Time travails

Time travel is, by far, one of the most high priority items on my to-do list.

However, time travel is pretty vague when displayed as a simple couple of words. I would've crossed it off my list, but right when I take my pencil there, it just appears to deviate more and more towards an ambiguous umbrella term.

I would've also crossed it off if I had fewer items on my to-do list.

Time is, I believe, the one thing that shouldn't have had wings. Because when it flies, it soars. To the point that if it were rain, it'd pour. 

The unending shortage of time, by catch-22, makes time travel appear on top of my list again. It makes me ponder the very possibility of the umbrella term in this pouring rain of flying time. And it makes me wonder why I'd choose to travel to the past out of all places.

Looking back always comes drenched in fluctuations of peak experiences of happiness and unending pits of despair. Most of my rationale for desiring to travel to the past comes reinforced with the feeling of being able to correct whatever I believe to have "messed up." If life were more like a certain social networking site, misdemeanours would be posts, and walls could be wiped clean at whim – as was pointed out by a very excellent, like-minded amigo. 

"Go back and delete them, just in case it would ever be looked at again." 

However, everything that has happened to and/or with us; everything it is that we've experienced, committed, and been a part of is what makes us what we are today – wiser, amongst other things. Unless, you want to make the same mistake over and over again, in which case, please, take your time. But do learn eventually. 

Additionally, if I were to consider the scientific aspect of things and take chronology into account, the butterfly effect comes to be factored in. Erasing portions of the past could lead to a future so drastically different – so many light years away from whatever you've imagined it'd lead to – that your whole plan would be obsolete. If, that is, you even remember the plan in this newly chanced upon future.

This, thus, leads to the possibility that we can travel back in time considering that our actions and events are fixed in permanency, due to which we are able to partake in the activity of time travel. Considering that, even if we do go back, we'd do the exact same things again, and never realise that we've gone back in time at all.

But you've been informed all wrong.

Allow me to point it out right here and debunk all your uncertainties about time travel – it is very possible. So much so that you've already indulged in time travel. Not once. Not twice. So many times that only calendars can keep count. 

Not only that – you still do it, you little rebel, you. Every day. Every minute. You travel into the future. At the speed of 60 seconds per minute. Every minute. Every day. 

And you make this choice because you have the power to change every aspect of your future. Going to the past won't make life better today. Traveling to today will make tomorrow better for sure. 

Well, then. This is awkward. The entire premise of this writing – the entry on my to-do list – should've already been crossed off.
If only I could go back in time to do that.

Anywho. Next on my list: better time management.

Transitioning

Best foot forth.

In silence

Allow me to be clear about this.

Some people effect your momentum greatly. Whether the swing is in a positive direction or not depends on the type of person he or she is, coupled with the type of effect he or she is inflicting upon you.

I am thankful, often to their face, those who help shift the pendulum positively. I am helpless in circumstances other than those. I guess I hardly know better.

In any event, let me reintroduce you to something I've always known – as have you – silence.

In whatever little time I've spent in reflecting over what I've done, I've found that saying some things has worsened situations for me – regardless of the fact that they were intended to band-aid the very same. From what was left of me to deduce, I've faced rebuttal in apologies, majorly because the statements were uncalled for. I've faced rejection because I'd said too much. Confusion to the point of ouroboros where I now blame my words in absence of reason of anything else, like a man dwindling in his footsteps in the middle of a desert in search for the moisture of water.

I'm transitioning into this strange land, where the background music is telling me to shut up.

I tell too many people too many things. Good, or bad, is out of question now. Honesty is a virtue, but I'm in emergency here.

The irony is that I've said it again, in print, on this journal of a blog.

Allow me to be clear. I think I give up. I can't take it or go on like this.

Literally, for once, it would be great to be believed in, rather than to pass that into someone. It would be a godsend to receive the motivation I tend to inject.

So maybe I do need to shut up. Or haven't I already? By not answering the million doorbells that ring – telling myself to function in a one-track manner. I think I have. Broken contact with too much, and somewhere, deep down in the least, it affects me.

Some people effect your momentum greatly. The absence of some, just as much.

Or maybe it doesn't – my self contradiction, love of em dashes, and loss of motivation to make you or myself understand anything tells me just as much as you're reading.

Shutting up – where do I start and where do I go from here? Not posting anything here ever again, and deleting all trace of it because it won't matter anyway?

For some reason, I'm convinced that if I spend enough time alone, everything will be okay.

Yet, for some reason, solitary confinement is the worst punishment the legal system could come up with.

I'm sleepy

"Your name comes up a lot
when I talk to my mom."
More often than not,
On the tip of my tongue.

Your lab coat appears
in the dreams of my nights.
Stitched in green
your name resides.

In redness I sometimes see,
In the colour of orange trees.
In dark, blue frames,
Was it the blue of the seas?

I once read something,
and it made me wonder:
I...My name is Abhas
Do you sometimes remember?