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approximation errors of life

 

I just woke up from a fever dream and it dawned on me that the dream lasted too long and hasn’t been that long since I arrived. Does time move differently in dreams, with different experiences, does it relapse, can it not be stuck in a loop of my favorite childhood memory? I wake up with these questions, and I don’t quite know when is the right time to ask questions and when is the right time to answer them. The timing is important you see, when you choose to change the curve and when you accept the flow, it makes all the difference. Also, pardon my casual language, I just woke up from a fever dream.

I think about existentialism and how the originality of human experiences causes self-alienation and how lonely the suffering can be (yet I never wished any suffering on you). I’m not a philosopher, educator, or a liberal arts student wandering and wondering about the technicalities of life (i don’t know who the addressee is), however, I still believe the originality of human experiences is closely related to a cognitive flaw shared by us all. (besides, what time is it, when did I wake up?)

The cognitive flaw I’m writing about is the trait to fill in the gaps with timings of what seemed like insignificant parts of life. My bill was ₹127 and I rounded it off to 130, I rounded off my brush strokes to cover the ends of my painting. The glass was less than half full so I called it empty. The clock read 2:55 so I read it 3, and it is 3, only 5 minutes later, I rounded off the days into a single experience (i have a habit of getting stuck on conversations), I rounded the shades of grey into black and white, I rounded off my dreams into what I amounted to, and judged the worth of a subject with the grade I received on it. Where did I learn the habit of approximations and why is it that all I can recall are the happy experiences that turned into bitter life lessons at the end. The lessons I must remember because what was it all worth if not for the lessons I learnt? I must remember.

In the process of remembering, I think I forgot how human experiences are not as linear as we remember them, before the times that gave me immense pain, I believe I experienced happiness, I was full of life and I gained something innocent and pure, however fleetingly that lasted, it happened (i know it). It wasn’t easy to simplify it in the first place but why did we feel the need to do so at all. Why did you feel the need to call it a tragedy? There is multiplicity in the experiences gained, if you zoom out too much, you’ll forget the parts where you were laughing till your stomach hurt or when you felt peace in your heart, if you zoom in the wrong parts, you’ll forget about the light that once existed.

If I zoom out enough, I won’t see through the sunlight on the pathway covered with trees, and if I zoom out enough, all that there’s left are shadows but there was light, I know I’ve seen it, and I’ll see it again.

You think too hard and everything loses its meaning but all I can say for now is that there are multitudes in emotions but even so, it’s important to not lose track of light, however dim or small.

Multitudes, multiplicity, and originality hold too many questions but most importantly, “are you okay?” no but it still isn't a bad day. Could it be a cinematic masterpiece whilst having the heart-wrenching end? “are you okay?” no but it still isn’t a bad day, it still isn’t a bad day, it still— I hold myself in dissonance and I still feel the joy that comes with your thought, I'm committing to multiplicity, “are you okay” no but it still isn't-

I just woke up from a fever dream and all I feel is remorse, was I not supposed to wake up from this? And what time is it again? All I feel at this moment is guilt, and regret for things I did and didn’t. I’d apologize in a heartbeat but again I don’t know who the addressee is. Thinking about remorse, I remember the lines said by someone who came before me (I haven’t met the newer version of myself yet),

“it’s an apology poem, my life,

it’s the worst apology poem, full of excuses and sorrys and not one genuine reason,

it’s an apology poem where I write mediocre poetry for mediocre feelings,

where I give away as I keep apologizing and it’s an apology poem,

where I let go of everything I once used to be

and it’s still the worst apology poem because they never apologized

because I had to stop apologizing

because my life isn’t supposed to be an apology poem.”

For all I care (it resonated), I think that explains the weight of guilt, honestly, I don’t remember the fever dream really (i do), but I know for sure I was happy once, I know why it ended (i think), and why I woke up, but it wasn’t all in vain because I was full of life once and I’ll be full of life again. You think the remnants don’t matter (they do), as if they never did (they did), but I’m full of all that remained, my self-alienation probably stems from my detachment from the experiences I wish to forget but I think the newer me would understand why they’re a part of me that still needs to be loved. I haven’t met the new me yet and I can’t seem to know when she’ll arrive, what time is it? Is she late? Or am I stuck somewhere I’m not supposed to be? Where will I find her and why is it not as a part of this fever dream? (this fever dream?)

That makes me wonder, have I not woken up from the fever dream? And if not, then what am I holding on to? (if I lose these memories, will we cease to exist even after when we’ve ceased to exist?)

But this is exactly why the art of letting go doesn’t come with a user manual, experiences don’t come with a label on them, and why people don’t come with warnings because every second is original, and this is exactly why I won’t round off things to something I can’t talk about in future, I won’t make these approximation errors in life, losing my dearest moments only because they didn’t end well, perhaps this is why I need to wake up now.

I’ll wake up now, I think I’m late, someone is waiting for me.







                                      

 

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