• p.n.c

about time

Updated: Apr 18

dear friend,

I saw a film today. I won’t bore you with every excruciating detail but rather, I’ll skip to the plot: there’s this man who lives on the outskirts of england, in the countryside. he has this beautiful family, a dad who’s kind, patient, gentle.

a mother who is tenacious, keen, candid.

a sister who’s spirited, untamed, and willful. there’s this untold secret and once he turns 21, his father confesses it to him. all the men in his family, for generations, are able to time travel. they can travel to the past, but not in the future. His dad asks him “what’s the one thing in life that you want to attain the most?” and he answered “true love.” and so, he finds exactly that. fast-forward a couple of years and he meets the love of his life. they have a beautiful wedding by the ocean in the countryside. they create a beautiful family.

eventually, the man’s father gets sick. terminal cancer which he found out was in late stages. he had a couple of weeks to live. the heavy plot twist of their time traveling is that, once you have a child you cannot go back in time before then. the child being born, being an essential part of a person’s life, is when time comes to a stand-still. and so, after his father passed away he kept going back in time to spend that last day with him. the last memory he goes back in time for was one day when he was about seven years old. his dad and he walked to the ocean and ran about in the sand. his father picked him up and placed him over his shoulders. they rolled up their pants and chased birds by the water. there was lots of laughing, and they stayed out to watch the sunset. It was a rather beautiful memory. as time went on the man had another child. he couldn’t go back and see his father anymore.

I know I told you I wouldn’t bore you with the details but this film taught me something. see, when the man’s father died he gave him two lessons on life. two rules if you will, just two. 1. It’s not about changing the past but appreciating the future. 2. go back every day and reflect on the moments that you previously thought about on a small-scale. observe and take in the particular details that made up your day.

friend, I’ve got to tell you, I’ve been pondering, contemplating my whirlwind of a life lately. days turn to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. I feel as if I’m letting it slip away. minimal things.

today I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I’m caught in a dash— it’s all so fast and when I look back it’s all blurry. the afflictions and trials from yesterday can’t carry on till tomorrow just like it’s impossible for the moon to sleep without the awakening of the sun.

so I question you what’s the point of living sadly askew? your existence defines a moment in time where your parents embraced you, took in your aroma for the first time, beamed with joy as their gaze fell deep into your eyes.

would you remember that the next time you feel sorrowful?

you know, I too sometimes dread my ambient surroundings. It becomes strenuous to live ordinarily— merely existing. just passing by, letting moments like these get blurry. sincerely I must tell you that poor days do come. and at times faith seems unreachable, unfathomable.

one of the memories that I have imprinted in my heart as a child was sitting out in front of my grandparent's house. my papa who was an alcoholic his entire life would sit in a chair in front of the white fence. he’d place me in his lap and I vaguely remember the fragrance of rum. I hadn’t an idea what it was at the time, but I knew I loved it because I loved my papa. he would kiss me all over and hug me. he’d leave me with the scent of rum and he’d talk shit about everyone in the neighborhood. It quickly became one of my sweetest memories.

he’s ill with cancer now, and the day that he departs I will hold on to that time.

what if I told you that there are memorable moments in your day that have become a part of your being. collection of moments that make living, no, surviving of the essence. would you believe me?

I rather not accept these things often.

forgive me, friend, for I don’t have the significance of life. I just have bits and fragments. hanging my head out the window in a long car drive, sitting in the back of a pick-up truck with a blanket and the people I love most in the world while looking up in the starry night and taking in the view of the vivid stars far away.

life has a funny way of reminding us to slow down, and if we’re lucky we don’t wait for it. we choose wisely to live in the present—now. breathe in until our lungs are filled with gratitude, and hearts with surreal ease and serenity.

“time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted.” -john lennon


till next time with all my love,

p.n.c.




18 views

Contact

  • Instagram
  • Facebook
  • YouTube
  • Twitter

©2018 by letterstochrist.com. Proudly created with Wix.com