could only imagine how extravagant the clothes of the crowd were on a sunny day at the metro or during a monday rush under the moonlit night. We would only be telling how great others were. And people will only tell stories of how great life was.
Only stories. ‘Cause time will come, we wouldn’t have any other thing to hold on to but memories. Memories of the grass, memories of the family, memories of our friends and of our love, all we have are mere memories. And in our deepest desire to keep our life alive, we struggle to tell the story of our lives over and over and over. We share them generation after generation so our stories may be told until there is someone who will share it and people who’ll listen to it.
But that’s what I fear. I fear the time would come people would stop sharing the stories. Maybe because they have all been mere stories. I fear the future would regard our story as mere words and phrases. Until everyone stops sharing them.
I fear someday that our stories will become myths and legends and folklore. Everyone sharing it to the other, but no one dares to listen. Maybe because it happened on a distant past and the present is very much different.
I fear two people from the future: one who will stop sharing our stories, and one who will stop listening. I fear them today because I’m alive. And everyone alive fears to be forgotten.
But I hope, the people form the future would find our stories magical and turn it to fairy tales and classic novels and timeless stories. They may call it fiction, but for us, the people of our time, call it our life. No one could prove it but us, and we need not prove it to anyone else but to ourselves.
We need to exist, live and be alive.
