Salvador Dali’s The Persistence of Memory is an image of analog hand watches melting, as a jagged cliff overlooks them in the background. The cliff is illuminated by a soft Sun, and coming from the east, seems to rise over the landscape. The sea touches the cliff gently,mirroring the pace at which the hands of the clocks in the foreground seem to drip into the ground beneath. The landscape maintains its stiffness, a sharp contrast to the fluidity and liberty with which the clocks navigate their immediate surroundings. It is as if to say that the objects, colours, and places we remember are as irrelevant to time, as time is irrelevant to them.
I am afraid of time. Our one certainty is our own demise and time is the hand that delivers it. To build at a life, find a purpose, meaning, to love, is to invest in a cause that will bleed, just as time does, into the landscape of everything that will remain in spite of you. And I have invested plenty, I am sure, into the living of life such that I can no longer be afraid of time. But it is never enough. I can only hope that time will afford me the luxury of dulling its own fatal blow.