Dear Time

Dear Time,

Tick tock goes the clock!  Around and round the minute and hour hands spin, counting down our lives.  In a way, you own us.  We’ve let you become our life’s dictator.

Everything’s go, go, GO!  There’s never enough of you for all that we “have” to do.

Wearing you in the wrinkles and scars on our face and the gray in our hair has become a negative thing.

Like the song goes, we only have eighty-six four hundred seconds in a day to turn it all around or throw it all away.  Will we use this as an excuse to fill our lives with everything we can-the good, the bad, and the ugly-like gluttons?   Or will we use it for good?

YOLO: you only live once.  Yes, this is true, but does that mean that we can do whatever our hungry bodies desire?  Has “YOLO” become our excuse for when we go too far?  When we succumb to our fleeting impulses and know we’ll regret it afterwards, is that a legitimate reason?

We all live once on this earth, in this physical existence.  That doesn’t mean that we should do whatever whenever we want and it be right.  We have a moral obligation to care for each other and better the world why we’re here.  We should love, laugh, and learn all the time, every day.  If we do that, I think we’ve spent our existence with you well.

I’m nowhere near perfect, and I get caught up in the fast-paced society I live in.  I get frustrated when it seems that I run out of you, or I don’t fill you up.  I fall down and you beat me down.  I don’t say what I should and you seem to pull that moment away.  Every bit of you counts and I stare at the wall, doing nothing.  But, despite all of this and more, I enjoy living with you.

Side by side.

– Nita Pan


Dear Words

Dear Words,

You’re long.  You’re short.  You can astound us and smash us to minuscule pieces.  We string you together and you define our identity.  I find myself obsessing over how to order you in every page, every paragraph.  I exhaust you throughout the day with both my mouth and pen.

They say to use ‘kind’ words.  But what does that mean?  In my mind, I see that you are nothing but a tool.  I spit you out in red-hot fury.  My body racks with sobs, and you come out in choking gasps.  Biting my lip, you flow awkwardly out from my smile.  Disjointed and full of life, you bubble out alongside laughter.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from both life and writing, it is that you are what we make of you.

So, here it is:

I’m sorry for using you in anger, and I’m sorry for making you trip over yourself when I’m flustered.  I am deeply sorry for using you as a sword, but I won’t apologize for making them laugh.  I’m not sorry for brightening their day, or making them feel better about themselves.  For making people think, accept, and luxuriate in life.  The world is a beautiful place covered with scars and filled with equally scarred and beautiful people.  Your very existence gives us the opportunity and obligation to make the world a better place.

Thank you.

– Nita Pan