To be completely honest, I’ve never heard any song from Pink Floyd until my early twenties. And that’s only because I wanted to try the purported Dark Side of the Rainbow effect (honestly, I don’t see any resemblance more than just a simple coincidence on this). But, the album, “The Dark Side of the Moon,” stuck and one particular track from this album, for me, had stood out. “Time.”
I listened to this album again last Sunday (and by listen, I mean, really listen, as in, doing nothing but just sit and listen the album through and through. Because, you see, that is the only way to enjoy an album such as this, or Dream Theater’s “Scenes from a Memory.” An entire album, unbroken through and through), and a pang of rage, sadness, guilt, and above all, disappointment, hit me squarely in the chest as the album plays this track.
“And then the one day you find,
Ten years have got behind you,
No one told you when to run,
You missed the starting gun.”
It’s been nearly twelve years since I graduated from high school, emerges from innocence, break free from small confines of a city where life is slow, and good. I’ve been wasting most of it away, not really knowing what I really really wanted, tried several things but failed (at various levels) in (nearly) everything. As the song spun its magical psychedelic lullaby, my brain rakes, as the faces I once knew, who had left me behind to bite the dust of their wake, swam by, taunting me, mocking me, and worse, regarded me with eyes full of pity. It made me angry to myself with the lack of accomplishments that I’ve got, to a point where I could, and would, simply chalked-off the last twelve years of my life as if I’m not even existed.
The song, however, marches on.
“And you run and you run,
To catch up with the Sun,
But it’s sinking,
To come up behind you again.”
I found that most people would content to what I’ve already got right now. Ridiculously easy day job that pays the bill and more, a relatively peaceful and little to no conflict work life, and a comfy life of a middle class, I could gorge myself everyday with a Strabucks and a plate of fancy dinner once in a week to a cost that would definitely sent my mom, as savvy as she was to a simple, low-cost living for all her life, to a wroth. I know I should be grateful. But at the same time, I was looking out, wary to the world outside of my cubicle, wondering aloud, “is this my Sun?”
“Sun is the same,
In a relative way, but you’re older,
Shorter of breath,
And one day closer to death.”
Well, if I have to ask, then the fact was damn clear, this is not my Sun. If this was my Sun, then why do I have to drag myself out of bed every single morning to get myself to work? You and I would probably have a different notion on what was my Sun and what was your Sun, and why they can’t be compared Sun to Sun, but I think, the moment I asked the very question, the more obvious the answer was. As much as I wanted to shove it away, ignoring it, and pretend that life is business as usual, the question was feeding itself with my growing doubt until it grows large enough to gnaw my conscience and left me, unsatisfied and very much uncomfortable.
I’m not getting any younger and I have wasted most of my twelve years doing nothing I could admit to myself with a smug grin and air of confidence. As a friend of mine had once said, no matter how bad you think of yourself, just fucking publish something and let your audience decide, if this is your Sun, you’ve got nowhere to go but Up. Closer to that damned Sun of yours.
So here I am, thirty, with a wife in tow, erasing most of my twelve years past and started anew. Folly? Jolly? Time will tell, but I’ll tell you this one, and you could laugh at it, wrote it as a Clam Chowder, or attributing it as a fool’s words, as useless as your morning’s fart, whatever. But, in five years from now, I’ll have myself and my wife a mini-retirement. We’re going to have a full six week vacation, from Auckland/Wellington, to Santiago, attending a festival in Rio, an European tour that begins with Hannover and ended in Istanbul, and then trekking down Japan from Sapporo, Hokkaido up north to Fukuoka, Kyushu down below. Yeah, shove it in an archive somewhere, and come five years, let’s see who will have that last laugh.
That is my Sun, and although I’m shorter of breath, and closer to death by a day, I’ll fucking chase it.