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“Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence,
three times is a pattern.”
-Christopher Missimo
Time always moved quickly for Felix; too quickly if he was fully being honest. When people say things like “time flies when you’re having fun”, the only thing crossing Felix’s mind is whether they would still say that if they lived in his perspective. Whereas time flowed like a steady stream, clear and perpetual to remember, time barracked Felix like a rainstorm. Unable for him to ascertain a single drop of clarity before it was drowned by torrents surrounding him or threading through his fingers like sand between shaky fingers. The only break from his struggle of certainty was when he found shelter, silence, and fortitude in the calm, iciness of sleep. However, there seemed no interruption to this cycle as he always woke up the next day, lost yet knowing where he was. This unremitting loss of memory could never be explained by doctors, how he could not remember things on command from a year ago when everyone else could, but he could always recall what had occurred during the day he was present in. He was found healthy, and everyone who could remember had their own testimonies but knew that Felix had never suffered from any trauma mental, physical, or emotionally strong enough for his condition. Eventually, after years of acceptance and ignorance, Felix adapted. Well, he had always been adapting, living because he never knew he was different. That his mind worked differently and that others could consider him a freak for his… disadvantages.
However, that’s when things started to change for Felix. Sardonically, it seemed as though hate was his saviour, and little did he know how much it solved his problems. The first time it occurred was when he was in his sixth week in 4th grade, a week after his 10th birthday, 16:37. There were certain things he could remember, of course, patterns especially, but the details of said patterns were always lost to him, not even emotions could be recalled no matter how scarring or euphoric the experience was. Or, so Felix and his family thought. He knew what occurred during the few moments after school didn’t happen to everyone. He knew people around him during class didn’t experience the pure unfamiliarity when the teacher spoke about something that they supposedly mentioned the other day. Furthermore, he knew he wasn’t normal, and apparently, the others made sure he wouldn’t forget. Day after day, Monday through Friday, from 16:00 to 16:45, several classmates would surround Felix and torment him. From pouring expired milk and other liquid substances into his bag to supergluing random objects in his hair. He hardly remembers the details of what they did to him, but from the tender eyes, his mother gave him whenever he came home from these events. The way the teachers looked at him in pity whenever the bully would grab his arm and tell the teacher they were going to play. It always confused Felix, why he got in trouble that day instead of the others.
As usual, the boy grabbed Felix’s arm and dragged him to the backside of the school. He was too tired to fight it, the scabbed over injury was still a tad sore when his knee was forced to move quicker than it had previously. Maybe that’s why he remembers it so vividly. He was pushed down on the hot asphalt, landing on his elbows. That was going to be a bother later. It wasn’t until he heard a yowl did he look back up. The kids were holding a cat, a youthful tortoiseshell stray with one blue eye and one pale eye. For some reason, Felix felt like he knew that cat, an emotion of familiarity flooded through him but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t place the feeling anywhere. An occurrence not unfamiliar, but still a pesky hindrance, especially when he needed to remember.
“Poor Felix can’t remember his dear friend!? I am offended, I would never forget my friends are.” A girl sneered. “Well, I guess that means you wouldn’t care if we just played with him a bit. I’m sure he’d be happier if his friends actually remembered him.” And with that last snide remark, the boy holding the cat threw it to another boy. ‘This isn’t playing’, Felix thought angrily, but instead of saying that and trying to rescue the poor cat from its abuse in a mild manner, he tackled one of the boys. There were several shrieks Rage fuelled his actions and the next thing she knew the cat fell onto the cement and Felix’s knuckles bled after he had punched the kid he tackled. He remembers getting scolded by one of the teachers, by then the cat had walked away, unharmed he hoped, and he remembers the other kids who had run cowered behind their parents.
It was their fault, so why was he being ostracised? It didn’t make sense, but from there, after his mother picked him up with tears pricking the corners of her eyes, everything faded back into hazy darkness and dull sparks of emotions. His memory had failed him again, but at least this was a change. It was a happenstance so far.
“Even if I am plunged into the depths of despair,
if there’s a spider's thread there that I can crawl up,
I’ll take hold of it without giving up.
We humans have the strength for that.”
