No Closure

No Closure

As how things go, nobody would make a fuss or pause to think about the implications when things end up happy. I have observed that happiness is in some way like a big wave, it drowns us on the sensation of bliss that it brings. Not that I am a pessimistic person, being happy is a good thing in this world many has labeled crazy. But I have also seen what happiness could do that is something that I do not really approve of. Because we are drowning in the glorious sensation of happiness and joy, we only want for that feeling to continue, to savor the last drop from the glass of water for the thirst on our throat, so to speak. And because happiness is subjective and personal, the world that happiness spins in each of us only lead us to set our glance towards one road, and what a narrow road that is: our own self.

As I have said, not a bad thing, bliss and all, really. But not my cup of coffee, I should say.

As how things go, they also tend to end the other way around, far and opposite from the warm poles of happiness.

Things go on, they say. As the stars, planets and comets orbit, charting their own lives, so the same happens for human beings. Things begin have their end, everybody know this. But an ending is not itself: it also serves as a point for something to begin. Scars come in all flavors, events mark and wound us. Life goes on, things end, and we are never the same because of that.

Pondering on it, it all boils down to memory. The persistence of memory is one of those mysteries in the universe that I would like to unravel. I have been trying to for quite a long time, have experimented on various ways and yet to no avail. I guess that’s why they called it a mystery in the first place, that it is not in finding the answer, but more of like the search for the answer that matters.

Events that change and mark us, especially those we find distasteful, always linger. And yet I must admit that, when asked about how I feel about a certain event in my life, I have replied that I am over it, that I am done with it, that I have found closure. And I am all too sure that I am not alone in this. And yet, speaking for my own self, I have come to realize and accept a fundamental truth about what I have replied whenever asked about how I feel about this certain event and so forth in my life.

Closure is a lie.

I envy those who can say with pure conviction and belief as unshakeable as the existence of God that they have found closure. I envy how they could have closure amidst the persistence of all those memories.

I wonder if closure is like a new shirt that you wear and discard afterwards.

I have heard, and perhaps you did, about the analogy of the stone and the pond. As a stone, or pebble falls to a still pond, it creates a ripple that surges from the center. And in time the ripple would fade, and the pond still again. Someone once said that things are back to how they were, but someone replied that it is not so, for though the pond may be still and silent, the pebble is in the pond.

Ok, I guess that was hazy huh?!

I realize that I have no closure at all. Perhaps I am crazy, that I am damned to be the only person to feel like this. Or perhaps others also feel this way but prefer the comfort of being blind, of being numb, of remembering to forget.

Because as how I see it, there is no way to kill memories, and as long as memories are there, even the thing they call closure exist like a locked box. And locked things can always be opened with the right key, or there are always ways to open something even without a key.

My closures, I must confess to all of you, were lies.

And I believe that the only closure that I would ever get is when I could no longer remember how they marked and changed me, how they made me happy and mournful, when nothing matters anymore, because I myself do not matter anymore.