an adolescent’s view on time

She had wondered years ago- a young girl sauntering between her pre-teen and teenage years- if time was relative, each second ticking by faster or slower depending on what was happening. She believed that time wasn’t something collective; time was something determined by each individual.

A person could be having the time of his or her life, with the hours on the clock whizzing by as if there were seconds. Another existing on the exact same plane of time could be suffering from an untreatable, malicious illness, the pain rocking his or her body making each second alive feel like hours on end.

She had wondered if time waited for anybody; if time was a sadist, taking happiness as a drug and using sadness and pain to torture, for it would always slow down, seemingly to laugh and enjoy the scene that unfolded. As time slipped away from her as she penned all of it down, she wondered if months later in November, she would quip that time had passed all too quickly for her, when it was moving very slowly then. As she wrote the black quill pressed hard against the white paper- she wanted to fill the page with lines and lines of black ink, a memory of time spent. Something that she would never get back in exchange for a page filled with words. Suddenly the piece of paper seemed so much more valuable.

She guessed that time was like a big picture – from a distance, there were no details, the portrait as a piece in itself, but when you looked more closely, you realise all the tiny bits and pieces you haven’t noticed before. And sometimes these details slip away from you, so much so that when you add up what’s left, time seemed to have waited for no one. She thought that this was the essence of time, something she had pondered so much about and tried to grasp hold of. The only time that is truly yours is now. And each second, each minute, each hour and each day, month, year that has passed time has gone through too. The only thing to do was to catch hold of some things and convert them into memory; hopefully more good ones than bad.

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