-Ciel Phantomhive
The second time clarity came to Felix, he was midway through high school and things, to be put simply, could be better- much better. The bullying had ceased after moving out of the country. Here, everyone thought he couldn’t speak the language well. A blatant lie, but it made his life a lot easier. No one questioned him, no one expected him to answer questions, and no one could hurt him for something he couldn’t control. He enjoyed the peace and leisure of his life in this town, but sometimes everything seemed to overwhelm him. It could be his weekend job, the pop quiz the teacher would hand out, or it could be the people around him. This time, it was the people around him and by now, things were a lot more than overwhelming.
When Felix woke up, the first thing that he could feel was a headache as his pesky alarm beeped its way into his skull. Breakfast was dull, just like it always was whenever he cooked and to put a cherry on top of his disaster of a morning, he and his mum were stuck in traffic after leaving the house late because his backpack felt like being a stubborn mule and wouldn’t close.
However, despite it all, there was always something Felix could look forward to whenever he went to school. Despite all the inconveniences that could come his way, there was someone who could make things better. Even if Felix burned holes into his science teacher when she set a quiz on his desk that morning. Things seemed to turn around a little before lunch, a cloudy day opening up to let warm sunlight in. The tedious wait will be worth it , he thought as he walked briskly through the maze of students and halls and towards the cafeteria. He was almost to his destination, taking a shortcut to get there quicker, his body and mind singing at the thought of seeing her. As he turned one of the last corners, he froze. The singing turned into a cacophony of confusion, hurt, anger, and melancholy. Worst of it all, disappointment. Not at the scene in front of him, no, but to himself. He was disappointed that he hadn’t been able to make her happy. He had tried so hard too, for the last few years, he’s been writing journal entries to be able to remember the small and large things about his days. Ultimately, he knew it wasn’t all for nothing, but it felt like it did, so instead of approaching them, he turned around and walked the other way. His body felt heavy and the world seemed to fade from existence. He knew he wouldn’t be able to eat today.
By the time he arrived home, he didn’t know what he was feeling, emotions blurring into white noise in the back of his mind. Too loud but too quiet yet dissonant. His nerves prickled and his skin fluctuated between scalding and freezing rapidly. Heartbreaks hurt, he realised with dry humour, a lot more than the novels told, especially the first. He went to his room, locked the door and just sat on the ground. His clothes rubbed uncomfortably against his skin, but he was frozen. He didn’t know how long he sat there, empty eyes unable to express how his emotions overflowed his comprehension. Eventually, however, he heard a knocking at his door.
“Felix? Dinner is ready, come on down please.” His mother said with her honey-sweet voice, and for some reason, hearing his mother speak to him normally, as if he wasn’t heartbroken, was the last straw.
“No, go away.” He said, voice devoid of emotion. “I don’t want to eat with you, why can’t you just leave me alone for one meal?”
“Felix, I would like for you to eat with your father and I as a family.” His mother’s voice hardened, and it only fuelled his emotional state.
“Why? There’s no use, it’s just one meal. Can’t you stop being clingy and ardent for us to be together for one hour? I’m going to move out anyway, might as well get used to not being desperate for two other people at the table.” He said bitterly.
“Don’t you talk to me like that Felix. You aren’t old enough to understand.” Came the reply.
“Treat me as an adult for once, can you? I’m not some child, so stop treating me like I am some toddler and grow up. I’m almost an adult, and right now, you’re acting more like a child than I am.” Regret replaced the burning in his mind and heart and before he could get a reply, the memory faded away with a splash of dark blue emotion.
“When you don’t know where to go,
the best way is to walk down the road you have been walking on.”
-Kim Namjoon
The third and final time he came to lucidity he was far into his adulthood, yet he still felt like a child. He was sitting at a dinner table at his parent’s house. His father, who had otherwise been vacant for a majority of his upbringing, was glaring at him. And Felix, being the ever peaceful and conflict avoidant angel, glared back with equal intensity. Honestly, he doesn’t fully remember why he was so indignant to his father but for some reason, he thinks his father deserves it. God bless his mother though, sitting next to him trying to lighten up the mood with her famous casserole and later on, cheesecake. “I can’t believe you wasted our money like that, you ungrateful leech.” His father hissed. Alas, his mother’s wishes for a peaceful dinner were neglected.
“Why the hell would you care?” Felix replied equally as pissy. “You never cared when I broke my arm. You never cared when I said I wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger. You never even said ‘hey maybe you should reconsider what you’re going into for college’. You have no right to say that when you weren’t even there for my childhood or upbringing.”
“Young man, you better be grateful for everything I have given you when you lived under this house. I have worked harder than you ever will so that you were able to have a comfortable life for your childhood. I have worked harder than anyone else in this household.” His father replied, a fire burning in his eyes.
