I recollect my childhood as 'just yesterday' now, and then in the very next moment, it feels like another lifetime - Or another story perhaps that I happen to know. Of someone who was like me, or lived my life and left it for me to decipher it, and recollect it as a third party watching it on a screen.
Nothing feels as weird as life. I sit here and think of all the people that left me. Some that left the world, some that disappeared on the other side of the fork while we travelled together, and some that just left. When I look back at these lost connections, I get amused at the surreal quality these people have. The ones that passed on, especially, feel like phatom characters - like my rich imagination. There would be circumstantial evidence of their time on the earth, but their presence feels like a fragment of my thought. They linger around in my emotion, reminding me of the times I fondly cherish, wondering if all this is just a dream, if my own being is as phantom as they are and I feel pretty sure, that sooner, or later - I would be just a dream too for someone remembering me on this earthly plane.
How many phases have I lived? They all seem to be different people. Sometimes, the me that is watching the me that is blogging feel like two separate selves. Much like the me of today feels about the me as a child. This body feels like a rental car. The one that I'd have to leave behind and take flight, lingering around in a phantom like texture in others' minds.
Then what is the purpose of this existence? I sit back and ruminate over the rhetorical question that we often miss in this mad rush called life. Then I realize that there's indeed a purpose - more than the chasing of accolades, achievements and accumilations. Then it also dawns upon me, that each life is a short story at the most. Concised into a few memories here and there, if we are fortunate, lingering in the hearts of our folks left behind. A summary of smiles and heartaches, if we live our lives well that is.
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