Past Life, Passed Like

It is October. Autumn shares her cooler evenings and the sun gives us less of his light. Three years ago, I was starting a new job. Two years ago, I was in love. One year ago, I was again starting a new job. This year, at this moment, I think of a passed time, a past life, I’d like to call it. I am reminded of that life more times than I can count–at the fault of none.

Seeing a life I once undeniably lived, watching it go on without me, without a moment’s care or second thought…is strange, difficult, and almost feels unreal. It feels like I’m in a field watching something 380-feet away, and the view is familiar yet strange at the same time. The distance grows a foot more as each day passes and I admit (red-faced), I ache for what once was my situation. The attempts of getting closer only make the distance more apparent. When will I find the courage to look away? When will I end my envy of the view?

I’m embarrassed. I visit those gates of my past often. The visits have reduced as of late but I return and sneak a peek into what I did two years ago, who I communicated with, and the nights where I felt more than I do now. I haven’t forgotten. And I haven’t forgiven, either. 

I’ll also admit I feel weak. I resent my ego. I resent my selfishness. I resent the loneliness that hovers over me and feels like a secret room that is allowing me entry again. Wishing I belonged somewhere, anywhere, as I once did. I daydream to a time and space when I knew very well where and with whom I belonged. But those daydreams stem from memories of the past, the moments have long passed, and yet I remain stuck.

I struggle to close the doors of the past. I don’t want to leave behind a happiness that I know existed. But, I lock the gate, with tears in my eyes, knowing this won’t be the last time I cry about what no longer is, and each step away breaks my heart once more. The routine is long gone. The structure of my weeks stand shakily. Unpredictability is the only valid prediction now. 

I’ve long toted the nonphysical banner stating that I never lose as I always learn. And while I’ve learned plenty about relationships and myself in this period of eleven months, this is a solid loss. 

I have no genuine idea if there is a lesson that will liberate me of wanting what no longer is. What great lesson will free me from this foreign grief? What thought will make my emotions less painful and more positive? Will time allow me to win this unspoken battle?

I wonder if time is enough, if ever, for such a situation like this.

I say no. Time is no magic trick. Time does not heal all wounds. Distractions, duties, vices, vacations… no matter where I am on this Earth, there is nary a spot where a storm cannot touch. Grey skies, a sprinkle of tear drops, the threat of thunder’s sound, and just like that, sadness falls upon me as I cannot outrun my overdue rain. It is now cold.

And yet, sadness coats me with a comforting warmth, a feeling I avoid as I know this space all too well. Heh. Sadness is my forte, I tell my friend, A. It is where I write the most. It is real. It is human. For I am only a mortal and this midnight sky is opposite of the passion-evoking red that glowed a few years ago. I think my past life passed like a hazy blink. It’s the space of fuzzy vision and wondering if I’m in a dream still. I’ll confess, I don’t want to wake up from my dream just yet. But I must. I loved my life back then and while I love life still, it is a different love. Oh, to be human on this ride we call life!

Being human is conflicting, confusing, and consistently unpredictable. Wanting something and never again able to obtain it…is a strange and swift pull from the dreams of our minds. It is a thrust into the dirt of reality. It’s humbling, to say the least. 

As an almost 28-year-old, I aim to still have fun to nurture the child within me. The fun part is that I know sadness is a storm that will pass. With watered dirt, I can grow roses of strength, tulips of kindness, and daisies of simplicity. The truth can be simple but complicated to accept, I tell myself. My past life passed like an encounter with a hummingbird: beautiful yet brief, an excitement that’s gone within a flash, and a lingering disappointment when it’s all over.

In a world lacking honesty and transparency, why does the truth hurt when it is undeniably the whole fact? Why does rejection hurt? The truth can come at you quick and it could take months to swallow the damn pill. Yet, somehow, I find it beautiful. The truth is power. Honesty is power. And honesty moves us, more so than we think not. My past life passed like it was meant to be; it happened, it was true, and…it is over.


Each blog post of mine is a time capsule of my current emotions, thoughts, and aspirations. Today and tonight, this is what I’m experiencing and thinking. One aspect I enjoy of life is that a few things are permanent. Change is a constant. Change is a friend I can depend on. Change has never failed to show up in my life. While change is almost always scary and uncomfortable, I must float with the waves and not swim against it. I don’t care if I’m crying while my life changes, I would never want my life to stay the same. I know I won’t ever stay the same—so why would I dare expect that out of life, friends, or anything else from the universe? 

Thank you for reading!

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