Nostalgia

Dear Diary,

A year has left me. I am here contemplating another year of failure. Each year I promise myself, but I break down the promises with time. To walk to my own destination. To fight for my own war. But like nostalgia, I follow the path of memory and am haunted by it. It’s like a long wait. It is like a diary to be written. But the year always left me like a hollow man. You can consider me a person without a journey. A person without footsteps. Sad but it is a reality.

It’s been three days I've been here in my home, where there are the Marsyangdi and mountains to accompany me. I always mention they are my inspirations. Nothing can inspire like mountains and rivers. But you know, I am like an edge, who is always into the shadow. Into the memory. Into the motionlessness. Dear diary, it is hard to accept, but it is a reality.

Last year, these days I have some euphoria to celebrate. I thought I was moving towards  some settlement. But could I walk on the path without choosing myself? Happily, unlike the journey, I choose myself. I am the one, sometimes, who vomits the thoughts without thinking about the repercussions. I chose myself because nothing beautiful than choosing myself.

Dear diary, it is history. It was a past. But it is a present too, nothing can hold you, keep you movable until and unless you choose that. Sometimes I curse myself, being that who is unlikeable for myself too. Right now, I am hating myself. Things would have been far better if I had walked to my own destination. You know, I rambled on my own words. It is a story, but not only the story, it is a history, it is a present too. I want to write a story of the journey I walked through. Now when I start looking back, I find myself moving backward. It is a journey I chose for, but you know, it makes me sad sometimes. It is a journey. It is a path I am looking for. It is something I am aspiring for. But life is not that easy. I want to look forward. I want see myself moving.

Dear Diary, this is the start of the year. I want to tell myself something good. I don’t want to be haunted by nostalgia. It is something I have been waiting for years. I am the one who grew up on a riverbank. I always aspire to move. I am sad because I am rooted in nostalgia. You know, sometimes nostalgia is bad; it keeps you down. I want to move forward like the paper and pen move on a clean page. I want to move myself like how my hands move on clean paper before the poem. Nostalgia is bad, you know, it may keep you backward.

Dear diary, this is the start of the year, I want to contemplate for myself. This is the right time to move. I want to fly, fly like a bird. Fly without being rooted. Deep down, there are mountains and rivers to inspire me. Dear Marsyangdi, you are the one who taught me how to fly. You are the one who gave me wings to fly. Dear mountains, without you, I don’t even exist. I cannot see the lands without mountains. I grew up with you. All my nostalgia is the byproduct of you. If the mountains and rivers were not there with me while growing up, maybe I wouldn’t have any nostalgia to remember. Or to be indulged. Dear mountain, this time I want some cruelty from you. I want to be free from you.

Dear Diary, every year left me being nobody. Society is cruel, time is cruel, and the people around us are cruel. Everything is cruel, but the reality is that nostalgia is also cruel. Dear diary, it is a request, it is the manifestation, it is the right time. Please free me from it.