Quoting pal Fitzgerald, “It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory.” Because reliving moments while holding the hope of having them fixed isn’t going to do much.
We all have those things we do that we imagine are never going to be remembered with regret, although we find ourselves rewinding them and thinking “how could I be so stupid?” You get together with people who end up not caring about you the way you thought they did. You put your mind and soul into something who doesn’t turn out how you wanted it. You cry, you laugh and you consider that “just a bit won’t hurt“, only to see how you lay in bed for a little while where you used to sit back then. Or, perhaps, you visit that aisle for once more and it looses some ends in your soul, since no matter how much we try to deny it, it will always be there.
The person, the place, the memory – you can’t instantly forget them.
Have you ever felt a strong deja vu? So powerful that you realise you’ve been through the same circumstance, yet, just because it happened in a different context, it took you more than normal to come to that conclusion? You live by the motto of fulfilling your fantasies, imagining that no matter what it is to happen, there is no possible way you’ll regret it.
And that’s where you’re wrong.
It doesn’t matter if what you did was bad or good. It doesn’t matter if you felt like it was the best day of your life or the worst, and it certainly doesn’t matter how you viewed it after it was gone. What counts if you look back at it in your present day and you form some sort of nostalgia, combined with loneliness; if you invited that person over and felt bad looking at the place they used to sit, or if you saw the food you used to get with them and your hunger suddenly faded away. There’s many symptoms to missing someone, and, as I’ve mentioned earlier, it’s easier not to become aware of how they aren’t part of your life anymore.
Personally, I cure myself by surrounding myself with the ones who are said to truly care about me. At least, I think I’m doing so. I’m not going to lie, there are certain days when I simply ponder of the reasons I chose somebody to be by my side, of why I chose to trust them and call them my friends, or more. There are also days I cannot seem to find the answer, when I cry, when I sense nothing more but some false ideas of hate towards myself, towards them, and I simply cannot understand why.
I come to the conclusion that I do not matter, and not to myself, but to whom I wanted to. I also come to the conclusion that it’s difficult to keep in touch with someone who lacks interest, or, at least, inspires that. And for a few mere seconds, the happiness goes away. Everything that has ever made you smile equals nothing, because you couldn’t reach the expectations you’ve set for yourself. But why?
Why aren’t we, as humans, capable of mentally running over the bad thoughts and ideals that only we create? Why can’t we just sit around, doing chores, and if something unwanted pops up, just delete it?
Because that would make everything perfect. There would be no black, just white. Therefore, there would be no grey, either. It would just be boring, uneventful, blank, however you want to call it. And after all of those, this white would only become sadness. Sadness of unknown, maybe even of boredom, of misunderstanding, of routine.
I was so eager to advise you to do as the thumbnail says, until I realised I was doing so myself and I’m not exactly in my best form right now. I’m lowkey complaining about how I regret something, but I don’t. It’s complicated to explain, and to be honest, it’s not like I would die to turn back time and not do it. I just wish some things were different, overall, not in a certain situation, I mean. That’s what is strange. It all ends up surprisingly inadequate.
Ok, honestly, what am I even saying anymore? No, I’m not joking, I got lost in my own words. That’s a lot, even for me. Well, I think that I was trying to prove to you, guys, that our brains are hard to trick. They bring back what’s often unwanted and place the other things in the background, and not because this is how we’re wanted to think, but because the brain itself might consider we are supposed to be reminded of what we view as wrong and upsetting, in order to fix it. What it doesn’t tell us is how. I guess we’re ought to figure that out, on our own, as, at the end of the day, we still miss it: what made us happy.