I have been living in this world for 24 years now. It's wonderful and surprising how the years have gone by and funny how I can clearly recall those I can recall and realize that it's been years since they happened or since I have experienced them. Almost unbelievable.
To say that 'Time flies so fast' is an understatement. Perhaps, to say that 'Time teleports' is the more appropriate way of putting it. Because, truly, you'll never realize that it passed by until you notice that it's gone. Then again, it's primarily because we assumed the presence of Time from the beginning. They say that no one or nothing can travel faster than the speed of light. That's valid simply because Time is a disqualified runner in the race. Why? Because no one can determine the speed at which Time is traveling. It's undefined.
Which makes me think: We say that Time flies fast when we're having fun, and walks slow when we're in pain. But how do we say so? How do we measure the rate at which Time is moving? As far as my knowledge in Physics is concerned, speed is the distance covered per unit of Time. Yes, Time is assumed to be constant in the scientific scheme of things. It is incomprehensible to perceive Time as a moving entity that covers some units of distance, and measure it against an assumed fixed unit of itself, at least for now (of course, welcome is the genius who will disprove the concepts we have come to accept as facts).
And so our claims of Time flying fast or slow is scientifically invalid. Yet we continue to cling to that thought whenever the past becomes the unwilling target of our bullying mind (just imagine how cluttered that mind is). In any case, that is why it is called an idiom - it is not to be taken literally.
But why is it that whenever we suddenly decide to remember the past--regardless of the trigger--we put the accountability on Time? That it flies fast-- something we are either grateful for or melancholic about. Perhaps if only Time could speak, he/she/it would tell us this:
"I have given you myself to live with from whatever you consider your start was. I was not chasing after you that you needed to maintain a tiring pace to remain sane, nor was I driving slow in front of you that you needed to clench your fist, bite your lips or free out expletives, still, to remain sane. I was living with you, and you know it. But however hard I try to make you notice, you fail to recognize it. I was just with you in all you've been through. I may not have felt deeply what you felt, or seen exactly what you saw, I was just there when it happened. All I wanted you to realize is that you are living with me. And I hope whenever your mind will pick out a memory and you suddenly realize that 'Time flies fast,' remember that it was not, in any way, fast. It may be buried very deep in your pile of memories, but that doesn't mean those in between happened in a blink. In the same way that when you think your waiting is too long--it actually isn't. And once you acknowledge that I live with you and that you live with me, whenever you remember the past, you will not long for it; whenever you think of the future, you will not rush for it. You decide on how much of me is deserved by a point in your life. And the latter ends as soon as you want it to, and begins as soon as you want it to. You may not know it, but you do--you are living with me."
I am one guilty of blaming it to Time even when I was there when everything happened. So, as I enter the 25th year (and the rest) of my life, I recognize that I am living with Time. And more than just the acknowledgement, I will do live with Time, such that when I turn 48, and recall that when I was 24 I wrote about living with Time, I will be able to say that "yes, it has been 24 years. And, though I may not clearly remember all those years, I know they went somewhere, and yes, I believe it has been 24 years."
