Volunteer's Blog

Time is the Enemy

Volunteer's Blog

Bali, February 2019 (Pagona)

Time is stupid, is stressful, is fake. Why did we invent it? we could count this imaginary “thing” in breathing or significance of the moment. But no, we decided to move, grow and live along with it. The way that time passes is harsh and cruel. I am really hurt from the time, as you already understood.

 

 

Time is like a supernatural power from a clever and fearful God who has concurred us many many years ago and we can not defeat him. It is like an invisible fog which can hypnotize us, move us to its rhythm, control us all, and set limits to our moments.

It is known that it flows really quickly in the good days and when you have bad moments time is passing torturing. Sometimes, it seems it burns off a little bit when you can live the moment and stop the time. It happens for example when we are looking in a beautiful view or when we are listening to a favourite song or when we can feel warm eyes looking at us. Maybe the eyes or generally our sensations are the big warriors in the fight against this fog.

 

 

There is no creativity in time but there is not impartiality, either. For my friends back to my country; I live in the future. For me, I live in a moment that I cannot catch and by the time I realise this, it already belongs to the past. It is so tricky!

 

 

And right now, not now that you are reading this, now that I am writing this I can see myself in the future, remembering this moment from distance and dreaming…

 

A girl is laying in her bed,

enjoying the simplicity of the darkness.

Her feet are moving in the rhythm of her thoughts.

The animals  across the road trying to speak to her,

to distract her,

while the earth is moving silently and

the mountains breathing patiently.

She is listening to the sounds of the street.

The man with his moving warung

is making his funny sounds.

Motorbikes are crossing the road,

now and then,

planes are passing above her window.

A light in the room gives her a spark of inspiration,

it keeps her far from her reality.

The soft rain is cleaning the fog

at the labyrinth of her mind.

She is on the ring of fire.

This room is her cocoon.

There will come the dreams that she’ll forget.

There will be the nights that she’ll remember.