“You didn’t even raise me!” Felix yelled, he was no longer upset at the fact his father was telling him he was basically useless. You could say any harsh thing about him, but you were never allowed to say anything about his mother. Call him a mama’s boy, because he is one. “You dumped the full care of a child, another human being , onto mum. Where were you, huh? Where were you to shoulder some of the responsibilities of taking care of your own child so that he would actually know you? I’ll tell you where you were. You weren’t.” He hissed out the last sentence quietly.
“Then the least you could do for your mother, for this family, is sustain a decent job, making use of your degree. Instead, you just rot in your little ‘studio’ making things that no one will care about. Instead, you hang out with that good for nothing friend group of yours instead of preparing for a future where one day you will have to take care of your mother and I.” His father shot back.
If insulting his mother was bad, insulting his friends was worse. “‘That good for nothing friend group’? They are better companions than you could ever be. They’ve made up for everything I haven’t been able to learn from you. I never knew tossing and catching a ball was something sons would do with their fathers. And why do you think my hobby is what I am going to do for the rest of my life? The money I make comes from the hard work and effort I’ve put into both my ‘useless’ hobby and job. How many jobs did you go through before-”
“Enough!” His father shouted, and for a brief moment, everything was still. “Get out of my house. We can talk again when you’ve grown up and can actually listen to reason.” With that final comment, he left the dinner table and stormed off to his office. Felix didn’t even hear a door slam because he was already gone by then.
The next thing Felix knew was that he was walking down the street, aimlessly. He knew he should have gone home after the argument, he still had things to attend to the next day, but despite his better judgement he had visited a bar. So here he was, walking towards where he knew home was, stumbling slightly as his mind raced. The stars greet him like an old friend when he decides to look up. He remembers through his alcohol-induced, foggy mind, reading that he used to love stargazing in one of his first entries. If he stared long enough, he could almost feel like he was floating through the seemingly never-ending void, darkness and serenity washing over his troubled mind. Yet, just before everything turned back into the inky blackness, he noticed something. A stranger, standing a little way in front of him.
“Hey mate, are you alright?”
“Life is tough, and things don’t always work out well.
But we should be brave and go on with our lives.”
-Min Yoongi
As Felix thought back to the moments of his youth, he holds no animosity towards those who bullied him. Nor did he hold animosity against himself for ending up single in his octogenarian years. His mother had forgiven him for what he’d said and their relationship had been a pleasant one till her death. His father may have been negligent, as fathers are, but he understood that his father cared about his family underneath his gruff exposure. It wasn’t obvious, and it was hard for him when he was younger, but Felix is grateful for what his father was able to give him.
As he sits on the cushioned chair that has been with him for countless times, years of age, memory and emotion engraved in the notebook in his venerable hands, he watches the snowfall from the safety of his quaint house as he writes his last entry. He is satisfied with how he has lived even if he doesn’t remember it.
Today has been a good day. One like the many others since retirement. I can’t help but wonder what feels different today, however. But never mind that. Today, I decided to take a trip through memory lane, to see and experience the fruit of my youth one last time. I dug out the old notebooks from when I was younger and read them. I must say I am embarrassed at how sappy I was in my teenage years, not to mention how boring my early adulthood was. Nevertheless, as I read through numerous entries, my mind couldn’t help but wander further. I recollected the day I ‘saved’ that heterochromatic cat but got suspended because of it. I revisited the time I first got my heart torn to shreds leading to a wave of insignificant, harsh words directed to my mother. I remembered the day Father and I had finally gotten into it and I had to get escorted to my apartment after getting wasted. I am not proud of those moments, but I can’t help but feel some pride that those are the only moments I lost myself. Sadly, I am starting to get tired now, this may as well be my last entry to my epoch. As for the difference in today, I see a kitten sitting on my windowsill when I look out my window and into the sea of floating snow in the pinkish hues of the sunset. A young tortoiseshell with a blue eye and a pale eye, (I feel like I’ve seen her before.) I am glad to say I am satisfied. A feat I know not everyone can say in their last days.
This was My epoch, a compilation of the days I could never remember. Thank you to all those who were able to stay with me throughout my years. And as my time comes to an end, I will cherish the moments I am able and unable to recall no matter how dry or lively they may be. Ultimately, my life can only be described in two words from the oh so romantic language of France. “Never seen”. Jamais Vu.