Nostalgia |näˈstaljə, nə-|
a sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations
nostalgist |-jist| noun
ORIGIN late 18th cent. (in the sense ‘acute homesickness’): modern Latin (translating German Heimweh ‘homesickness’), from Greek nostos ‘return home’ + algos ‘pain.’
We pine. Nostalgia is in some ways is a very fickle thing. While we may find ourselves awash with emotion over a particular moment in time we feel as though the image or thought may never leave us. We worry that we may never shake the feeling. This is almost never true as we are often onto a different mind set mere minutes later. Having passed on from what we once knew, we remain with our feet in the mud of our current lives. This existence of ours is all too changing.
Yet we eventually let ourselves wander and return to it, whether it is hours or days or months or years later. Something will rouse the powers of recall. The memories may become damp over time but they refuse to disappear. In this way it is the opposite of fickle, it is sustainable. Nostalgia is forever lasting. For a moment in time the bits of bygone days captures your imagination so much that in later days you’ll pray for some type of science fiction-created time machine to transport you back. To return to the past for various reason. To return to your since deceased grandfather so he can bounce you on his knee, your round infant face deep with joy. To return for one more moment with your childhood best friend before they move away and your daily life and relationship is changed forevermore. To return and cherish the moments when you meet the one you will love for the rest of your days. Emotional artifacts that elicit such a strain on your heart are what count, not the trappings of tragedy or oversight that create regret filled scars upon the mind.
Nostalgia owns the innocence of wanting to relive, not change! Nostalgia owns a fantastical yearning for targets known only to your soul. Those feelings are only magnified by concrete items such as photographs or old home videos. They lend a voice or face to the airy pictures and voices that paint a vivid landscape across our minds. These time blown generated memories are easily trumped by viewed timepieces of the naked eye. They stay with us like a finely poignant song that hits just the right spot. Imagine a world without memories, as if we were idly floating by like the walking dead. Some may wish it were this way, to forget and to proceed on. But in my time I have chosen to incessantly remember, just as I hope the memories choose to regulate the memory of me.