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Five years past
May. 9th, 2006 09:20 am“If you could go back in time five years, what would your past self ask you?”
I’d like to think I’d be able to tell myself something useful…but something tells me deep inside that my past self wouldn’t believe me.
He’s probably laugh it off as some kind of dream.
Oh, I can see it now. Five years ago I was working at a movie theater, flying through my junior year of high school. It seems so long ago, like it was yesterday.
[Random note: The pic I'm using for this post was taken during my junior year of high school.]
My past self of five years would know about destroying the whole space time continuum nonsense, then proceed to go on about his theory about how time travel backwards was impossible even though I was right there to offer proof that it was not so.
Then he’d notice that I’d be wearing a University of Tulsa shirt and ask why I wasn’t wearing a University of Arkansas shirt. I’d tell him that there are many things in life that go differently from what I expect.
He’d ask whether or not he would graduate valedictorian. I’d tell him he would make his parents proud.
He’d look sort of embarrassed and inquire if he would have a girlfriend by now. I’d laugh and tell him that he needed to smile a lot more, because he’d never know who’s falling in love with his smile. He’d then comment about how I didn’t answer yes or no, and then we’d say at the same time that I would never answer yes or no.
He’d ask what I would be graduating with. I’d tell him that he wouldn’t be graduating in four years and that he would have to struggle just to graduate. He’d be curious to know what he major he chose. I’d tell him he started out as an electrical engineering major, that he’d make a 4.0 in his first semester, but then things would fall off after that. He’d ask why, but I would tell him that he had many things to learn.
He’d demand to know about what I’m doing in college if I hadn’t graduated by now. I’d tell him that he’d be surprised to know that he got involved in student government, serving on a leadership for a campus ministry and worked as the opinion editor for the campus newspaper, among other things. He’d raise an eyebrow at each one. I’d tell him that he was hiding things deep in his heart that he cared about.
He’d pose a question to know what he cared about. I’d tell him that he come to care deeply about religion and politics and thought a lot about it. Then we’d comment at the same time about how those are the two rudest topics of conversation.
He’d wonder what kind of roommate he would have. I’d tell him that for his first four years he would have a scheming roommate, yet one that he would enjoy hanging out with and someone who would help him grow.
He’d expect to keep in close contact with the friends he know now. I’d tell him that some friends would remain closer than others and that quite a few things about his friends now would surprise him. He’d want to know what those things were. I’d tell him that his friends would know that he was hiding his true self under a mask that hardly ever smiled.
He’d want to know about the friends he made in college. I’d smile and tell him that he would make a wide range of friends. He’d ask what sort of range it was. I’d tell him that he would make friends ranging from very conservative and very liberal ideals, from very religious to very nonreligious ideals, from people heavily involved in sororities and fraternities to people who heavily despised sororities and fraternities, and so on.
He’d ask what I did in my spare time. I’d tell him that he’d be doing the same things he did now: watching sports, playing video games, collecting anime and getting so good at Magic that he’d test to become a judge.
He’d ask me about the one thing about me that would surprise him most. He’d look at me in complete disbelief when I’d tell him that he would be able to cook for himself.
He’d ponder a bit, and then he’d announce he would like to ask one last question. What’s the most important thing that is going to happen in the world in the next five years? I’d respond by asking him if he liked his AP American History class. He would say that he loved it and Mr. Loux’s teaching style. I’d then tell him that something world shattering would happen in five months.
He’d be curious to know what it was. I’d tell him that two passenger jets would crash into the World Trade Center in New York City and that the shockwaves would resonate around the world. America would no longer feel invincible and invade Afghanistan and Iraq to retaliate against a terrorist organization that he’d never heard of.
We’d look at each other for a few minutes.
Then he would ask, “What is the World Trade Center?”
I’d like to think I’d be able to tell myself something useful…but something tells me deep inside that my past self wouldn’t believe me.
He’s probably laugh it off as some kind of dream.
Oh, I can see it now. Five years ago I was working at a movie theater, flying through my junior year of high school. It seems so long ago, like it was yesterday.
[Random note: The pic I'm using for this post was taken during my junior year of high school.]
My past self of five years would know about destroying the whole space time continuum nonsense, then proceed to go on about his theory about how time travel backwards was impossible even though I was right there to offer proof that it was not so.
Then he’d notice that I’d be wearing a University of Tulsa shirt and ask why I wasn’t wearing a University of Arkansas shirt. I’d tell him that there are many things in life that go differently from what I expect.
He’d ask whether or not he would graduate valedictorian. I’d tell him he would make his parents proud.
He’d look sort of embarrassed and inquire if he would have a girlfriend by now. I’d laugh and tell him that he needed to smile a lot more, because he’d never know who’s falling in love with his smile. He’d then comment about how I didn’t answer yes or no, and then we’d say at the same time that I would never answer yes or no.
He’d ask what I would be graduating with. I’d tell him that he wouldn’t be graduating in four years and that he would have to struggle just to graduate. He’d be curious to know what he major he chose. I’d tell him he started out as an electrical engineering major, that he’d make a 4.0 in his first semester, but then things would fall off after that. He’d ask why, but I would tell him that he had many things to learn.
He’d demand to know about what I’m doing in college if I hadn’t graduated by now. I’d tell him that he’d be surprised to know that he got involved in student government, serving on a leadership for a campus ministry and worked as the opinion editor for the campus newspaper, among other things. He’d raise an eyebrow at each one. I’d tell him that he was hiding things deep in his heart that he cared about.
He’d pose a question to know what he cared about. I’d tell him that he come to care deeply about religion and politics and thought a lot about it. Then we’d comment at the same time about how those are the two rudest topics of conversation.
He’d wonder what kind of roommate he would have. I’d tell him that for his first four years he would have a scheming roommate, yet one that he would enjoy hanging out with and someone who would help him grow.
He’d expect to keep in close contact with the friends he know now. I’d tell him that some friends would remain closer than others and that quite a few things about his friends now would surprise him. He’d want to know what those things were. I’d tell him that his friends would know that he was hiding his true self under a mask that hardly ever smiled.
He’d want to know about the friends he made in college. I’d smile and tell him that he would make a wide range of friends. He’d ask what sort of range it was. I’d tell him that he would make friends ranging from very conservative and very liberal ideals, from very religious to very nonreligious ideals, from people heavily involved in sororities and fraternities to people who heavily despised sororities and fraternities, and so on.
He’d ask what I did in my spare time. I’d tell him that he’d be doing the same things he did now: watching sports, playing video games, collecting anime and getting so good at Magic that he’d test to become a judge.
He’d ask me about the one thing about me that would surprise him most. He’d look at me in complete disbelief when I’d tell him that he would be able to cook for himself.
He’d ponder a bit, and then he’d announce he would like to ask one last question. What’s the most important thing that is going to happen in the world in the next five years? I’d respond by asking him if he liked his AP American History class. He would say that he loved it and Mr. Loux’s teaching style. I’d then tell him that something world shattering would happen in five months.
He’d be curious to know what it was. I’d tell him that two passenger jets would crash into the World Trade Center in New York City and that the shockwaves would resonate around the world. America would no longer feel invincible and invade Afghanistan and Iraq to retaliate against a terrorist organization that he’d never heard of.
We’d look at each other for a few minutes.
Then he would ask, “What is the World Trade Center?”
