because sometimes

i cannot bear the notion of letting time pass by, waiting, but that is the only way because like books, things have their own shelves of time where they truly belong,

and i am writing this not because i want to rush my death, or any form of clarity, neither do i want to absorb all the pains and crises and the calamity so that i would not have to experience them alternating with joy and comfort and the calm throughout my life. how could i know what is best for me, when subjectivity is all what i have been clinging to. eighteen years of my life is a rootless island, deserted, bobbing in the warm ocean, the ocean being the true expanse of my lifespan that i have yet to swim through. but i want these waters to freeze, this damp moonlit skies to dry up and let someone throw me a rope, which i will be climbing on without having to worry about the vigorous passage of time. and then, on top where the rope ends, i will step on a cold ground, my right foot going first, my calves slick with sweat, my toes tickled by hot dry air. i will be in a helicopter, its blades dizzy, and i will get to see the ocean and the island of the eighteen years of my life. i will see the ocean, the rest of my life gradually darkening towards its invisible edges, dissolving with the horizons, or getting shallower, or going down deeper, or getting brighter with coral reefs and sand and seahorses. they are creatures i am yet to know, to find out, to shake hands with; and if they do not have hands, time will shake my hands very kindly on behalf of them. but i will then have the most satisfying overview, something i could not wait for, something i have to find out now: the outline of my whole life, the past years and the upcoming years of my life. i miss things that have happened, that might have happened, that have not happened, and that might have not happened. i do not want to adhere to the concept of time: the concept that says that just like books that have their own places, understanding also has its own time, understanding comes with time. i do not want to believe that, because i want to comprehend now, even if the understanding will not stay after the helicopter blades stop spinning. for a few moments i will get to throw all these burdening, wavering subjectivities. for this experience, for this most valued, desirable knowledge, i will have to trade parts of the most important thing in my life because that is the only way to achieve it.

but even giving that all will not be enough, so like what i have compromised before this knowledge will not stay and these memories won't only fade or dissipate, they will completely vanish, untraced, they do not dissolve into fogs like those memories that rot with passage of time; this is that kind of knowledge that is only relevant on that moment where it is experienced. it is external, independent from my entity, detached from this world. something that you have touched but you cannot remember touching. something you have witnessed but you cannot remember witnessing. since the beginning i cannot trust my memories, i reject any kind of perspectives, experiences, facts, records, they could be just a preprogrammed set of datas being input to my brain just yesterday. in the world where the sense of time is always vague, there is no beginning or end (this is not equal to eternity). there is really nothing you can trust in such world. hence, i live, and i would not mind going on living.

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