When Frailty and Nostalgia Merge

Firstly, please excuse my mainstream tourist-esque potentially useless feature photo set with the intention of showcasing an objective observer from really high up. I also chose this to demonstrate how orderly these buildings look before you actually land among them. I don’t know, it seemed like a fit with the subject of the post.

Lately the crap of the world has been gradually augmenting. Me scrolling through news articles has become a task as arduous as working out for two hours. It’s as if my body already knows it’s about to be presented with negativity. It knows that today more people are hungry, more people are in danger, more countries are falling apart — and me and a million others are left glaring into our computer screens with nothing in our hands but our prayers. I realized I have twisted the knife slightly and have made myself a victim of the naturally spinning earth in some nefarious way — but that isn’t my intention, trust me. If world peace was offered to my one arm and some other earthly pleasure to another, I want to believe that my soul would race towards the peace it’s been craving for ever.

There isn’t much I can ask of many of you reading this, but I can tell you that your supplications for those in need is not a deed that is weak, unnoticed or forgotten. If only we knew the power of a well felt prayer.

Anyways, this is what I thought of when I saw the daily prompt today. Frail. Knowing of these pains makes me frail — and I know it’s conceited of me to think of my own mental health, but it really is the truth. I feel naseuous and sad. And I feel it because I realize my ability to become a reason of aide is fractured, almost constrained — and I know I’m not the only one. I figured if I could evince what eases this vulnerability, that I could at least be a potential reason for someone’s nasuea to lessen in intensity. And accomplishing that is enough for now.

My family and I have been on holiday for a while where the waves of the ocean are loud and the rays of the sun are warm. Indoubtably, it is an atmosphere like that that really allows for profound thought and repose. I already spoke of that phenomenon in another post, and anyway, I just want to share one of the thoughts that helped massage my mind and almost cleanse it slightly. It was a childhood memory, not a deeply vivid one but it was a series of interrelated memories that made up my imagination, credulous acting and friendships.

Before I continue I just want to point your attention to this wonderful article on this similar childhood nostalgia. It helped bring in a good deal of perspective for this post.

Okay let’s move on. My childhood memory was of me and my wonderfully close childhood friend engaging in our routine of live imagination. We had created our own world and lived through our virtual reality without any electronic devices — we only used our eyes and pretended it was all real. Before we knew about The Bridge to Terabithia we had already built our own universe where we enjoyed what we wanted when we wanted it. Unfortunately, it didn’t involve badass creatures from unknown planets, but it did¬†include our own romantic partners, a secret gate with a special password, and a kingdom with two princesses. Duh, there had to be two.

Keep in mind we were seven-year-old princesses already imagining the days our princes would come. Yes, we watched too much TV.

The gate to our kingdom was usually opened when we were at the pool. Our parents would throw us there for a few hours, we would ask the life guards for our special noodles (I mean our royal sea horses) and we would submerge ourselves in our own minds. Quite literally.

Being around water for the past couple days made those memories rush back in my head just as the waves crashed into the rocks in front of me. I inhaled, smiled and then let my bones feel really happy for a while. I didn’t feel that ache of nostalgia, when the body and mind faces that truth that it can’t ever return to a childhood, so instead of pleasure it just feels a sorrow of inability, which is what I had been feeling quite a lot recently.

I think it was important for me to remember those memories. I remembered days when my mind left its world, almost the same way words may leap off of a page of a good book. And it felt warm to encounter such a lovely nostalgia. When I told my sisters about this they smiled at my adventures that they had never thought to experience. It made me feel lucky to have had the friend I did. We didn’t let our realities rule our insides nearly as much as we do now. I spoke to my friend recently about our old universes,

“Do you remember them as beautifully as I do? I miss being tiny with you.” I asked.

“I remember! Ahh, life was so cute with us.” She replied.

“We were so wonderful.” I sighed in a lovely reminiscence.

“We really were.” She responded with a smile.

And there wasn’t a facile sadness or a meloncholy for a longing unfeasible inside of us. And I am grateful for that.

This post was about overcoming a vulnerability. But it was also about prayer. Please don’t forget those in need from your prayers, because that truly is what they need.

And a thanks to the Daily Post for today’s prompt.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2016/07/18/frail/
endnote: this feature photo is my own photography.

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2 thoughts on “When Frailty and Nostalgia Merge

  1. This was a really lovely read, thank you for sharing. Memories are a strange thing – I recently read Kind of Cruel by Sophie Hannah, a crime novel that’s not overly complex but explores some interesting ideas, and one of the things that came up a lot was memory. She talked about the difference between memories and stories and the value of both. It’s quite a quick read if you’re interested!

    I definitely understand about the news recently. We are stuck in some selfish and selfless act of non-action and all we can do is hope.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I think I’m going to have to grab that book! Thank you so much for your comment. It makes so much sense to me that stories differ from memories — there is always this inexplicable aspect of a memory that we can all feel, but just can’t describe. An act of non-action, what a wonderful way to put it. Most of us are really good at talking and only some of us are great at doing. Yes, we can hope and we can pray. And the beauty of that is that ALL of us can.

      Liked by 1 person

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