I sat on the bench, tired in ways I didn’t know how to fix. Something was on me, but the feeling was all in me too, and I kept asking myself whether I really needed to keep sitting there or just walk away. The scenery was good enough, maybe even beautiful, but the rush of people made it worse for my ears. The ticking tuned my ears and pulled me toward the world I had come to know.
The three hands, each different in size, each carrying the same power to define me and you, to decide how life would go and how far we would get.
Tick, tock.
The hand moved in a way that showed me I had been there for a long time. I kept watching it move, all of them moving in different phases, none of them ever corroding, never stopping. I wondered where people say it rushes, because no, it doesn’t rush. I sat there wondering why the hands never wanted to wave at me, but at least I knew they never cared about my sitting or my gaze. They did what they do best: they kept moving.
I sat there for the longest time I can remember, until one day I uttered to myself:
If these hands were to wave and speak a little motivation to me, what would they say? Or if they had been watching me all this time while I kept gazing at them, what would they say?
Then a thought came to me.
These hands have one thing in common: they keep moving, no matter if I sit on my bench for the rest of my life.
If they really waved and talked a little sense into me, I am sure this is what they would say:
“Hey buddy, you can sit on the bench for the longest time you want, but I will keep moving, and it isn’t personal. I am just doing my work. The sun will dawn, the darkness will creep in, and the moon may shine or not, but still it can’t shine the whole night, and not even every day. The point is, buddy, what I do best is keep moving. Whether it is midnight or daytime, I will keep doing what I do best. You want to know why? Because that is what I am, and that is what I do best. Nothing will change me in what I believe in. So get off your bench and do what you do best.”
I was shattered, though it was my own thoughts, but they were vivid in me, like the hands were trying to scream a little sense to me. How was I going to accept those words? Still, I knew one thing for sure: I would keep trying to find out more about what the hands had for me.
I watched them more closely and thought about how people say time waits for no man. But then why does it feel like it doesn’t rush, like it waits a bit before moving again?
I imagined what it would say if it had the power to pass knowledge and wisdom to me:
“I don’t really rush, but every move I take depends on what you get and what you did with my last move. So I may not rush, but even if I am slow, I will still affect every move in your life. You can’t turn me back, but try to predict me and I will still be there for you in the future, for the energy you made me lose when I was moving.”
Those words hit me deep. I had been sitting there for more than two hours, but the large clock kept moving, and every move was still something I would have to remember. It would not come back. It would not revive. It would only keep doing what it does best: moving forward.
I grabbed my jacket and rushed to where I do best, to my dream and all that matters, because it was clear that the hands would not stop for me to take a breath.
