It was one long evening though the clock barely moved. It felt like a whole year when the meeting was not supposed to be more than fifteen minutes. Fifteen_very long_minutes. A stretch of time, I’d call it. They would lie to you and say “sixty seconds” that’s what a minute is. Wrong. I have felt it before but could never understand or give a real definition to what a minute is. But now, in this room, surrounded by all those people and the shades of blue, the shades of orange, the shades of fear, I can finally give a proper definition: a minute is an interval of time which one can only define in a context.
It all started couple of dawns ago. I was sitting at my dreaming table. Yes I know, who has a dreaming table? But I do. It’s where I sit and sail to wherever my imagination leads. Just like the partner who leads the dance. Or the ocean which leads the fish. I saw something hiding behind the horizon. I was not sure but then one day I decided to go. To look. To see. To, to feel. I took my pen and tapped on the window three times and out of the sudden I was there. I was exactly on the horizon. It felt so beautiful to be in the middle between the sky and the earth. It was a thin line which separated two worlds. Two endless worlds. I could see the sun and where it goes to when it sets. I could see where the moon comes from. I could hear the music played by the world which was on the opposite side of the horizon. I felt so small but so big. Bigger than Jupiter.
I don’t want to go back. I don’t. I could hear the sound of my grandmother saying goodbye. She’s not dying but she’s leaving. To where? “You’ll know when we go to that meeting.” My mother insisted every time I asked. But I don’t want to go to that meeting, I thought; a lot of times.
On the thin line, I would walk like a man in the circus does but I would never fear the falling part. I did not need a net to catch me. Gravity, the sky, the world everything seemed so safe. So secured. I could never fall. I knew I was safe.
There are few things, few lessons that remain in our heads until the day we grow old enough to understand what they once stood for. You can’t be what you want unless you decide to. Simple but deep. Very, very deep. Like you won’t get up from bed unless you actually get up. Doesn’t make sense, but it is the only thing that wakes me up every morning: I have to get up if I want to get up.
I took a deep breath that day and decided to see the world from the same view I had when I was on the horizon staring at everything. Feeling everything. Sensing the breeze fluctuating, calculating, tickling. It was so ticklish that my cheeks would laugh immediately with no second thoughts. It would calculate the seconds, the minutes that I spend there. And I won’t go around and call it ‘he’ or ‘she’ because it has its own identity as an ‘it’. It is the breeze. My breeze.
I tapped three times on the horizon and went back to my room. To that table. I heard knocking on the door, “Time for school,” someone behind the door shouted. “Time for school,” I echoed.