There used to be a time I’d chronicle how today goes and the past one went. There used to be a time when I did not know that my attempts at attempting to emulate the greats and failing miserably was embarrassing but rewarding. There used to be a time when Sunday morning meant a ride to a mall and a cappuccino and deep Black Forest cake. There used to be a time when the lack of certainty in what’s about to come received less titration—in fact it used to be acceptable and somewhat expected.
There used to be a time when I would not find myself constantly working on improving the things that I was not good at, which I was tired of admitting that I am not good at. There used to be a time when reading meant getting lost more than studying the art of what is being written about and how it is being delivered. There used to be a time when greeting relative strangers in the morning was something that I would not flinch from; dare I say I would look forward to.
There used to be a time when being able to listen to the songs of your choice while not being tethered to the place you were in was a luxury that only the shrewd ones chose to have. There used to be a time when birthdays were days that were special, something to be celebrated with friends over an opulent, indulgent meal. There used to be a time when meals were explorative, varied, and flavor-oriented and not cumbersome nutrition-delivery activities.
There used to be a time when walking around town was light and explorative. There used to be a time when the chase of glory was something sunk in so far deep that it was difficult to be aware of its presence. There used to be a time when the sound of coconut tree leaves lapping against the wind used to be sufficiently distinct for one to notice it and to associate with other memories. There used to a time when catching up, with the world, on cinema is something that was less of a chore.
There used to be a time when falling in love and staying in it was more joy and longing than a burden of expectation. There used to be a time when home was still something to stay away from, but still something worth looking forward to coming back to. There used to be a time when the shades of blue and green and red were something that you did not know changed if you went sufficiently far away from where you were when you had the misconception.
There used to be a time when the delivery of art, or the attempts of attempting to deliver it, were not such conscious efforts of delivery. There used to be a time when the light was bright and the was mind was light. There used to be a time when I used to long less for how things used to be.
