Much of one’s life may have been forsaken completely, but very occasionally something that you believed vanished long since would make an unsuspecting reappearance. The conditionality of such reappearances matters immensely, as synapses fire signals only under the premise of certain external triggers. As long as the external reality remains indifferent, those synapses, dormant. But when suddenly those distant memories flash before one’s eyes, the euphoria therein exceeds the best of bliss and the epiphany thereof renders the lurid blind.
You could argue what we leave behind may well stay behind, but unfortunately, we carry them with us knowingly or otherwise. One lives their life cycling through many different personas, alter egos and masks. At times the multi-layered cocoon of one’s “selves” makes them forget what their true “self” is, or had been. I was extremely lucky to be reminded of my distant self at a time when life was simpler and the sky was bluer and the sun was shinier, and by retrospectively examining my journey from a toddler to an adult I have gladly found a trace of certitude, a kernel, an invariant center of countless concentric circles. Perhaps I can still be reduced to the initial circle so small that it might as well been the point—a singularity from which I evolved through space and time.
Long since my childhood, I had not been reminded of my distant past. It had been such a blur and lurid interval between objective memories and subjective imaginations. Even I myself had forgotten all about it; an “it” that had been ejected to the recess of my subconsciousness. What if we are the ones to blame for donning masks of splendor, which divert people’s gaze because of their blinding refulgence? Or worse, what if we are so used to wearing them that we eventually forget what’s underneath?
At this moment I realize something: nobody cares who one was before they put on a mask—almost nobody. I was to believe that the world had little redeemable quality; I was to isolate myself from the crowd and sneer at others’ folly; I was to be apathetic.
During my self-reflection upon my past I discovered my singularity was encircled at the perfect center of an intricate circular labyrinth, and at times I couldn’t see my way through. What smidgen of light remained kindled still was only enveloped by the darkness that vowed to its demise, but that light, however weakly, flickered.
Yet again, that tenacious light illuminates a dark path up ahead and lends me the strength to walk it through… I use my words carefully but I was quite unsure as to why a certain word I prefer using as of late is the word I prefer using; it felt familiar although I have never used it previously. It is an archaic word, a medieval one at that, eliciting respect and admiration—two already perfect reasons its utterance; however, whether because of the causality of spacetime or not, something came out at exactly the moment it is needed and my uncertainty was therefore dissolved. Out of Darkness.