The past
few days have been bereft with signs of the ending of summer. Cool, cloudy days
with intermittent showers, the browning of the leaves of the maple trees
outside of my lab, these signs all foreshadowing the start of the rainy season.
I woke
up today under a dimly lit crystal blue sky, receding clouds from the
cloudiness of days past off in the distance, the faint rays of a sun still
barely risen giving my room a shadowy feel. For some reason, I could hear the
sounds much more clearly than I had earlier in the summer: the sounds of
occasional car passing by, the sounds of the leaves rustling in the breeze, and
perhaps mixed with other sounds, like the sound of birds.
This
blending of sounds is indescribable, something only detectable by my
subconscious which triggers other thoughts and memories of my earlier years
when I would wake up to the exact scene and mood, having being heckled to sleep
the night before, jetlagged and profusely complaining that I was not tired. The
previous night (or two nights ago, for one was lost somewhere on the plane
ride) in China I had fallen asleep to the sounds of a never-sleeping city, and
I had woken up back to the waning summer of my native Northwest.
When I
was younger, the days after my return from my annual summer trip to China were
the last gasp of my summer break, the last days of foreboding before the next
school year started.
Now,
today, I feel the same. My summer is about to end. Two reasons:
Today
was my second-to-last day at my summer research position in Dr. Kastrup’s lab.
Two summers ago, when I was a ‘summer student’ at Professor Miura’s lab, I
wished for two things in my next research experience. One of them was to
experience working in a lab in an English-speaking setting. The other was to be
able to design and conduct my own experiments. I vowed to be more serious the
second time around. I did experience all these wishes to some degree, though in
retrospect I still could have been more dedicated.
Perhaps
more importantly, and the reason that triggered this sudden artistic outburst
in a summer so depraved of all things artistic, today was the second-to-last
day that my brother would attend his daycare. When I picked him up in the
afternoon, I noticed that he showed indication of remorse by the end of his
time at the daycare. He had to be reminded by one of the teachers that it was
almost his last day.
My
brother’s actions made me think of my own childhood. I did not have the luxury
of having childhood friends, having changed schools (and daycares, when I was
younger) multiple times. Still, every time I made friends, and even some that,
at the present time in the past, I would call best friends. So, what purpose do
these hundreds of supposedly strong, but ephemeral friendships we make as
children serve?
The
truth is, (at least in my opinion), these friends don’t aid you through your
life’s journey, but rather, just make a certain part of it easier. They add the
embellishment to a normally plain road through life. They are like the bed of
blooming flowers on the side of the road: pretty, but once walked past,
remembered no more.
Sometimes
I think it’s good to make a mental note of all the friends we have made in our
younger years.
