Reminiscing

Last night, I was looking through my high school yearbook. I almost drowned from the wave of nostalgia. To a surfer, it would’ve been like riding a Maverick, or wiping out from one.

All the seniors were given a space to include a list of their high school activities and a little message. I wrote the following:

And I wonder …
If everything could ever feel this real forever
If anything could ever be this good again …

Bonus points to the person who knows the source of those words.

It was late afternoon. Late Spring. Early Summer. I forget. We were in his car, driving down the street away from my house. We must have been going out to play pool or eat pizza. It's all irrelevant really, those details. The moment was in the car. Heading west up the street, we reached a lull, a valley in the road. It was early twilight. In its extremity, I imagined only seeing gray pavement on the windshiled, as if we were running into a wall. But like all illusions, the scene broke, and we hit a stop sign.

He looked right, always a cautious driver, flashing a sweet and innocent smile. No teeth. I called it a secret grin. Controlled joy. Secret joy. A toothy grin would have taken away from the serenity of the moment. A toothless smile gave away just enough charm for the smile to be memorable.

So he smiled. And I smiled back and looked forward. And the wall of pavement was gone. I remember a soft wash of pink and light orange on the sky and wispy clouds, behind a sillhouette of trees and houses. The warm yet breezy afternoon air filled the car with this magical tension one only feels when the moment is visceral.

In front of us, the sun was setting slowly. And I heard the words "And I wonder, when I sing along with you / If everything could ever feel this real forever / If anything could ever be this good again …" syncing up with this short moment in time, with the car crossing the stop sign in the middle of our quiet suburb.

It was a moment so mundane, yet so beautiful and perfect that it was beyond magical. It's one of those pages you tear from a magazine to store as a keepsake for the sheer fact that you were left captivated.

I chose those words to be my message in the yearbook because of the moment I shared with A, the simple happiness of being friends with him that afternoon. That's what high school was. That's what it will always be. A captivating moment.

I think what I miss about high school the most is the simplicity and purity in our happiness, in our friendships, in our lives. I am able to say that right now, at this moment in time, I have happiness in my life, but that happiness will honestly never compare to what I had in high school. It was a different life then, a life I would truthfully, if give the chance, want to relive.

Don't others share this same yearning for the past, or a past that represented itself as utopian? But the truth of the matter is, my high school experience was far from utopian. So why do I yearn for that moment in time?

Perhaps it is because I have this fear that I will never find that kind of happiness in the future. I do feel as though I have left it behind, and it scares me to think that it will never find me again. Or do I have to be the one searching.

Wishing

J could come out and play. But her one year house arrest is a small sacrifice to pay in exchange for the rest of her life.

Learning

My superficial and materialistic tendencies have been quite visible lately, that I think my colleagues at work may have a negative impression of my impulsive spending. I'm slowly learning that "things" cannot buy me happiness, well, long term happiness at least, unless the "thing" is considered a "classic" and will last forever. What was my point? Oh yes, learning to be less materialistic.

Anticipating

Summer and all of its energy. I plan to take advantage of my weekends. Drive off into the sunset with my iPod on overnight trips. Get lost in the forests. Tan to a golden hue. I am going to love myself again this summer, enjoy my youth, scratch that, enjoy my life. Maybe while I'm finding myself, I may also find a summer romance. Only a beach bonfire will tell.

Obsessing

Dexter. I am prepared to subscribe to Showtime, in order to watch Season Three in the Fall. This show has totally skewed my understanding of good and evil, of murder, of vigilantiism, of the sublime. Dexter is a serial killer, redefined as a local superhero, as his victims are "bad" people, i.e. murderers themselves. A part of me would honestly be supportive of such a figure, if he did in fact exist in this world. I wonder if that makes me evil.

Labels: Weekly Tidings