People have several uses for nostalgia in their lives. Slowly but surely, everything done, about to be done, knowingly or unwittingly becomes part of some personal folklore, tinged with the variety hues of something that feels very similar to joy, a yearning for what will always be a better time. The inescapable present creates the necessity to keep harking back, to places and situations that might not have been more enjoyable to live in or through (per se) yet form the core of an experience that is etched clearly in your mind and on the blueprint of the auto-pilot that your life is on. Nostalgia is a scary feeling, a deep reminiscing that reeks of desperation with the present and a muted acceptance of defeat in your struggle to have been in control of your days as they passed you by.
There are people I know who use nostalgia as some sort of inexpensive rocket fuel, refilling every time they stop around the elements that construct their personal histories, revising the details that form the inscription on the artifacts of their very own personal memorabilia, remembering who they are or aren't, like a pit-stop in the middle of a long grueling race, sieving for inspiration or happiness or some other abstract, hard-to-find concept to get them through the next leg as it takes from them more than they have to offer, only to return again.
For some, this act of fond remembrance is best served with old friends, real and hallucinogenic. Some like to go about it alone, in solemn solitude, as they deal with emotions & memories rushing back and forth, still unsure and awkward if the place that once held them as a part of itself, still belongs, or maybe, with time, and the consequent unwilling sharing has rendered them as much still a part as furniture - where the furniture itself, without the cocoon of nostalgia spun around it, is just some wood and cloth that you used to sit on. There are some that reject remembrance, fake forgetfulness, eschewing the memories and all that comes with, not realizing that this is their own variant of the nostalgia bug, and you can tell from the effort they make to not remember about how important the memories are to them.
Glamourized histories play on your mind as markers of your distance from them in time pass you by. Your personal living shrines fail to recognize your one time love affair, and disappointment befriends you as you watch and listen to the sights and sound of the new yous.
There are people I know who use nostalgia as some sort of inexpensive rocket fuel, refilling every time they stop around the elements that construct their personal histories, revising the details that form the inscription on the artifacts of their very own personal memorabilia, remembering who they are or aren't, like a pit-stop in the middle of a long grueling race, sieving for inspiration or happiness or some other abstract, hard-to-find concept to get them through the next leg as it takes from them more than they have to offer, only to return again.
For some, this act of fond remembrance is best served with old friends, real and hallucinogenic. Some like to go about it alone, in solemn solitude, as they deal with emotions & memories rushing back and forth, still unsure and awkward if the place that once held them as a part of itself, still belongs, or maybe, with time, and the consequent unwilling sharing has rendered them as much still a part as furniture - where the furniture itself, without the cocoon of nostalgia spun around it, is just some wood and cloth that you used to sit on. There are some that reject remembrance, fake forgetfulness, eschewing the memories and all that comes with, not realizing that this is their own variant of the nostalgia bug, and you can tell from the effort they make to not remember about how important the memories are to them.
Glamourized histories play on your mind as markers of your distance from them in time pass you by. Your personal living shrines fail to recognize your one time love affair, and disappointment befriends you as you watch and listen to the sights and sound of the new yous.
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