Amid daily life, we have little time to think closely about the past.
However, the past always fills my head like a sea.
On the seashore of memories, a fresh breeze is blowing, and the waves gently rustle.
Tender memories are gradually swelling through my head.
The gentle smile of my grandmother with a mole around her mouth, dressed in an apron, who used to send me out every day to kindergarten.
The scent of the yellow rape field where my grandfather brought me on the back of his bicycle.
The orange light of the lingering sun setting into the faraway sea from the beach lined with palm trees in Italy.
Unknown histories reflected on a glowing river from the height of the huge ruined ancient castle walls.
A beautiful boyish girl from a foreign country agile like a panther, embracing a far-seeing curiosity in her eyes.
The gleam at the end of the long tunnel of my own coming life, fringed with anxiety but filled with undying hope.
But the sea of memories rages sometimes on.
Darkness creeps up on my feet and the sobbing air surrounds me.
No light is seen, and the wind stops blowing.
I feel suffocated and look around anxiously.
Then I hear and see something stirring in the darkness.
As if to counteract my fear, shadowy figures float there like a phantom.
It emits a sudden rainbow-colored light and brings with it the nostalgic whiff.
Childhood friends are frolicking in the street.
I see myself playing with them, shouting loudly from time to time.
Mischievous boys joking around with each other.
In the spot light next to the darkness, I see myself practicing puppet shows with my classmates.
The first love I secretly followed for a while on the way out of school went out of sight into a small alley.
They fizzled out like morning dew in the summer sun.
I wonder how they have lived their lives since then.
I wonder if they also sometimes remember the time we shared together.
Memories of adulthood are far closer so that it still seems to grab hold of me.
Irrepressibly rising bitter memories.
A chain of stupid obfuscation is circling like ouroboros, tormenting me.
Regret for my naivety and immaturity.
Time seems endlessly wasted and lost.
Attachment to the past threatens me to tumble down a high cliff.
Remorse is undeniably smoldering in everyone’s chest.
The shame is deep underground, burning like an inextinguishable flame.
I feel like running back screaming to start all over again and swirling like a huge tornado.
Lamentation rushes up to the heavens covered with thick black clouds like a furious dragon,
then, it strikes arrows of lightning with a roar into the sea and shakes the ocean floor with mountainous spindrift.
I know that it is always inviting me,
but it will turn into a dark and deep quagmire from which we can never emerge.
It is always there at my feet, covered with beautiful flowers and a fragrant breeze.
Many put helplessly their feel in,
even though they know that it is inane to cling to the past.
It had happened irreversibly.
But our blind attachment won’t listen to the gentle and sapient voice in us.
So everything will be engulfed by the sinking mud.
Do the swallowed mourn at the ground of the swamp of doom.
or do they ridicule themselves at the end point of their life?
They may not have even had time to look back in the first place.
But were they really blindly ruined?
For them, the past was no longer just one of many events, but grew to their persona.
The past is now an only value, a ruler and a dictator.
The former world lost their meaning and their experience rules as the principle of the world.
The sea of the past burst out over the floodgate, commingled with the present,
and order of time collapses.
One is swilled down into one cosmic time.
The world comes to be the One.
I and others are merged, I rule now the world and time.
The world without distinction between the past and the present
was what they had coveted.
In ultimate euphoria, they feel happy not to bemoan the unavailable past anymore.
Antinomy is surmounted and they turned into the only ruler of the whole world,
Even if they would drive the others to the brink of death.
However, any dictatorship terminates sooner or later,
which is an unchangeable fate of this world.
Dictators have a finite life, just like other human,
or even a shorter one.
So, was the other who could head off threats of the swamp happier?
Seemingly he lives day by day with dexterity, carefully keeping his distance from the past.
He spends his days in peace.
But his secret thirst for the past still burns subconsciously like a glowing ember under ashes.
and the past is vanishing like a sparkling diamond,
Far away, beyond the reach of eternity.