NEWNESS

newness

ˈnjuːnəs

noun

the quality of being new or original.

Life itself is an unawareness at first, a lack of realisation as regards what we have just come into, learning a process by default, mindless to the outcomes of knowledge, and not even knowing how to form words from the start. As time goes, step by step, the essence of the journey becomes clear, there is a tenacious appreciation of life, and at a later time, a restless wish to stay young, and not wane so fast.

I guess I was puzzled at first, very calm to what I had just come into, but in a steady state of wonder, and my expressions at that time depicts it all. This is only an assumption, as I was faced with the same cluelessness that greets everyone at the beginning. I believe those are the best days, as consciousness always comes with a price, and yes, the doses keep coming.

I vividly remember when I started to exist, it was a clear evening, with the noise in the front yard from my siblings, I had my shorts on, with a red T-shirt, and up till that morning I was still in a state of unawareness, and can not recall anything before that. So my first memory is of me looking for my sandals, so I could go join them at the front yard, stumbling through the hoard of shoes, finding one pair, and then flying down the stairs to go meet them.

“where were you, why did you waste so much time?”.

That was my sister. She did not realize all this was rather new and strange to me, and I was trying to embrace all that was going on. This was me becoming a living thing, with a mind, and consciousness, pain and desires.

That part of my life, has helped me understand the idea of newness, and I see it as a certain lack of knowledge, a fresh exposure, and with every extra tint of the same shade, it gets old, and we sometimes lose interest. Yet, newness is a special feeling, it becomes priceless and rare with time, when everything starts to feel so old and used, it gets difficult to meet with anything new. A first kiss, first trip, first sex, first marriage. Newness takes so many forms, like a very delicate dance, but comes just once.

That part of my life, has helped me understand the idea of newness, and I see it as certain lack of knowledge, a fresh exposure, and with every extra tint of the same shade, it gets old, and we sometimes lose interest. Yet, newness is a special feeling, it becomes priceless and rare with time, when everything starts to feel so old and used, it gets difficult to meet with anything new. A first kiss, first trip, first sex, first marriage. Newness takes so many forms, like a very delicate dance, but comes just once.

I have a wandering mind, like a leaf that has been blown down by the wind woosh woosh, hitting walls, going through the sea, facing the sun, very aware, yet mindless to the scene. I think we never get a full awareness of life, we only accept that we have to thrive within time, and accept our depictions, or fuelled impressions of it. We need it for self motivation, and so we make our own understanding, which usually stages us as skeptics or fanatics, we are either in it too less or too much. And this is one great problem with the system, as everyone tries to give life their impressions, and we find it in religion, in relationships, in strife and wars. It never ends.

I have been searching for newness, I look in my toddler eyes, and wonder if that little thing would have scurried away from life, if he knew what lay ahead, the loop. How can living life and existing the same way, very stereotyped, very stiff be a decryption of order?

Time is a loop, it is not the ticking clock, that is just our creation. Time is the sun and the moon, the night and the day. We are limited to it, but have to find a way to live outside of it, and then we will find ourselves in a place where age has no restrictions, a place where we can be open minded to the end, without so much of the impressions we create, the ones that keep us down to the ground. I call it the morality of time.

---

So I am laughing at the front yard with my brother and sister, we have these plastic little horses, with red Indians sitting on them, all in different colors, and I am very excited, as I have never seen them before. They look very expensive. We run them across the ground, till they begin to shoot arrows and hoot at themselves, I send my soldiers to the battle ground, they start to run towards the enemy, too eager to draw blood. The battle goes on and on, till the sun begins to set.

“where are you people ooo, come and eat your food now”.

I hear my mothers voice from the the window above us, and it brings us back, the war is over now, and myself and my brother have to pack up our little red Indians and fallen horses, with my sister skipping in delight.

I am so happy at this new awareness, and with my small hands, I pick my sandals up, and run all the way to the house. I wonder where I have been.