Nestled in the quiet village of Ōtsuchi, hidden along an unassuming stretch of road, lies a small garden. At its entrance stands a light blue metal arch, where beyond it, a classic white, glass-paned booth (resembling a phone booth) stands amidst the greenery, lending a quaint, almost fairytale-like charm to the scene. Inside, a black old school rotary phone rests on a thin strip of white table. For its visitors, they would simply pick up the phone, dial the number and start speaking. It is common to see these individuals speak about their present lives in great detail, reminiscing recent memories to a loved one. Only that there is no one listening—just memories from an unforgotten past, trapped in the silence of time. They are speaking to the deceased, wishing that their voices can transcend this earthly plane, knowing full well that it will not.
I remember first seeing it online in a Youtube video, where a grandmother and her 2 grandchildren squeezed tightly in that small booth. They spoke of their lives that have moved on since the passing of their grandfather. Their focus was on the present, while their audience remained in the past. As they spoke warmly about their lives, it felt like they had moved on from the past whilst still remaining intimately connected with it. To me this reflects the delicate balance of having to move on with life so as to not be weighed down by the past, whilst still holding onto one’s memories in a way that enriches their present. This process of reconciling past and present is a fine line as the past is neither erased nor overwhelming, instead serving as a meaningful thread in the ongoing narrative of our lives.
I was 18 at the time of viewing. Like most of us, I had just gone through 2 years of Junior College (JC) and it was hard. Taking the A-Levels in Singapore felt like an endless marathon of sleepless nights and constant pressure, something made worse by the disruptions of COVID-19. Yet for me the hardest part of the 2 years was not the studying or the pandemic, but the challenge of moving past my father’s passing. He died just a few weeks before my O- levels and for the next 2 years I barely had any time to mourn. I was consumed with regrets and became overly uptight during my two years in JC. My mind was plagued with hypotheticals like ‘What if I had done better academically, would he have passed feeling more at ease?’, or ‘What if I spent more time with him, would he have lived a happier life?’. It was these kinds of thoughts that entrenched my life in the past, and so determined to avoid further mistakes, I took everything too seriously, turning the JC experience into a more painful journey than it needed to be. However, witnessing the maturity that these children had in dealing with their grief gave me an epiphany.
Picture a line: one end marks our birth, the other, death. A single dot moves steadily along it—that dot is the present, which can be seen in two ways. The ‘past-present’, and the ‘future present’. The former represents the present defined by the past, one that is fixed and cannot be changed. We live in it and we cannot do anything to change it. The latter refers to the present that shapes the future. It is whatever we are currently doing that alters the future, be it in the long run or short run. It is the part of time that we have control over. The utility of this logic stems from its ability to provide us with a better sense of time and direction. Understanding that we are our past enables us to plan ahead, gaining the ability to set goals and pursue dreams that are authentic to ourselves.
In the months leading up to university, I had been filled with fear. The pain of the past that haunted my JC years was still there, and the thought of repeating those mistakes was something I was determined to avoid. I resolved to approach life differently, focusing on the present rather than dwelling on the past. Instead of worrying, I sought to focus on the present, and take things easier on myself. I wanted to embrace everything university life had to offer, and so constantly sought new experiences. Though the fear of making mistakes and regretting them still lingers, and my past continues to shape me, I have learned not to let them dictate my present decisions.
In the 3 years since JC, I have changed a lot. I still miss my Dad. I wished he had been there—to see my A-level results, to watch me finish National Service, and one day, to celebrate my graduation. I’ll wish for his presence at every milestone, but I’ve learned to accept his absence. After all, I have no control over the past, but I have reflected on it and gained plenty. Just like the mourning process enabled by the wind phone, I have learnt to internalise the past and use it as a way to make a better future.
This is not a story of loss. It is a perspective on time. Time is a tool, and it can be both very painful and hopeful. It will hurt to think about our regrets and feel powerless because we cannot change the past. However it also empowers us by reflecting our ability to consistently shape the future. So live in a present that is not dominated by either. Live in the memories and lessons of the past, treasure it and hold on tight to it. But take charge of the future so as to create a life that is authentic by learning from the past. As corny as it sounds, the present is a present. It is a gift that we have the luxury of experiencing and it is fleeting yet beautiful.
Cover photo taken from Robin Lewis from Google Maps
Banner Photo: taken from Matthew Komatsu via openverse
About the Author
Javier majors in Political Science and Economics, but his true passion is studying the greatness of Lebron James. Besides watching clips of the king, Javier has also been seen vibing to Coldplay, clocking 142,000 listening minutes in 2024.