Has it really been a whole year since I've last blogged?
That's not to say life is always generous with time, but I do feel that something has been misplaced. Along with it are good conversations with a friend or two over pasta and salad, tinkering with guitar parts and making anew in a cold wintery morning with a fresh brewed coffee, long sleeps followed by a day in pajamas, and admiring a Mondrian piece at a gallery or simply floating about James Turrell's spaces. Not all were opportunities available to me, but unfortunately, I admit I have neglected a few. I find consolidations in thinking, 'Yes, I could do worse.' Yet, I know many people, who make the best of their time, applying themselves to things they believe. I know few who find joy and meaning in science. I know a friend who makes it a mission to travel whenever possible and experience different cultures. I know a buddy who believes it's worthwhile to play the numbers game in finances, everyday. As naive as I may be, I think there is nothing more exhilarating than a purpose-driven life full of vigor. While they may be different amongst my friends, and everybody, I'm akin to think what I believe is a choice. As if it's mine and I possess these beliefs. They're as personal as my scars. It's a beautiful thing, I'd say. But, time seems to run counter. Of time, of place, of memories, of existence, and of being, they're all lost in the end. I'm finite and I couldn't possibly claim time, however small of a fraction it may be.
I wonder, with a sense of disquiet, where do they go? And more importantly, who does it belong to?
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