Edited By: Tanvi Singh
Time passing by is the one constant in life that I can fully trust. Time doesn’t stand by and wait for those who lag behind, it passes them without a glance back. The onus is on them to catch up to time, to make the most of what they have before time decides to escape them forever.
To me, time is a dwarf. Old and bent over from the weight of the world, it has more wisdom than teeth. It is well dressed in a dark brown suit with loafers to match, a tiny gold pocket watch held in his hand. It’s beard is long and white, pointed and slightly curled at the end, it’s head is shiny and bald. It’s face is somehow both sunken in yet youthful, but it’s mouth is forever downturned in a scowl.
It is translucent—extremely real to me, mostly bothersome and sometimes downright frightening—and yet no one seems to see it exactly as I do.
Time is not kind. It’s scowl is etched deeply into its face, a permanent indicator of just how unkind it is capable of being. It laughs in my face as I ask for mercy when deadlines loom close, and it dances on my head when I pull all-nighters for exams I should have prepared for much earlier. It’s youth returns then, propelling it to scare me with visions of the clock running out, of a life lived with my dreams unfulfilled simply because I did not chase them in time.
On the day that my birthday dawns, the dwarf is most active. It’s sunken face is alight with joy, it’s mouth stretched into an unkind grin. Today it will make its mission to make me miserable. Today it will remind me at every second that another year has passed me by, that the sands of time are continuously filtering through the hourglass, and my attempts to slow their flow will be unfruitful.
It shows me visions of the things I have not achieved in the past year—promises I made to myself, things I said would achieve. It climbs up on to my shoulder, a black cloud on my back, a sword hanging over my head waiting to fall.
It is because of time that I hate my birthday. On the one special day that is a celebration of my being alive, I am forced to fret and grumble and worry. I like to call them the birthday blues, courtesy of time.
But this birthday was something special. Surrounded by friends, I barely spared any attention to my dwarf. Try as it might, it could not approach me to bring my spirits down. I spent my day celebrating myself and enjoying the precious company of my friends. As night fell, I realised that I had made it through the entire day without a single negative thought. There had been no reminders of time spent worthlessly, no reminders that I had not worked hard enough, or not put in enough effort into something.
This year I decided to take control of the dwarf. As a figment of my imagination, it should be under my control and not vice versa. I cannot simply banish it, since sometimes it’s presence is a necessary reminder that time is precious and what’s gone will never return. But other times, I need some respite from it. I need the space to waste some time, to not have to force myself to be productive and be working hard every waking minute.
To live is to make the most of the time we have on Earth, sure. But to live is to also take it easy, to allow ourselves respite from the rat race and let some time slip by undetected. Time may never come back once it is gone, but to live with that worry at all times is a waste of time in itself.