The Past

'You have all the freedom in the world.', he said. It was said with a mix of nonchalance, sarcasm and pain. I know this person all too well. I just something in jest, expecting another joke in reply. But I got stonewalled by the coldness by which he blurt out the sentence. 

Many have opinions about the past being what it is: the past. Yet the moving from the past with all the experiences with it, joyous or otherwise, to now, is not really as easy as thinking: all is said and done, no point in bringing it up any longer. The person I am today, whether worthy of respect or not, was largely put together by my past. I was built, brick upon brick of moments from which I learned richly. Happiness, sorrow, ecstasy or seething pain, like pieces of a puzzle, are parts of my whole.

I have many regrets, and when I turned fifty, it dawned on me that I have outlived my parents who were gifted with a short but bittersweet life. So I resolved to honor the privilege of living longer by the acceptance of what is here and now, cherish each second of it. The passing away of someone dear to me, recently, has overemphasized that. 

Yet today, I was slapped in the face by mistakes that I have made, though perhaps the one who hit me with it was unaware, or maybe he is still keeping in his heart subconsciously the pain I have caused. Others I have unintentionally hurt, too, may still feel the hurt. Now I understand the people who say, 'I forgive but I do not forget.' I think about how I am with forgiveness and forgetting, and if the yardstick for measuring my capacity for both is my day after day of showing kindness, compassion, concern and respect for all who are valuable to me, then I am certain I have passed the mark. 

I am praying, though, that parallel to the 'forgiving but not forgetting', is the 'thanking and not forgetting'. Because I am sure that whatever I have done to awaken the ire of some, I have overly tipped the other end of the scale by doing good, giving the best of who I am, offering whatever is beautiful of me to those I love. 

This is a cruel world, they say. It is, to a large extent. The past will always be there like a shadow, most of the time lurking and just waiting to jump on the chance to give me another blow to the gut. But I would rather that the shadow, dark by its nature, be infused with my light such that I would be embraced by its glow instead of grimness.  Baby steps. A day at a time. Some day soon, I will be forgiven, thanked, and never forgotten.