Being back home for the summer from college is an odd thing. In some ways I miss the buzz of constant activity and the excitement of having people my age to talk to (anytime! even if you don't want to talk to them!) but there is a certain amount of comfort involved in being semi-reliant on your parents for food, transportation, housing, oh, and love too. The part that makes me nervous and lonely is the amount of change involved in revisiting old places, that inexplicably have memories tied to them despite the fact that you've moved beyond them. Which is what I'm trying to do here - express my thoughts honestly and clearly in a semi-anonymous format that allows me some liberty in what I say and this is my own writing so it doesn't specifically matter how honest I am. I think that full honesty is the best method of articulating your feelings even if it is somewhat painful so I'm going to proceed with the full truth, ahead.
It's been a couple of days since I wrote that last climactic sentence, and I'm not sure of the reason behind that but honestly this over-analytical self-conscious writing is getting grating so I'm going to shift into a more blunt mode. I wish I was anonymous sometimes and am satisfied with the tense curious act of wandering around unknown urban neighborhoods and occasionally dread the familiar. Once something has a memory or a person tied to it, revisiting becomes difficult without tumbling into the persona from before. My eyes are always roving around the landscape, sometimes in order to avoid the eyes of the people around, and so my memories and thoughts become tied to the scenery. Changes in buildings are sometimes more unexpected than changes in people. I guess I take it as a fact that people will change and something about my own stubborn perception of the person fits the changes into the semi-flexible wire frame that is my idea of them. I have myself and the other person to confirm and engage in the reciprocal act of reshaping their identity, while the building has no means of reconciling the changes or assuring me that the changes reflect some hidden dormant nature. Buildings don't like change and appear as helpless disinterested observers of their own disfigurement. But aging and decay are natural processes that the building does embrace halfheartedly or even fully in a sad but resolute way. Restoration should be a peaceful glorious worthwhile process but it doesn't feel that way because it brings the past in an unpleasant and slightly vulgar way that stomps over the building's previous life and graceful end.
It's been a couple of days since I wrote that last climactic sentence, and I'm not sure of the reason behind that but honestly this over-analytical self-conscious writing is getting grating so I'm going to shift into a more blunt mode. I wish I was anonymous sometimes and am satisfied with the tense curious act of wandering around unknown urban neighborhoods and occasionally dread the familiar. Once something has a memory or a person tied to it, revisiting becomes difficult without tumbling into the persona from before. My eyes are always roving around the landscape, sometimes in order to avoid the eyes of the people around, and so my memories and thoughts become tied to the scenery. Changes in buildings are sometimes more unexpected than changes in people. I guess I take it as a fact that people will change and something about my own stubborn perception of the person fits the changes into the semi-flexible wire frame that is my idea of them. I have myself and the other person to confirm and engage in the reciprocal act of reshaping their identity, while the building has no means of reconciling the changes or assuring me that the changes reflect some hidden dormant nature. Buildings don't like change and appear as helpless disinterested observers of their own disfigurement. But aging and decay are natural processes that the building does embrace halfheartedly or even fully in a sad but resolute way. Restoration should be a peaceful glorious worthwhile process but it doesn't feel that way because it brings the past in an unpleasant and slightly vulgar way that stomps over the building's previous life and graceful end.
No comments:
Post a Comment