Spartan Daily - Serving San Jose State University since 1934

Issue date: 5/13/08 Section: Opinion

Lindsay Bryant

There were a lot of things I didn't get to say. A lot of editorials and opinions I didn't write - a lot of words I didn't get to use.

Some might have been valuable or worth more or read more, but some things are better left unsaid.

There is a short story, an anecdote at best, that I never had the chance to tell and if not for this last time to write on this Tuesday in May, I might not continue.

I was 18, living in the Bricks. My roommates and I would do what any other SJSU freshmen did on weekends: go to "late night" at the Dining Commons, walk to La Vics or Pizza My Heart when we were bored, or sneak through the back doors at Camera 12. We would buy PopTarts and watch MTV and study and instant message one another in the same room.

We would wander around 10th and 11th Streets on Thursday nights going from house party to house party, then stop at 7-Eleven for ice cream as the night turned to morning.

The memories are fond, but to stray from the typical sentiment we all might share as

college students, I'll stop at a point in time that was easy.

Sometime between then and now, there was a person whom I met and I liked. We spent time playing pool downstairs and watching movies from a bunk bed. That freshman summer, he was driving through California and stopped by my house just to say "hi." I don't remember if the stop was out of his way, but it resonates with me even still today.

One summer later, I got a phone call that I couldn't do anything about. There was nowhere to go.

I was stuck four hours away. His life had ended, and I felt like I was stuck in slow motion.

I no longer feel attached to the feelings I had before. Now they are just fluttering memories

I am reminded of ever so often.

I still haven't fully understood why, but I think even if I could have seen him one more time I wouldn't have.

Hindsight isn't 20-20. It's blind - blind to the feelings that you feel in your gut, feelings that make your heart beat faster or your heart stop or your heart ache. Those feelings can't be repeated. They are not presumptive and sometimes unrecognizable.

Love is blind too. And does not judge; waters cannot quench it neither can floods drown it.

This is a page ripped from my diary and one I can't get back. I could have, should have, wanted to do something about what had

happened. But it was over and when things end the only view is skyward.

I made a list one time. It was a long list of "keywords" from my life. They are words that I hoped would trigger a memory. They are listed in a red spiral notebook, unnumbered and cover 11 pages.

Some words I laughed at. Some, I still can't figure out what they mean.

They were written during a time when my biggest worry was about how many bagels I could take from the D.C. and finding my math class in MacQuarrie Hall.

On the line after I wrote his name, I scrawled "The end."

I can't remember why I wrote that, but I re-assigned the reason. It was the end to memories I'll faithfully protect.

The blank pages are reserved for my hindsight. And for what is to come.

My eyes are skyward and so is our potential.

And if I write those two words again, may I remember their purpose and their memory.

My hindsight may be blind, but there is a lot of world to see.

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