Published on Brittle Paper.

There’s something surreal about the way the writer describes the passing of time.

I can almost tangibly feel the Grey in the surrounding and scenery he describes.

He takes you along with him through the streets and goes from the image of a disposable toy which was once the prized possession of some child, to the old man who was once a treasured laundry man, to the building, People’s Club complex where he only has fading memories of the events that used to happen in the hall.

He then tangents off to the elderly home just along the street. He talks about the buildings and the people.

The passing of time has never been more vivid. I love this style of writing.

Although there were some parts were the adjectives got way too clustered, they helped convey the meaning he wanted.

He wraps his essay up with this:

There would come a time when our muscles slacken, our skins creased, when we become grizzled, our passions dulled; these things happen to even objects. Living—reproduction, history, career, work, love, sex, religion, social interaction, activity—when compared to its own transformation in time is a process of forgetting. What is forgotten is not mortality but what happens at the circumference of time, before what has been living slips into nothingness. It is to be anesthetic of aging, to be conscious and yet unfeeling of what it means.

And you know, that feeling that maybe time won’t happen to me. Maybe I won’t grow old. I also get it all the time.

However, I am reminded that I can only stay this young for a little while. The time is coming when I might even be forgotten like old furniture in the house, having my place in another time but still being part of another generation’s immediate reality.

What’s it like to age without knowing that you are aging? Do you notice as you are changing?