Fleeting

I sometimes wish that I had a device with me at all times so that I could blog about issues and events and thoughts the minute I have or see them. Instead, I store up the tiny details that make the moment absolutely poetic till a more convenient time when I have the energy to reminisce. As proven by the lack of blogging, that time has not come.

So here I am, the remnant of a hopeful writer that could bring you my beautiful life in slow motion, now empty of anything to offer except for the same mediocrity every struggling artist with writer's block does: write about themselves and their experiences with writing.

I had hoped to write about the excruatingly awkward, sentimental, and anti-climatic goodbyes of my last week of junior year. I wanted to explain how if I were to put a relationship status on my facebook, I would say that it is complicated with God. There was that week of my third and final year at Chapter Camp, an annual event that went from life-changing encounter to relaxful and this year, fitting. I will never forget the 24-hour Greyhound bus ride back to New York from Atlanta, with single black mothers holding a Jekyll and Hyde personality holding consistency with their love for their child, Harley Davidson fanatics, the entire American Hispanic population who got lost on their way to Emory, and then...me.

To write about these moments nonetheless would be a betrayal of the moments themselves, for to omit the details would be like trying to take out the special effects of King Kong or the camera work of Saving Private Ryan. The backbone would still be there, but a human being needs some flesh. But to write with embellished details would be a complete hijacking of the truth of what actually happened. So my only remaining option is to leave it as is: a fleeting moment in the past that I have some idea about, but not completely. It's like trying to remember the face of your best friend in middle school. I knew it well, almost too well, but now I really do not know it at all. I am simply clinging onto how well I knew it.

But the moments are gone. It's time to make some new ones. Besides, I'll probably take another one of these Greyhound trips again.