valchemy

Past me has done silly things to myself in the present. I swear it's unintentional but I have a habit of stuffing notes away into my jacket pockets or an old bag or knife roll.

I've found things like old receipts or a very old pack of cigarettes. The cigarettes make me miss my delinquency and a so-sure-of-myself everlasting streak of rebellion.

I find aching things too-- like a good bye letter I think opened and closed so much that the creases were falling apart. It was hidden away in a jacket that I subconsciously swore I would never wear again. I found the jacket in a closet that has more of my parents' clothes than mine now, in a house that feels haunted by memories of my childhood.

I think memories can feel like ghosts. And writing about memories as I get older feels like describing something I can only see from the corner of my eye. Look too close and I'm fixating, too far and it slips away like a dream.

Every now and then, I can coax one into form. I'm luckier if I'm able to write about it. From the unlit corners of my mind, I can find some sweet memories. (God, I wish I had my dad's skill as a chronicler).

I have yet to see it but my sister says there's a video of my parents and I seeing snow for the first time back in '93. I've seen some photos but never a video.

My mom moved to Rock Hill before my dad and I did. Our first year together in a small apartment, all three of us shared something new at the same time.

30 some years later, I'm here thinking about them as I watch snow fall outside my house.

It's 2AM, I surely can't just call them. Tomorrow though-- there's time.

I'm embarrassed to say that I spent some of my youth and young adulthood creating distance between us. I felt alone navigating my childhood and by the time I was in high school, it's terrible to say that I even felt like I was held back. Held back by the sheer cultural differences that I couldn't properly communicate. I didn't even know what I needed. I wanted acceptance from my peers and I wanted acceptance from the world at large.

Well into adulthood today, it hurts me to think that I've left them behind.

I fear every passing day furthering the divide until I'm without them.

How can I even begin to start to address what feels like lost time?

Friend: Bring a 6 pack of whatever

Me: 

My dad is a chronicler— in his free time, he has digitalized my family’s old photos and memories. I asked him why he enjoys it and he told me he feels like this way, he keeps them alive.

Somewhere in my head long ago I started believing it was my responsibility to keep alive the memories of past relationships.

I thought maybe I needed to write about them and think about them to keep validating that time together. I justified it by romanticizing the behavior of “carrying you with me” but really the active thinking hurt me and encouraged an addiction with the question “are they still thinking of me?”

I never asked if it was appropriate if I did this. (It wasn’t) And some ways continued to do it because I wanted to shoulder it all knowing that someday it would just be me. Alone. Maybe it was a last act to make up for all the bad.

I cannot redefine a relationship by living it out past its end.