By: Martina Isaksen Duque
Look at yourself. In the mirror, the misted mirror in the bathroom. Look at yourself. What do you know? What can you say about time in your youth? The youth in your face, your teenager expressions when you look at yourself, talk to yourself, and steel the resolve in your heart. There is very little of that world-weariness that characterizes so many of the faces of those who have long left the time of their childhood behind. But your eyes don’t look naive, right? The guarded look in there. Do you know what I’m talking about? There is a reserve in the pools of emotion that you let through. You know stuff. You know of injustice and pain, though you’re young. Very young by all accounts. Do you feel young? Time has gone by in waves, crashing and ebbing gently and making it impossible to tell how fast it goes by. It stretches infinitely and simultaneously disappears without a trace. It’s different to how it felt when you were a kid. A little kid who measured the passing of the years by big landmarks that felt uniquely important. Birthdays, Christmas, holidays. They showed the passage of time. And in the endless wait between one moment and the next, the fog of waiting, waiting, waiting, filled with excitement and anticipation for all the happiness: the incessant laughter that bounces around and comes back with each friend that shares your time with you, the sunlight that brightens the memories like they were captured in watercolor, the gifts that seem to cement the importance of those moments.
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