Here’s a little peak into my life. Texts, although it’s the bane of all proper writing and physical interaction, can still have the potential to evoke emotions and tell a story. Every time stamp, every opened text ignored, and every fragmented message reveals something about the sender and receiver. But with every piece of writing, context and understanding is essential for proper interpretation.
Sun, Jul 3, 2016, 6:56pm:
I told my dad I was coming home from a 2 week long summer camp in the afternoon around 2-3pm. I ended up coming home at 8pm without telling them I’d be home late.
Mon, Jul 4, 2016, 8:53 PM:
I’m at a 4th of july party so I’m out all day. My uncle spends time with my dad once in awhile to keep him company and make sure he’s doing well.
Mon, Jul 11, 2016 10:14 PM
I went to hang out with a friend after work. After that, I decided to not go home yet so I can spend some time by myself to read and write stuff. I get a call from my uncle saying that I need to spend more time with my dad because he’s really sad and wants me to be at home more. Five minutes after the call, I get this text, which pretty much is a summary of what he told me on the phone.
This is actually all I’m going to write in regards to this text for now…You can draw your own conclusions on the type of person I am or whether or not I’m a good son.
But know that with every snippet or text of my life that I allow the public access to, it is always taken from a 25 volume encyclopedia of my life that is still being written. This encyclopedia is beautifully and fearfully made. It’s dense, yet intelligible. Long, but accessible. Its contents hidden away, locked, double knotted, and put face down in defense mode, just waiting for something or someone to uncover, unlock, loosen, and reveal it so that its unique abilities and information can be manifested for the people to witness.
Uncovering it reveals a dusty book filled with cobwebs and mold. If you’re able to blow away the dust and cut through the cobwebs, you will see a moldy cover with a lock on it. I own the key to the lock, but I’m ashamed to hand it over because of the mold on the cover that has grown from being in darkness. I’m afraid to be judged by my cover. I’m more afraid that the mold has seeped from the cover and into the pages of my book. Yet I still choose to hand over the key if you ask to unlock the book, mostly out of my own curiosity of its content that I have amnesia to. This dense content that I need help remembering and interpreting.
The cover opens, but underneath it is a double knot, like the ones tied on the shoes of 3rd graders who seem to always have their laces undone. This knot is pulled tightly by the two loops that it forms to ensure its security. The harder it’s pulled, the harder it is to undo it. But once you put in the work to unravel one layer of the knot, the second layer is defenseless from a single pull of a string. When the string is pulled, I’m vulnerable to tripping over myself.
With the laces unraveled and hanging on the side of the book, the first page is flipped open, but the contents are blank. You flip to the next page and realize that the texts are only on the back side of each page and written horizontally so that you have to turn the book 90 degrees to the right in order to read it. This may seem like futile attempt to defend the content of my book. But in reality, it’s a symbolic (and rather nerdy) way to show how each page that you decide to flip is uncovering something that I choose to keep hidden, and hidden for good reason. Each page flip activates a hidden trait or nuance in my life that contains both pleasant and not so pleasant effects. But if you choose to continue and flip over the pages and endure the hidden effects, the front side of the pages start coming alive with texts and slowly does a 360 turn back to its proper format. There will be less surprises, but more richness and flow to the story.
Once you are able to read these difficult chapters of my life, the words from the phone text above will come to life with profound and poignant meaning. Texts will no longer seem like an inept concoction of letters, but rather what is seen and gathered is beyond the text itself. The context behind the text is revealed and attributed to the interpretation. With proper understanding; judgement, fear, and defenses subside, allowing love, compassion, and open-mindedness to flourish.
Those that know my virtues and vices understand the meaning of my actions and inaction in regards to the text. Those that don’t can only speculate.
I write this analogy not to draw attention to myself, but to draw attention to you and everyone around you. We are like complex books with countless chapters and volumes, constantly being added to and edited. We cannot rip one page out of a person’s book and say this represents or defines who the person is as a whole. We must read his book and understand his story in order to get a full story.
We don’t take a single episode of Game of Thrones as a sufficient explanation or overview of the show or the characters in the show. Neither do we take 30 seconds of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony and give an adequate critique of it. Granted, these short excerpts from shows and songs can give significant information about it, but no one will say that they should just stop at one episode or 30 seconds. Once they realize how much beauty as well as pain surrounding these short excerpts, they can’t help but binge watch and put the song on repeat.
If we understand what we lose for only looking at snippets of the inanimate objects that we obsess over, then we must also understand how infinitely more we lose about a person if we only look at a snippet of that person.
….I need to spend more time with my dad.