Memories

Tis the smallest things in life which trigger the most vigorous of memories, some which bring out the best, others, the worst. Yet despite these unavoidable memories which were, at one point in life, part of our present, it somehow never seems to stay in its place—history. Life has its way of resurrecting these memories, and bring them back into the present—or perhaps a foreshadowing of what the future may possibly hold. Regardless, every small detail, like the light breeze or shadowy figures from behind seem to recur in the strangest, yet most significant of places. Who then, can make sense of a series of events which sends one plunging back into the past—or rather sends the past back to the present? Whichever the case, a vivid sequence of images and flashbacks seem to take place in the minds of those least expecting it, those who thought that the past was long gone, and had the faintest of ideas that a repeat would almost take place.
What to say when the most colourful of all emotions is almost triggered, launched like a missile into the everyday cycle of life in which we, as mundane human beings, have a tendency to take for granted? Why then, do we as mundane human beings act impulsively on our emotions, ignoring our intellectual instincts to run? As our mind tells us to take flight anytime a dramatic incident hints it repetition, our heart seems to have such an overwhelming power pleading our persistence. Our futile efforts at absconding are rewarded with a declining amount of time to escape our antiquity. Thus, one beings to ask the most trite of all questions: Why?
As it may seem, any question beginning with “why” has its way of evading the answer. Why the present is not the future we once assumed it would become? Why the past seems to change from the present we once lived? Why our surroundings seem to dodge every concrete lesson we could have learnt? Why every question is open ended, with variable interpretations, none of which are right or wrong? With the amount of questions continually emerging as our mind begins to adapt to our surroundings, and each occurrence revealing a new perspective to our current situation, it is verging on impossible to understand any inference we draw, notwithstanding the sense it purportedly makes. With this, who we are in relation to the decisions we make will never define our character, and patterned studies of our own yesterdays will never reveal a possible predicament which lies before us in every turn. So what to do?

There is no right or wrong.

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