Does Time Really Never Stop?

— On synchronicity, German shepherds, and grief

During the first week after the passing of my grandmother-mother, a haze enveloped me. As much as I tried to carry out my responsibilities, telling myself that time does not stop (and who is it, exactly, that moves time?), something had shifted into slow motion. Thoughts. Movement. The difficulty of making the dinner that I usually do in the blink of an eye. The house slowly accumulates things that have fallen and scattered, from the inside out. My menstruation, which faithfully arrives with every new moon, did not come. My undergraduate dissertation did not come either. Against all rules, the clock broke.

On my daily walks to work at a café facing the beach, I find myself thinking about how strange this whole synchronicity thing is. Recently, I began planning a small house in a quiet place, with a large green yard where I could have a dog and two cats. I started thinking it would be lovely to have a German Shepherd. I like large dogs and all that. Up until then, I thought the breed barely existed here in the United Kingdom because I had “never seen one.” Suddenly, I started seeing German Shepherds everywhere. No exaggeration — it feels as if I cross paths with one every single day. It really makes you reflect, doesn’t it? Is my reality shaped by what I choose to notice and/or ignore? Or does the desire to see something make me capable of seeing it?

Months ago, I decided to spend some time in Brazil during the summer holidays here, after completing my degree. From the few people with whom I shared those plans, I heard that it did not sound sensible “at this moment.” A time of big life decisions. A master’s degree. Employment. Rent that will not pay itself. “Time does not stop!” “You’re always rushing headfirst into things!” It is curious how society seems to harbour an urge to see our bodies as tame and disciplined, following a straight line of servile production. This trip, interestingly enough — planned months in advance — coincided with a period of family mourning.

Time does not stop. In any case, it continues. I should be editing music, but instead I am here writing this text. I should be wearing a white shirt and attending job interviews, but instead, I am in combat boots, mud on my calves, hiking through the south of Florianópolis with my sister. I should be producing, but instead I cry compulsively on the kitchen floor. Between what I want, what I can do, what is possible, and what I set out to do; veils dance in the wind. Time — always — continues. In any case, in all the cases.