Nostalgialand

Truth be told, I did have two glasses of Shiraz before writing this. (And I didn’t originally write this at 11:28 am, FYI). But that’s a really dumb disclaimer, because sexism. Why did I feel the need to write that disclaimer? Because emotions aren’t cool? To distance myself from them with unnecessary qualifiers, therefore dismantling my argument before I even begin? There are a million hilarious gifs out there about having too many feelings, and there is a ludicrous amount of jargon targeting females as being too emotional, but I just want to call bullshit on all of that. Confession: I’m a feeler. I feel things really strongly. Like, I’m not gonna be the person in the shades who just nods with a neutral expression at everything you say. Why is that cool? That’s boring, impersonal, and really annoying. What is the allure to that detached, heartless attitude? Why are people drawn to that? Why do people want to be like that?

Stopping with the rhetorical questions now. I don’t feel like building another soapbox today, I just wanted to hammer in a few nails before moving on to my real topic for this post, nostalgia. It’s kicking in, hard. I think I have a problem. I get this overwhelming sense of loss and despair at the simplest of memories, just knowing that I can never have them back. It is true what they say about rose tinted glasses, everything looks so much more beautiful in the past. Perhaps that’s why I get so attached to it. I fall in love all over again with the people and the places I’ve seen, and I panic about trying to mend and maintain relationships. I try to keep my memories alive because I can’t bear the thought of relinquishing them…

Have you ever had one of those moments that is so full, so perfect, that someone says, “You know, we’re gonna look back on this one day”? It’s as if that one instant is too great to exist in the present: in order to comprehend it’s greatness, we have to look at it from the future, we have to distance ourselves from it. Or maybe it’s because even as we’re living it, we can already feel it starting to slip away. It’s the euphoria of letting your balloon go – it looks so lovely as it drifts into the sky, you can feel its freedom and weightlessness, but then it starts getting smaller and smaller, you wonder where it’s going and you realize you’ll never know, and no matter how hard you squint your eyes, soon enough, it disappears.

I suppose we don’t have to let our balloons go. We can tie them to the backs of our chairs and keep them safe inside, but that won’t stop them from dying. They’ll begin to sink, deflating little by little, growing saggier and losing their shine, until eventually we’re left in an empty room, littered with faded latex. Perhaps it is best to let go while they’re still beautiful. At least then, we are left with one marvelous second. We can conjure up that image and those feelings and sigh. We can swim in the hope and the beauty of that instant – or maybe just float in it for a while, until we are almost satisfied.

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