August 2009, and I am in my room, on my bed, thinking, writing. It was my birthday recently and I turned twenty-three. Twenty-three years that have gone by, are we supposed to reflect and make our brief chronicle every year these days, I wonder. Am I growing old? No one could ever argue this. Then again, the majority of world’s population doesn’t make it to my age. Am I maturing? I hope I am, but not too much. It is scary, so much time we spend in this world, so many things we see, meet, experience, live through, allow to live through us, how much do we really amass and assemble out of it all? And how much of it do we actually recollect.
Throughout these twenty-three years, I was a child and I became a grown up. Ok, maybe some of you will ridicule and mock me for using such terminology. Alright, I admit it, I am barely a grown up, but I will use it as a euphemism for what I am. I no longer play in the yard with my friends. I no longer throw water balls, or watch Captain Planet. Fine, fine, I still watch Captain Planet, but you get my point. Now my biggest problem in the world is not how to skip class or fool my French teacher to avoid the lesson. My everyday schedule does not comprise of school, play, violin, sports, and sleep any more. The years went by, the careless child grew up to be an equally, or almost equally, carefree adult; what has changed? I have, as difficult as this may be to believe sometimes. In character, spirit, conviction. The clay of course remains the same, but it has been molded into multiple different shapes and forms in time. By whom?
People. How strange of me to admit this, but people are those who actually change us. It seems that we are never as rigid as we like to believe or claim. Subconsciously even, every single individual that enters our own personal sphere may alter it, forever. Reminds you a bit of the butterfly effect? Well, ever since I was a child I was fond of the chaos theory, it is after all this desire and magnetism of the unknown which can never be cured. So many people come and go through our life, however long this journey may be for each. Almost each one of them leaves his/her print on what we like to call our soul; some lighter, some deeper. How many of those we actually hold on to, and how many we let go, lose, or even merely allow drifting apart. What was I doing this day 10 years ago? Who was I with? I cannot even vaguely remember. So many things change in our lives throughout time, so rapidly, that I sometimes wonder if we may even catch a quick glimpse of it all. People come and people go, an everlasting perpetual motion, almost Heracletian, is the structure of our life. Unique moments, which, after some time, seem so familiar or so foreign and groundless that constitute fragments of our own existence.
‘’Finis origine pendet’’, the end depends upon the beginning. I wonder how much truth this upholds. And if it does, how has my beginning been? I surely started off with great ambition and conquest, with successes and failures, with good and bad deeds. But all this without contribution is without significance. The worth of a life is not to be determined by a single slump or a solitary gest. So much effort do we put in our life to make something out of it, why? Are we afraid of every ending? Strange, because man has the power inside him to hope and try. And, subconsciously overcomes all hornets’ nest and does not yield. Thus he turns the end into a beginning in all levels and aspects; even in death. Those who set the pillars of all religion defined death as the beginning of eternal life. In the ultimate cul-de-sac we gave ourselves an alternative. A beginning, something endless and infinite. But what happens with our feelings that get hurt every time an ending is in sight. That is mostly a defence, I think. Self-defence against the time you spent, the time you devoted to what is ending. If it were over painlessly, it wouldn’t leave an imprint, you wouldn’t have experiences, it wouldn’t make you wiser. And wisdom, experiences, you need them. They make you a better person. Besides, we always have the strength to pay the price. We never give up. We cough up and move on. We turn the end into a beginning, even when in pain. We close the circle. Circle, it simply defines our life. Without bumps, angles, ragged lines. It closes protectively around us; it connects our edges; it postpones our pessimism; it gives a sequel to our ending. And the game begins again..