April 27, 2012 Time is like an ice-cream sandwich
Doesn’t matter in which point in your life you are. If you look back in time, it will seem like yesterday.
I visited my 1-4 grade teacher today. 1-4 grade teachers are sometimes called “second mothers”, and I must tell you, back then, I really considered her my second mother.
At first, she didn’t recognize me. I took down my glasses and joked “do you recognize me now?”.
If I look back at the time I was 7-8-9-10/11 years, it will seem like yesterday. It seems like all these years of which each was important and significant, all these years that came between THAT past and THIS present, are just some kind of filling, just so I wouldn’t go from 11, suddenly, to 22.
I wish I could live those moments again. I remember when my teacher told me I was looking pale and I asked her what that meant(from then on, many people would tell me this). I remember one time when he asked me to the blackboard, to the country’s map, to show her something on the map, and I didn’t know, and she was disappointed in me.
The truth is, although I am not stupid, and I could learn way better, I was always very indolent.
The morning always started with The message of the day, and every day another student was in charge of making it. Drawing it. Writing it. And I remember when a girl who had done it, waiting to tell us the message, was crying. And I asked her :”Oh come on, why are you crying? Did someone die?”(one of the few moments when I dared to speak something like that). And she said, while crying harder and sobbing: “Yes, my hamster”. Well, I felt bad for a week. Or I remember when another girl was telling us, in class, how her parents were beating her. Her mother was a teacher in the same school.
I’m disappointed that the scientists haven’t yet found a modality of putting memories on hard-disks, in .avi format. Then we would have videos to watch and remember. Hiding from my crush – under the table. My first day of school when I received a punch in the stomach from a guy who just punched me spontaneously. He would punch me again in the second grade. My another-crush telling someone else who afterwards told me that I was a messy, gross girl.
Playing with those nice toys.
But what I don’t remember is being lovely. I was always shy, grey and somehow out of place; today, while I was talking with my teacher, a little boy came and told her “Madam, I love you”, and she told him “oh, I love you too”. I don’t remember being so sticky, so lovely, so sweet.
Time is like an ice-cream sandiwich. There’s the biscuit, the ice-cream, and another biscuit. One biscuit is the period in time you remember. The ice-cream is the time that has passed. And the other biscuit is the present. If you eat very fast the ice-cream(although you may catch a cold), the biscuits will touch. It’s always like time never passed.