Stealing from Father Time
This morning, I was running through some of my older blogs after some intensive email replies. While I read through 6 months worth of blogs, I had a feeling. You know, the sort of notion that creeps up on you, but you cannot lay a finger on it yet.
Writing my own crappy thoughts & views without any boundaries is good for me mentally and emotionally. It allows me to regroup myself when I write. It provides some structure to my thinking process. It validates some of my choices in my life. I derive some joy from my own musing, no matter how little. It is a process of self-renewal for me. 我开始写这些以后，我看了一本书。里头，它写了“心灵是照不到的，但文字是心灵的镜子。写写 …. 是女人心灵镜子的方法。这样的女人每天都焕然一新，能不美吗？”美不美，我不知道。But it certainly is a positive activity for me, personally.
But when I read my own journal entries this morning, I finished a quick browse of my entries rather quickly. I don’t think it took me more than an hour. Really. 6 months of my life and time. And I finished them within an hour. Amazing.
So I carried this bit of amazement at the back of my head as I went about my own business today. I was not able to verbalize or actualize that notion into any rational reasons yet.
I am not sure about other people, but my mind tends to spin very fast when I am alone stoning, and staring into blank space. As if my body allows all the energy to work on my sub-conscious. Often, a lot of thoughts will zoom past. I only catch and remember a few when I am lucky. Other times? They zoomed past, made perfect sense for a moment. And at the turn of the next minute, I cannot remember them for the life of me.
Just now, I had one of such moments. But I am lucky tonight. I caught one of them. It crystallized the notion I had this morning, and it explained my feeling of amazement.
Writing does more than just self-renewal for me. I have never thought of it that way, but sub-consciously, writing is my way of capturing the passing of time. The hi-bye-and-never-to-be-seen-again days. I age by the second as I take every breath. Tick-tock, tick-tock as the seconds pass.
For all my views and thoughts, I am just trying to document who I am, at a given point. As if providing actual evidence to my existence here - And there will be nothing if I do not write.
What does writing do for me?
It allows me to steal from Father Time.
By writing, my memory can fail me, but I always maintain the right to turn back the pages of my life and re-live those moments in words again. Nothing can take that away from me. I can take moments of my life, actualize them into words and that moment and thoughts will be there with me, forever, even with the passing of time. All the little moments and I stash them away in my own treasure box.
And this was the notion that ran past my mind when I re-read my entries this morning. My journal, my petty theft, my treasure box.
And why was I amazed?
I now know why. Maybe I am not stealing enough from Father Time. Just maybe. I had it so good. No one was watching and I am not stealing more of my own moments and thoughts? My treasure box could be larger. Amazing.
There are other ways we can steal from Father Time other than writing. We can film videos? Or take photos? I guess these are all viable instances.
Do all these make sense to you? It doesn’t matter. It makes sense to me.
I am not stealing enough. I can do more. How much more can I do within reasonable grounds? Maybe I should get a voice recorder… heh!
Just a consideration….
------------
You know, as I was writing all the above, I had a feeling of dread. I dread that time will just make its way through my life and I do not appreciate its passage and the remaining of it.
As I age by the days, months and years, and as my age figure grows, I am finally grasping the meaning of one Chinese statement – 其实，增加也同时代表了减少。
No one can work against the tide, and I certainly cannot turn against the tide of time. I think I can only work with the understanding of this notion and try to live to the best of my ability. No matter how limited or non-impressive my ability is.
Writing my own crappy thoughts & views without any boundaries is good for me mentally and emotionally. It allows me to regroup myself when I write. It provides some structure to my thinking process. It validates some of my choices in my life. I derive some joy from my own musing, no matter how little. It is a process of self-renewal for me. 我开始写这些以后，我看了一本书。里头，它写了“心灵是照不到的，但文字是心灵的镜子。写写 …. 是女人心灵镜子的方法。这样的女人每天都焕然一新，能不美吗？”美不美，我不知道。But it certainly is a positive activity for me, personally.
But when I read my own journal entries this morning, I finished a quick browse of my entries rather quickly. I don’t think it took me more than an hour. Really. 6 months of my life and time. And I finished them within an hour. Amazing.
So I carried this bit of amazement at the back of my head as I went about my own business today. I was not able to verbalize or actualize that notion into any rational reasons yet.
I am not sure about other people, but my mind tends to spin very fast when I am alone stoning, and staring into blank space. As if my body allows all the energy to work on my sub-conscious. Often, a lot of thoughts will zoom past. I only catch and remember a few when I am lucky. Other times? They zoomed past, made perfect sense for a moment. And at the turn of the next minute, I cannot remember them for the life of me.
Just now, I had one of such moments. But I am lucky tonight. I caught one of them. It crystallized the notion I had this morning, and it explained my feeling of amazement.
Writing does more than just self-renewal for me. I have never thought of it that way, but sub-consciously, writing is my way of capturing the passing of time. The hi-bye-and-never-to-be-seen-again days. I age by the second as I take every breath. Tick-tock, tick-tock as the seconds pass.
For all my views and thoughts, I am just trying to document who I am, at a given point. As if providing actual evidence to my existence here - And there will be nothing if I do not write.
What does writing do for me?
It allows me to steal from Father Time.
By writing, my memory can fail me, but I always maintain the right to turn back the pages of my life and re-live those moments in words again. Nothing can take that away from me. I can take moments of my life, actualize them into words and that moment and thoughts will be there with me, forever, even with the passing of time. All the little moments and I stash them away in my own treasure box.
And this was the notion that ran past my mind when I re-read my entries this morning. My journal, my petty theft, my treasure box.
And why was I amazed?
I now know why. Maybe I am not stealing enough from Father Time. Just maybe. I had it so good. No one was watching and I am not stealing more of my own moments and thoughts? My treasure box could be larger. Amazing.
There are other ways we can steal from Father Time other than writing. We can film videos? Or take photos? I guess these are all viable instances.
Do all these make sense to you? It doesn’t matter. It makes sense to me.
I am not stealing enough. I can do more. How much more can I do within reasonable grounds? Maybe I should get a voice recorder… heh!
Just a consideration….
------------
You know, as I was writing all the above, I had a feeling of dread. I dread that time will just make its way through my life and I do not appreciate its passage and the remaining of it.
As I age by the days, months and years, and as my age figure grows, I am finally grasping the meaning of one Chinese statement – 其实，增加也同时代表了减少。
No one can work against the tide, and I certainly cannot turn against the tide of time. I think I can only work with the understanding of this notion and try to live to the best of my ability. No matter how limited or non-impressive my ability is.
<< Home