There is an old saying about not swearing or saying anything with finality because it will come back to haunt you later. I should have heeded that ominous warning that had been muttered over and over again since I was a kid. Now, it’s munching on my tush and I have no power to turn back time.
How I wish H.G. Wells’ fantastical contraption or Dr. Brown’s 1981 Delorean in Back To The Future weren’t just figments of the writers’ imagination. With that thought in mind, I started wondering what I would have done if there is an actual time machine.
This had been asked to me — and possibly several thousand other kids too — in school. Although it’s quite an innocent and simple thought, it provoked at least a hundred possibilities and endless barrage of images or eras I would love to go to.
SEGUE: I love history. I believe I shone brightly during my History class back in high school as well as my Humanities class in college. It’s probably the feeling deep down inside that I belong to an older world. Back in High School, I’d often catch myself daydreaming about living in the 18th century, prompted by the sheer amount of historical romances I’ve gobbled up back then.
Anyway, whether knowing or not knowing if there’s a real time machine or a time travelling gadget (a la Quantum Leap TV series) out there gave me an idea of wanting to going back in time and control myself not to swear off some things that I shouldn’t have – things like never falling for a bad boy, never make-out with someone I’ll meet in a bar or a dance club or never consider having a friend-with-benefits kind of relationship. I know that meeting my younger self will create a paradox and would endanger both past and present existence, but who cares. I’m now in the fiction zone . . . ergo . . . anything is possible.
Never – indeed – is a long time. I should have listened to those wizened people and held my tongue before I drown on my own impetuosity. But what’s done is done. All I can look forward to is either the invention of a time machine or man-up and be smarter in making decisions, relating to people and generally living my life.
My un-saintly existence has tempted my resolve over oaths I’ve taken during the naiveté of my youth. Those oaths have also fed my conscience and the guilt I’ve harbored repeatedly, enough to give me very fascinating dreams spurred by my overactive subconscious. At least I get some entertainment as consolation.
I am fully aware that I’m not alone in experiencing the same things. There might even be those people who suffer an attack of conscience and guilt more than I do. Knowing it makes me feel less alone, even if it’s a cold way of seeing things.