Three Years Lost in the Depths of Time
As you have learned, the river of linear time ebbs and flows, but always moves in one direction: forward. Since I became at peace with…
If you haven’t read my first piece from two years ago, The One Year War, I recommend doing so before reading this one. This piece stands on its own but the two together are more powerful as a unified body of work.
As you have learned, the river of linear time ebbs and flows, but always moves in one direction: forward. Since I became at peace with grief two years ago, I believed I was once more flowing onwards through the time construct. The past behind, the future ahead, the present ever-changing, but the now. I thought my surroundings were ever so still because everything was moving cohesively with me through linear time’s silky streams. Everything was comfortable. Everything was moving at my pace. I was finally moving forward. I was finally moving away from the past.
Then, the rapids of reality hit me.
I hadn’t moved at all. Not one bit.
Two years ago, grief killed me. It became me. So I took myself back and took a piece of grief with me. I gave it a place to rest, to teach, to remind.
What I did not realize was after graciously welcoming grief into my soul, it sunk me into time’s riverbed. Grief was too much for me. Grief was too heavy for me. It buried me in the rocky depths to be forgotten as time moved forward without me.
After fighting grief for one year straight, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, to the bone… I needed to heal. Grief was merciless. It ripped my every bone every tendon every fiber every hair apart to force my stubborn soul into understanding true loss. As I built myself back together, I realized I made a critical mistake — I placed the piece of grief I took with me in my heart. The part of me that I prize most, I graciously gave to grief as a home. In my generous naivety, I underestimated the weight grief would have on my heart.
As grief dragged me further and further down into perpetual nothingness, I mistook complacency for healing. For the past two years, I found comfort in the dark stillness. Buried within the depths of nothingness, everything is calm. Nothing ever moves. Nothing ever changes. The present the past the future are blurred, one and the same. At every given moment, I knew what to expect. I woke the same, I experienced the same, I slept the same. I worked for eight hours, ate for three hours, exercised for one hour, watched TV for four hours, and slept for eight hours (aka slept for five hours and watched TikTok for three). Every second minute hour day week month year was the same. The future betrayed me. The past haunted me. The present scared me. So, I found solace in the absence of it all; I lived my life in a construct that never changed and never moved.
Living like this worked for 639 days, or one year and nine months. For six hundred and thirty nine days, I was perfectly fine doing the same thing every second every hour every day every week every month every year. Somewhere within those six hundred and thirty nine days, I stopped healing and lost myself in the comfort of doing nothing. I lost myself in the rocks that lay underneath the river of time. I was to be forgotten, to be buried, to be quite literally nothing.
Something changed three months ago, specifically on April 20th. While I had become complacent, a piece of me knew this was to be temporary. I was not meant to be nothing. That piece of me was so fed up with doing the same stupid shit every day. And so, below the rushing waters of time, within the depths of it all, I whispered an idea into the world. And by whispering that idea, I created my own tiny bubble in the river of time. While minuscule and seemingly meaningless, this bubble was the very first time I realized that I could change the endless river of time and, in turn, everyone navigating it.
And it just so happened, that people looked at my tiny bubble. Those closest to me saw the bubble I created and, to my initial disbelief, welcomed it into their own currents within the river of time. So I kept creating more and more bubbles, hoping more and more people would welcome them. And it turns out, they did. Eventually, perhaps through fate, a few figures who really drove the tides ended up hearing my slight bubbling. And because of everyone who saw my bubbles, I finally looked up from time’s riverbed where grief had anchored me. Where I was to be forgotten. Where I was to be buried. Where I was to be nothing. I looked up from time’s riverbed and finally realized that instead of just bubbles, I had my own current to recreate, to navigate, to cultivate. I had healed to my fullest extent and then some. I was ready to be part of the river of time yet again. And so, I propelled myself up from the forgotten depths into the crystal clear waters. Finally, I am seen, I am heard, I am free.
With my own current, I have already changed others in more ways than I can conceive. It is truly a beautiful thing when one believes in themself and understands their place in the grand scheme of time. My current has already begun merging and rushing and turning to shape everyone who touches it. It is not only the river of time that helps me carry grief but more so the currents of those I surround myself with. The power of currents keep a river flowing and other currents moving; everyone in my life, in one way or another, has changed the nature of my current and, in turn, has helped ease grief’s heavy weight.
Finally, I have found my current within the river of time. I understand my purpose my destiny my fate. Why I am here and what I need to do. I have never felt my current rush so forcefully and purposefully, carving out what is mine within the waters of time. This is the beginning of my current, of my journey, of my time. And I am forever grateful to have such wonderful, intelligent, strong, and caring people surrounding me to help shape it.
This time around, my Dad did not teach me this lesson. Nor did grief. I did.
In memory of my Dad, Peter Hsing, who passed away on July 17th, 2020.