Time
Friday, March 3rd, 2023
I tire of my thoughts and their endless toils. I’d like to write something lighthearted and kind, yet I find it difficult. When I do it often seems weightless or, at the very least, less compelling than its counterparts in the dark.
Though, something recently kindled my mood. I reckon homesickness must’ve taken ahold of me because when I finally returned there, it was as if a parasite had seeped its way out from under my skin.
If only for the briefest of moments, home felt like finding an oasis after slowly dying in the desert or lighting a match in complete and utter darkness. It felt like a respite—like something needed. Yet, home isn’t just brick and stone, it’s family along with it.
I had the delight of seeing my parents, my brother, and my sister along with her husband and their son. It wasn’t a holiday; it wasn’t a special occasion—we simply decided to be together. Everyone together, a luxury of which I will never take for granted.
Something as honest as having lunch alongside them warms my heart so greatly, I reckon I can feel the cracks on its surface fuse together and any of its wounds turn to scars. If time itself were to stop, I pray it’d stop in their presence. If we were to be frozen inside a globe of glass forever, I know contentment would still have a home in my heart as long as I’d be in their company.
Two moments struck me in a manner of which I don't believe I can quite describe in totality, but I know I ought to try—it would be a shame to not express the beauty in them. One, when my parents were holding my 3-month-old nephew, and two, when my sister let her son play with her hair which made him smile a type of smile people dream of experiencing.
On both occasions, the whole family watched and joined in surrounding this little bundle of joy with smiles and laughter. I only took a split second to absorb my surroundings, but it felt like an eternity. I looked at everyone, so content and present. I looked at everything, so alive and real. That love which draped all around us like a warm blanket, pure and softhearted, seemed to last a lifetime.
I’d like to reside there for a while. They remind me of what it’s like to love and be loved in return. The love they both give and receive seems so infinite and effortless, I can’t help but pray to become more like them; masters at kindling the embers of affection but offering it once aflame with a patience and kindness the likes of which takes my breath away.
To stoke something that ardent with the utmost care and not be selfish of its creation? How beautiful.
Even now I find a frog in my throat as I remember it, and I look forward to when these tears fall so my family might know just how much they mean to me.
I look at my nephew, whose tiny hands can wrap around a single one of my fingers. He evokes so much in everyone that I know it’s a certain kind of grace—one I doubt a solitary person in this world could ever be able to describe, let alone attempt to. He, as well as my whole family, reminds me of time. I cherish it so very much when I’m with them. They remind me of something I don’t believe I’ll ever tire of being reminded.
Oh, my dear boy, they say to me. There certainly is no rush.
Translation: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." 1 Corinthians, 13:4-7.