I built a time machine. And let me tell you – not an easy task! The dials go wonky, the hands refuse to sync with moon’s gravity and the batteries run out before you can even think 2050!
This was supposed to be a multi-directional machine. Forward and back. Left and right (Not including up and down as I don’t want to wake the Gods and the Devils). You fancy seeing your great-grandfather build the cabin by the lake or your future great-grandchildren pull it down to pieces? Hop on! Want to visit a parallel dimension to see how that meal would have tasted with an extra pinch of nutmeg or how that astronomy course might have changed your life? Got you covered!
To test it out, I had to choose the perfect moment to visit. I was seriously tempted to take a sneak peak into the future to see how the gamble D and I took with our lives would turn out. Or take a spin into the past when times were simple and safe. Or perhaps take a glimpse of an alternate reality where we stayed put in India.
That is pretty much when the time-machine ended up in the junkyard.
I now know I would have seen a future full of anxiety and second-guessing and frustration! Not to mention Canadian winters!! That itself would have been enough to firmly tie myself to the good ol’ climate of Pune. But would those stolen moments of the future done justice to the depth of my journey getting here? I am guessing no. My present tells me more about my future than the actual future; without my present, I have no future.
There is no moment I would rather be in than my present, exactly the way it is – crudely packaged with mistakes and lessons and bursts of brilliance.
My curiosity refuses to go back to sleep though. It keeps wanting to know! I am smart enough to not try to interpret the predictions of Nostradamus but neither am I so sophisticated that I won’t do those cheesy prediction tests on the internet 😀 Hey! If I am destined to be a travel guide in Prague then there is always hope right??
I feel like I am forever trying to strike a deal with time – Don’t tell me the answers, but give me the four options!Or a teaser pack if you will. A movie trailer of my life with cool background music doesn’t sound so bad!
I play with online prediction tests while I resist the call to salvage the time-machine.
Why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up. – Thomas Wayne (Batman Begins)
Just to be safe, let’s practice yelling as loudly as possible for a rope-ladder.
I love rising out of ashes stories. That journey of climbing out of the pit, brushing down the muck and moving on with life’s lemons? Oh yes.. count me in as I add some tequila into the mix. Funnily enough, I commit the heinous crime of overlooking the lifelines and cooling stations in my own story, not that there were any significant ashes.
Like a bitter pill, I spit out my pride and zip up my mouth. A stubborn misconception plagues me that requesting help makes you weak! It keeps me from taking the first step and admit that maybe, I cannot do this alone. Obviously, it comes with a cost of bewildered family and friends that justifiably feel hurt. Even if they cannot give a hand they can always lend an ear, right?
I am also a hypocrite as when someone else does the exact same thing – I am sense & sensibility personified. Turn the tables and there will be a me-shaped hole in the door… Classy, I know!
I am serving a life sentence for this. At least the prison isn’t empty – in fact, it is probably a fire hazard at this point.
I took my sweet time getting used to counting on someone. Getting married helped. Funny how long it took me to realize that asking for help is the first step in becoming a bigger person. Funny how late I realized the amazing liberty of pestering someone and they will unconditionally be there to carry you through. Did you know they even get you ice-cream? If you did, why didn’tany one tell me sooner? I was missing out.
Oh to have the compassion of the helper and the strength of the … helpee? I am struggling with the maths here.
That’s the thing about old friends. Instinct becomes your first and only language when emotions stay shrouded behind cooled gestures.
There are layers anew to peel off, bespoke of tense energy. But unexpectedly, a collision opens a floodgate of unspoken sentiments that simmer for an instant. Time goes back and in your heart you know that there can never be a second round. But you imagine a once over, desperate to pick out an alternative where barriers don’t need to be broken down, where your laugh is louder than the wind and the music isn’t a sanctum of restrained emotion.
But time doesn’t stop and the last vestiges of the sparks remain in the pointed scrawls lurking in the latent mind and the splinters of memories tinged with sepia.