THE PAST ISN'T A PLACE TO LIVE

I used to see nostalgia as a warm, amber filter on days gone by.

- By ALEKSEI RIVAMONTE

I can always look back on the beautiful memories I’ve had with equally beautiful people who have come and gone in my life through the years.But as I stepped into adulthood, I’ve found nostalgia can transform from rays of sunlight peeking through the trees to a dark cloud that is always just slightly hovering above you, raining down on you at the most inconvenient times.

At 24, I see the recent years behind me as a time filled with jovial, perfect days, when in reality, some (maybe even most) of it was the opposite. I would remember people who hurt me and think of them fondly as if they hadn’t stepped on my heart and pulverized it to the ground. I would think of days and nights when I indulged myself with vices, hurt people without regard to consequence, and deemed those times as the prime of my youth. It scares me how easy it was for a couple of years to wash away the crimson from those days. How come nostalgia makes me think of it as an epoch worth revisiting and reviving when I buried that era of my life for a reason?

In retrospect, those few, chaotic years I had were when I felt most free. I had graduated from high school, just beginning to taste the freedom adults have yet still unburdened by the sharp, unrelenting pain of reality. I spent nights that felt endless with my friends. I could do anything, be anything, say anything. And the future was a rich tapestry I knew I was going to weave beautifully.

But now that I’ve finally stepped into the real world (as it were), I’ve found it couldn’t be further from what I imagined. I am still living with my parents and unsure of what’s coming next, doubting every decision I make. Did I pursue the right degree? Am I making a mistake with my career? Can I make something of myself?