Wednesday, January 13, 2010

It's About Time

by Madeleine Kando

I don’t like to think about time too much. It makes me confused and not sure about anything any more.

Here I am, Madeleine sitting at my mac typing. I like to think that I am going to be sitting here tomorrow and the day after, still the same Madeleine. But what about in 10 years from now? Will I still be the same Madeleine typing at my Mac? Mmmm. And what about when I was 6 years old? Was I a different Madeleine then? I know my body was made up of different cells altogether, up to the smallest piece in my fingernail.

I know that my ability to think was the size of a pea. But what about the ME? And if I WAS a different Madeleine – when did I stop being the Madeleine I was then and start to become the Madeleine I am now?

Changing our names every decade or so would simplify things. We don’t keep other things throughout our lives, do we? We change houses when they become too small. We change schools, shoe sizes; our voice changes, our eyesight... So why keep our names throughout our lives?

If had been called ‘Sue-Ellen’ when I was 6 I could talk about the day I stole my best friend’s black lacquered shoes this way: ‘You know what Sue-Ellen did? She took Monique’s shoes home with her. She pretended she had found them. Her mom made her bring them back and apologize. But Sue-Ellen left them on the front steps and ran back home before anyone could open the door. Isn’t that cute?’ Right now it is one of the many many monkeys on Madeleine’s back but if I could have been Sue-Ellen instead..

If I had been called Shirley when I was in my early teens I could talk about the day I almost burnt the yard down because I was smoking in secret this way: ‘Shirley did something really stupid…’ and I would shrug it off like one of those silly things Shirley had done instead of hearing about it ad nauseam at every family reunion.

It would also solve the problem that many parents have with their children. Mothers look at their 30 year old daughters and see a cuddly baby instead. Next time your mom tells you that you need a hair cut or that your skirt is too short, tell her to go talk to Sue-Ellen or Shirley and leave you in peace.

Yes, time is a funny thing. Take Zaza, our cat for instance. She was such a devoted mother to Rosy. Licked her clean all day, played with her, taught her how to catch mice.. One day all of that love and affection, gone … disappeared right out the window. Rosy had become a rival. Had to be chased away, hissed at, scratched and bitten. Clearly animals don’t recognize their own offspring once they have reached adulthood.

Babies don’t even have a concept of time. To them everything is forever. No wonder they scream their heads off. Can you imagine having wet diapers forever?!

What about old age? Time has a tendency to slow down when you are waiting for something. Whether you are a prisoner waiting to be released, or very old waiting to die.. time can slow down until it almost stands still. Then again time can speed up. When you fall in love and don’t ever want it to end, or when you are watching a sunset and don’t want the sun to sink into the ocean.

Wouldn’t it be great if my twin sister and I could do the ‘twin paradox’ experiment. I would be sent out into space at close to the speed of light while Juliette would stay on earth. Supposedly, when I come back I would be younger than my twin. Juliette, all wrinkled and shriveled up. Me, all glowing with youthful energy. Of course we would fight tooth and nail over who gets to be the space twin.

So what is time really? Is it just a trick of our mind? Or is it real, like the trees and the snow? Maybe all of time is already out there, like the space around us. We just cannot see it. We are like blind men in a room full of furniture. We are bumping into whatever is in front of us, as we move through life, our blind brains unable to encompass all of time at once. Besides, time unlike space, is a one-way affair. You can never purchase a return ticket, even if you have frequent flyer miles. leave comment here