I look upward. The dark sky is studded with bright moon and stars. I close the door gently so as not to wake my grandparents up. I set off. My night walks are supposed to be secret, but probably they already know. They understand.
I stroll slowly across the grassy field, along the path I know well. Well, too well; I have been having night walks for quite long, you see.
Stars. They are millions of light years away I suppose. I wonder what happened during the period when the starlight was travelling to Earth. Kingdoms rise and fall; history being made and remade; humanity progressed or regressed; creatures evolved; well, I don’t really care. Perhaps if I stare the sky long enough, I will see a speck of starlight just arriving from its long journey across the space.
But I move on; I’ve got a more important Question to ponder.
I slow my pace a little and close my eyes. I can hear soft breeze blows grass and leaves rustling, male crickets’ songs calling for the females, and gentle flow of a stream faraway.
I stop.
Is Time a river? I want to feel the flow of Time like the cold night breeze against my face. I want to hear the gentle sound of the River of time. But I think I won’t be able to. You see, I am carried away downstream by the flow and I am part of that River. To feel a river’s current, you need to go against it; to hear it, well, maybe the gentle sound is subsided by all the noises we the swimmers make in the River of time.
Or is time a big blank canvas, and there is an artist painting on it, applying different colours and tones to depict history? I cannot help but to ask why the Artist is painting miserable pictures. Wars ravaging countries, starvation, poorness, lies and deceit, all the calamities upon humanity; why? Why? Can’t he just paint Paradise instead of Hell? When will the whole painting end? What is the point of painting it in the first place?
I run.
I don’t know. All these conundrums about time; I don’t know.
I already said I have a more important Question that I’m trying to answer.
Breathless, I arrive at the destination of my night walk. The cemetery was not large, so I found my parents’ and brother’s graves immediately; besides, I have been here every night. I put my hands on the graves, closing my eyes, taking a deep breath preparing to shout. Well, here is my little Question: Can I turn back time to 5 years ago when my whole family was happy; when they were not dead yet in a car accident? Can I? I beg of you! It is only a meagre fraction of a starlight journey; only a little move upstream in the River of time; only a dot on the big blank Canvas. I beg of you, stars, River, Artist, Guardian of Time, God, Devil, whoever!! Please... give me Time...
I stroll slowly across the grassy field, along the path I know well. Well, too well; I have been having night walks for quite long, you see.
Stars. They are millions of light years away I suppose. I wonder what happened during the period when the starlight was travelling to Earth. Kingdoms rise and fall; history being made and remade; humanity progressed or regressed; creatures evolved; well, I don’t really care. Perhaps if I stare the sky long enough, I will see a speck of starlight just arriving from its long journey across the space.
But I move on; I’ve got a more important Question to ponder.
I slow my pace a little and close my eyes. I can hear soft breeze blows grass and leaves rustling, male crickets’ songs calling for the females, and gentle flow of a stream faraway.
I stop.
Is Time a river? I want to feel the flow of Time like the cold night breeze against my face. I want to hear the gentle sound of the River of time. But I think I won’t be able to. You see, I am carried away downstream by the flow and I am part of that River. To feel a river’s current, you need to go against it; to hear it, well, maybe the gentle sound is subsided by all the noises we the swimmers make in the River of time.
Or is time a big blank canvas, and there is an artist painting on it, applying different colours and tones to depict history? I cannot help but to ask why the Artist is painting miserable pictures. Wars ravaging countries, starvation, poorness, lies and deceit, all the calamities upon humanity; why? Why? Can’t he just paint Paradise instead of Hell? When will the whole painting end? What is the point of painting it in the first place?
I run.
I don’t know. All these conundrums about time; I don’t know.
I already said I have a more important Question that I’m trying to answer.
Breathless, I arrive at the destination of my night walk. The cemetery was not large, so I found my parents’ and brother’s graves immediately; besides, I have been here every night. I put my hands on the graves, closing my eyes, taking a deep breath preparing to shout. Well, here is my little Question: Can I turn back time to 5 years ago when my whole family was happy; when they were not dead yet in a car accident? Can I? I beg of you! It is only a meagre fraction of a starlight journey; only a little move upstream in the River of time; only a dot on the big blank Canvas. I beg of you, stars, River, Artist, Guardian of Time, God, Devil, whoever!! Please... give me Time...
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