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By Avery Gaines
Nostalgia is human nature. We desire what was in the past and create memories for ourselves to live in a moment that is better than the now. We think back to the moment that we can keep in a photograph, the warmth of the sun that was shining on our skin which made us smile just as the camera clicked. We hear the echoing of laughter come from those around us at the party we attended that one time at that one place with god knows who, but we remember it was fun. Nostalgia can bring us from the depths of our sorrow to the peaks of our nirvana and that’s the danger of it.
Nostalgia is a drug. It seeps into our blood stream making us crave what was never there, or only fabricated to become better. It is a form of self-harm that only shields our eyes from what is really in front of us. Its an escape from the real world forcing us to ponder why the past was better than the now. We rely on the moments that made us feel big as we spent nights sitting atop our small town looking down at the blinking lights of the streets to cope with the world crushing us down to our smallest form. But, isn’t if funny how we hold on to the smallest moments of our past in order to wait for our moments of the future?
We will grasp for dear life of a person’s past self in order to forgive them for the toxic human they are being in the present. We will cherish the remembrance of a moment before we contract how it has affected us in this moment’s time. We will let guilt wash upon us as we evoke instances form the past and let them crumble our experience of the present…all in the name of nostalgia. We call it self-harm when one places physical wound on themselves, but what about the emotional laceration of recalling a happier time when you are miserable?
As humans we take for granted the moments we have in the now, we are stuck in a constant trance of looking back at our lives while we let the present and future flash by us all too quickly. The past is the bright light at the back of our life’s tunnel, enchanting us to stare at her until we are blind to the world around us, living for something that simply does not exist anymore. There is no greater faulty of man, than that of nostalgia.