It felt like my New Year’s resolutions were still only a few pages back in my notebook. I’m not one to believe in anything like that, though, because my dad once said, “You are born who you are,” and this teacher I had in school explained Einstein’s theory of relativity to me—how time is more of an illusion than anything real or tangible. It seems New Year’s resolutions must mean something to me, in some little part of my brain, though, because each year I write them, and I still feel threatened by deadlines. Perhaps it’s like someone else’s thoughts are the glove, and my brain is the hand; I wear them for a while, taking the glove on and off to suit my current circumstance. Like when it’s nearly the new year, and it would seem I believe in time and years, so I write my little resolutions, taking the glove off to jot down what I would like to bring to life in the coming year. Funny, though, because I must definitely not believe that we are born who we are. I must believe we are capable of change. Saturday, summer. My dad is watering the plants, and we debate whether you can change as a person. We disagree, but we love each other, so it doesn’t matter. Or maybe it does matter because we love each other. I’m not sure. Maybe I am hoping he can change and live forever, and he is hoping I will never change and live forever. Mortality is in your face wherever you look, and all you can do is admit it. P.S. This song is just so cute, and I need it somewhere to remember that it exists one day.