I’d be lying if I said I don’t experience nostalgia, but I cannot recall ever yearning for the past. I think I’ve spent more time running away from it and hoping tomorrow will bring something more–better, or palpable. Like every day was, in some form, a hard pill to swallow. It’s interesting how much your upbringing affects your experience of nostalgia. And in a way, I envy people who have had the pleasure of idyllic childhoods. Yet, there are many more people who simply have not but they were able to hold onto those golden memories, frame it and have it stored in an easily retrievable space. I know your childhood was shit too, but you choose to tend to the memories worth recalling. For me, it’s an entangled mess. A good friend of mine journals everyday the positive things that she’s experienced that day. Imagine a journal of 5 – 10 years of good memories. Angela is a very special case, there are many times she can share about heartbreak, despair, and disappointment. She had a lot to be angry about. Yet, she also filled her heart with experiences, experiences that fill up her heart and journal evidently. I’ll take a page from her book. Yet, it’s all passed and every good thing will be difficult to remember. Although, I’ll make a good effort.
Punta del Confital
I don’t experience nostalgia, because I am so relieved that it’s all over. The years of my life that I never felt more alone, passing countless days alone at school and at home. I am running away from that. I can’t shake the fear that I will die alone and anonymously. I want my loved ones to get to know me. Unfortunately, when I was a young girl, the people I cared for the most did not show any interest in me. There are things that I have always loved. Like geology and other earth sciences, being outside on a skateboard or a bicycle, the night and how busy spaces become liminal from midnight and beyond. I loved movies but not enough to be an expert about them-director? I barely know her. I love music enough to study it for over a decade, through music I’ve learned about world history, cultures, and art. My connection to my body, sense of rhythm, and expression. Reading stories fictional and nonfiction about the human condition. All of these things made life worth living. And I’ve had so many experiences with all of them that have incrementally made me who I am today.
Punta del Confital
I remember when it came time to apply for scholarships in high school and university, I never won a scholarship because they were always asking me such personal questions that I had no idea how to begin answering. It’s curious to me that now I find myself in a position where I judge other people’s scholarship applications. What a fraud! I attempted to review some of these applications by signing into my old Yahoo account. I guess after 2016 the defunct company bulk deleted inactive accounts. Contrary to popular belief, memories archived on the internet have a shelf life too, only it’s completely random at the whim of corporations or your hardware. I know I had files on my family computer and laptop I got around 13, but both of those machines are long gone deep inside of some landfill at this point–Oh right, I gave my computer to some random person in Miami and they never paid me for it. I totally got scammed. Well the computer was half broken so, assuming they didn’t chuck it immediately, perhaps the inevitable destination “Landfill” was avoided.
Hopefully it collects dust in someone’s physical archival of stuff.
Punta del Confital
Anyway, this is my attempt to recall my experiences that I have carried with me somewhere in my DNA, but disentangled from the bad shit that makes me feel like an absolute stranger to the entire world. For some reason, good things seem so fleeting and they are a lot more difficult to recall than the bad. From a young age, I was very cautious and developed a keen aversion to excitement. The one avenue of this energy I did allow myself was through silliness, completely a tool to manipulate and navigate instability on my own terms. In terms of allowing my heart to be filled with a hope, interest, and the vulnerability to share those things, were–are, all very dangerous activities. Or, happy memories are tainted by inconveniences, like a long car ride to a theme park felt like hell because I was nauseous or scared because the driver was a maniac. So I recall that more than the park. It does bring up another factor, you can experience a lot of different things but without anyone to process those things with, did it ever really happen? Yes, but it begins to bloom in that field of fleeting people, places, and things. “What’s-his-face” from the jungle hostel was right, honestly fuck him-your opinion was very condescending, but correct. I did go to those random interior towns on Gran Canaria and I hid behind my camera. Those photos are all I have of that time. And the consumable beauty products that I am still enjoying. He told me that, for him, if he doesn’t have someone to share a memory with then he doesn’t want to experience going to the town. And for me I was unsure of going to travel with a stranger. For fear of being bored, judged, or that I wouldn’t like them. Fully acknowledging my social ineptitude.
Slipping through my fingers all the time, the times I tried to enjoy the moment and the moment slapped me in the face.
SIRIUS RISING LLC 