Places I once knew

The other day, I revisited my old neighbourhood. Just walking down that familiar street brought memories that had entirely faded from my brain, rushing back with clarity. I remembered small, impossible details like what my friend ordered that time we ate at the café downstairs, the happy conversation I had with the nearby florist, discussing the contents of paté with my Mother when she visited, shopping for a tiny christmas tree with my best friend, the nearby church I had visited when I was at my lowest... I could go on for days.

But instead of making me happy, these memories just made me sad. I spent the rest of the day mulling over why sadness was my first reaction, and I still haven't quite figured it out.



What struck me was the familiar feeling of the weather. When I surfaced from the metro that very first early-autumn day in Paris, the skies were clear and blue, with some happy clouds, the sun was warm, but there was a slight chill in the air. And when I returned, a year and a half later, on a beautiful spring day, it felt so similar. How can everything look and feel the same, yet you've changed so much?

I started wondering who lives in my apartment now. Are they also a student, do they love it as much as I did, what place in the world did they travel from to arrive here in Paris? Do the people I walked past everyday still live in this neighbourhood? And even more than that - did my presence in this minuscule corner of the universe make any impression? Does a part of me still linger here?

I thought about my hometown, how even though I love the desert landscape and spending time with my family in our cozy house, I always end up feeling a little melancholy whenever I return. It's like the puzzle piece (me) doesn't quite fit comfortably anymore, and even though I am somewhat bothered by the awkwardness, there's nothing I can do to change that.

My mind then began to wander; what makes ME who I am? Is it the collective experiences, people, and places I've encountered? The spaces I've inhabited? The things I eat, the conversations I've had, the relationships and heartbreaks I've endured?

I don't think I'll ever come to discover a final version of myself - I truly feel like being human, by definition, is a constant transformational experience. Although I've always sought change in my life, never wanting to become boring or stagnant, I sure do have a hard time coping with the passage of good times.

Maybe the memories of my old Parisian apartment make me sad because I associate that time of my life with a better version of myself - a version with more passion and actual goals. Maybe I'm glorifying the past, and maybe I need to stop doing that.


“Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final”
― Rainer Maria Rilke


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...and it all comes down to this.

After years of procrastinating on research papers, sitting through examinations, falling asleep in class (just kidding, I'm a great student), walking up and down campus, and lugging heavy library books, I'm finally done with my Bachelor's degree... and it feels pretty anticlimactic.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not disappointed. I wasn't expecting fireworks and a round of applause, it just struck me as funny that the entire experience culminated in me walking alone to the concrete parking structure, getting in my car, and driving away.

I had one of those moments of clarity while I was cruising in the fast lane on the 405. When you feel really aware of the fact that you're alive, and like you're part of the human vein, flowing recklessly through time. You pretend to have control, but time will keep flowing, urging you forward.

Perhaps the catalyst of this existential moment was spurred on by the content of the final, final exam I had just taken. Nearly all of contemporary art is about identity, time, our histories, reality, and meaning - how all of these things have multiplicities, layers, implications, and nuances of meaning. Yes, even the idea of "meaning" can have different definitions.

These two clocks are a work by Felix Gonzalez-Torres, and represent the passage of time, the love between two people, and the tragedy of AIDS in the 1980s. The clocks tick away, slightly out of sync. They convey the anxiety of the passage of time, knowing that the one you love will die from a confusing and cruel disease. This work is a double portrait of the artist and his partner, who were both taken by AIDs only 5 years apart.

{Felix Gonzalez-Torres, Untitled (Perfect Lovers), 1991}
This is one of my favorite works of art, because something so simple can convey SO much information and emotion.



I didn't intend for this entry to end on such a low note! I promise I'm happy to be done with school! haha.

Here's the song I was listening to on the road today:




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