The Length of The Past

…a contemplation on the verge of 2009…

One question just popped again when I was writing a final paper on one of my course module. How long actually is the Past? As in, how far would/could your Past go along with you through the Present, and perhaps even the Future? And, how real is the Past? What made it so real?
Someone once told me that you create your Past based on your present need.. So, the Past is actually very much self-made, no? It is virtually nonexistent, right? How come it matters so much?

According to wikipedia (haha), the past is the portion of time that has already occurred. It is the opposite of future. And according to presentism, the past does not strictly exists. Well, I guess that kind of makes me a presentist?? It also says that the past can only be known from the evidence of the past in the present time. Fair enough that when one talks about matters, there may be evidence. Solid one. But what about life? And feelings? And other intangible things? What are the evidence? And, as I experience myself, life and feelings are very fluid concepts. And what happens now can easily be wiped away from the heart and the head in some time – depending on the magnitude of the events.

And, that is exactly what I was wondering about. How long would the Past, or events in the Past stay with you?

Some Past stay for a long time.. Some stay even longer than the Present, and perhaps longer than the Future. Some stay short, so short they do not even make it to the Present. Who decides that? You do, off course. No doubt about it. But there are always things that either stop you from doing it, or force you to do it. Which one for which Past, you can almost never tell. Ah, there I go, mumbling again. So I guess I will cut it short here.

Lesson learned: no matter how hard you try to define it, truth is as true as our ongoing conversation about it. I guess the same thing goes with the Present. And the Past. Not sure about the Future though.

*originally published on Facebook Notes, on November 12, 2008

A Long Longing in December

Exactly 365 years days ago I was alone. But not lonely. I was in a place that I call home, with the green-flowery curtain that hung on the window, and the pots of plants that lined nicely by the window, welcoming me every time I walk in through the door.

I remembered noticing the first snow falling some time in November while I was sitting by the window. And the thought of him came on to me as the first snow fell into the grass that has now turned dry. My memory flew right back to when we first held hands, and imagined how nice it would be if we could do that under the snow. Oh, how I wish I could share this first drop of snow with him…

***

I took my baret, put on my boots, slightly carelessly stuffing in a pair of gloves into the side pockets of my jacket, and threw it over my shoulder – putting it on me. I walked out into the thinly-snow-layered-grass on the side of my apartment building. I can hear the crisp sound of the snow every time I step on it – a sound that I can still hear until now every time winter (was supposed) to come.

The weather that day is nice, the sun shines warmly, as bright as it gets in a December as far up north as this place. The wind is calm, not too cold. The falling snow only adds up to the beauty of a mid day in mid December. I looked up to the clock on the bus stop – 12.53. The bus will come in 2 minutes, I am on time.

***