A Day Before Being

Palak Naz

A long, panoramic vintage illustration in the style of an antique storybook. On aged, deckle-edged parchment, a surreal journey unfolds from left to right. It begins with a small boy gazing at a swirling blue Milky Way galaxy and falling meteors. In the center, a complex scientific diagram of an atom and a 'future milestones' timeline merges with cosmic clouds. To the right, a predatory hawk dives toward a vibrant, blooming flower amidst lush vines and ancient stone ruins. Ornate grandfather clock faces and moon phases are tucked into the corners, symbolizing the passage of time and the fragility of beauty.

An existential prose piece titled 'The Saturday Hypothesis,' exploring the consciousness of a narrator born into the world on a Saturday. The text meditates on the regret of missing 'the day before yesterday' (Thursday), the insecurity of being a mere scientific hypothesis, and the dual nature of being both an admirer and a 'hunter' of beauty. It uses cosmic imagery, moons, Saturn’s rings, and falling meteors to illustrate the desperate human desire to hold onto moments before beauty inevitably fades.

SATURDAY, I am one day old now. I was born a day after Thursday into this world. I didn’t have the ability to watch before the days back. I was not a part of the journey that brought me into the world. It happened, and I was not watchful. But from now on, I will be very alert. If a day before Friday happens again, I will make a track of everything very deeply

and in detail. Because I know the importance of a day before Yesterday. These details could be an experience for my future milestones.

I feel like I am a hypothesis to scientific research. I don’t feel more than an analytical inspection. It’s impossible to believe myself more than a hypothesis. But am I really a mere analysis? No, I don’t think, maybe I am the most valuable part of the hypothesis. But the inclusion of other parts may play a role in inspection.

Insecurities of being unvaluable shrink me towards the thought of how I could possibly protect my integrity. Secondly, in the core of my soul, my esteem towards my aim to be prior diminishes; could my efforts be enough to keep my head upright and sound like a hope.

Entire world seems to be energetic and blossoming than the day before. Yesterday ended in a hush because the weather seemed to be rough.

mountains to be tough, plains to be bushy, and full-on incompetent art, it is quite regrettable. Arts of nature shouldn’t be rushed over those colors remain incomplete; the inflorescence nature fades. New hopes rise with the setting of the sun, making the world noble and enthusiastic to the charm towards the heights of the sky with in captivityof breath. The bright Milky Way is a sigh of relief, but not enough stars to shine brightly like the sigh of sunrise. The moon never knocks, a sword strikes my heart with thought, the moon has fallen apart, the days with phases, charms never remain the same. Beauty fades! It should have been fastened charismatic. If we can only get it back again, Like a day before yesterday.

I could be an admirer of blooming nature. But I could be a hunter. Whoever gets it, hides it. I can undertake it because I know I would do the same. I do admire my passion to bloom, shine, brightness with the core of my heart and soul. It could be dangerous to believe a person who is passionate and an admirer of beauty, but a hunter who never knows how it feels to be prey. I could give up on a prey if it feels charming to be alive, but if hunting feels alarmistic, it will become my Prey. I am afraid of the day when I will be unable to see the charm in sunrise, blooming flowers, and greenery where the beauty of nature lies. There could be a day when the beauty fades, and I will fall out of love with sunsets, rough mountains, and the nights of Autumn.

I wish I could cut off the scent of blossoms from my hands. I would be less eager to cross the phases of the moon; the galaxy could be a whole Milky Way that could be insufficient for stars to shine. I idealize the moon, they are like an incomplete fairytale. I wish I could live on Saturn, where I could have seven moons. I wish I could steal some meteors from the sky. When they first showed, last night, I tried to knock some down with a pole, but it didn't reach, which dumbfounded me; I couldn’t find a trick to clod, I couldn't hit the goal I aimed at. I wish I could have held out a little longer. I wish that the close shots I made may be a reason to have gotten one of them.