Clovercats Thoughts

Have you ever heard the saying, “You can never go home again”? When I was younger, I don’t think I fully understood what it meant. I always assumed it referred to time - that eventually life would become too busy, that responsibilities would pile up, and that one day you would simply stop returning. It felt like a warning about neglect, about choosing not to go back. Now that I’m a little older, and after enough change has quietly taken place, I think I finally understand what the saying is really about. It isn’t that I don’t want to go home, or that I don’t have the time. It’s that going home, in the way I once understood it, is no longer physically possible. I only realized this when returning to my hometown and noticing how much has disappeared. Buildings I used to pass by every day have vanished, and in their places are new, unfamiliar structures. At a glance everything looks familiar until I look closer. But it's not just the physical changes that are there. People have changed too. Some are no longer there, and the ones that are, might as well be strangers. I guess time changed everyone, I am most likely a stranger in their eyes as well. Home, I've learned, isn't just a place; it's made of people, moments, versions of ourselves that no longer exist. I know I've always been told to appreciate the present by others. I've heard it countless of times, and even agreed with it. But it wasn't until the past became unreachable that I think I fully understood what it meant. You don’t realize you’re leaving something behind until you try to return and find that it’s already gone.

While I am not a physicist, I do take interest in the subject. As such I've taken a couple courses for fun on the topic, and in some of them, they've taught us about entanglement. Entanglement is when two or more quantum particles becomes linked so they share one quantum state. To put it more simply, it is now impossible to write the two particles as two separate entities. Their quantum states habe become correlated, no matter how far away we take the two particles apart after they have become entangled. In fact, this phenomenon is what has won the nobel prize on quantum teleporation. Many people have used this phenomenon in quite clever methods taking advantage of the fact that irresponsible of distance, that they will be entangled still. One such example is quantum teleportation, where through the use of two entangled particles they can 'teleport' a qubits state regardless of the distance between the send and the recipient. In fact, this experiment has been repeated from space and extraordinarily, worked quite well. While this phenomenon is generally talking about particles in Quantum physics - the study of physics on extremely small particles like photons - I can't help but think there is something analogous at a much larger, human scale. Much like those smaller particles, Although I am now very far away from my family and friends, it feels impossible to fully describe who I am without them. There are parts of my personality, habits I don’t notice, and ways of thinking that only exist because of time spent together. In physics, there are many precise and well-defined ways to entangle particles. A simple example is shown below, where a quantum circuit links to particles in a shared state, making it impossible to describe one without also referencing the other. For humans, the mechanism is far less clear. There is no circuit that explains how we become intertwined with one another, there exists no formal definiton for what binds us together. Maybe it is time - shared routines, long conversations, moments together. Maybe it is love, or care, or simply the act of growing alongside someone else. Whatever it is, I am convinced that something real forms, something that persists even when distance intervenes. Whatever it is, I take comfort in the fact that seperation does not undo these connections No matter how far apart I am from the people who matter to me, and regardless of whether our paths cross again in the future, that entanglement remains. I carry them with me, woven into who I am. It is impossible to describe myself without them. They will always be a part of me.

Did you know that when you travel faster than the speed of light, relativity tells us that it's possible for information to travel in time? It wouldn't be time travel the way most movies show it - not a portal to step through to the 1900s or a car that brings us back to our parent's past - rather it would be a quiet fracture in causality. It's possible, using that machine to contact the past. If I had a machine that could travel faster than light, then I think I would take the risk. Of course it's possible that it would tear open a paradox, maybe the universe would protest. But if there was a chance of reaching you in time, I'd go anyways. I would get into my machine, and I'd travel into the stars, faster than 299792458 meters per second. Hurling through space, I'd then make a call. I'd tell you that you are loved. That there are people out there who need you and would miss you more deeply than you realize. And most importantly, I'd tell you to wait up - lets go grab something to eat when I get back.

What a tragedy that humans are limited to one life. For a while I've tried to live my life in such a way so that I would face no regrets: I studied hard even when tired so I would not regret limiting my future opportunities, I went out with friends whenever possible so I would not regret not spending enough time, and I always tried to fit as much into day as possible, doing everything possible. But as life goes on, it seems as though the number of paths life can take increase exponentially and it has now become impossible to chose all of them. But now, It’s no longer feasible to overcommit myself the way I once could. In the past I could do it all: study, be social, relax, go to parties, do research. But now, it is simply not possible for me to be both a writer, a computer scientist, a dancer, a physicist, an artist, a mathematician, a travel influencer all at once. Whatever I choose, a different version of my life will be left behind, and regret is sure to follow. I wonder how it is possible to live a fulfilling life when there is so much things that one will never experience. People say that as you grow older, the desire to chase everything fades. But that feels like a tragedy of its own — as if enthusiasm quietly dissolves and you’re forced to accept whatever choices have already been made Of course, no matter how I feel about the future and the many paths there are to take, I will have to make a choice at some point - to take one road and bid farewell to the remaining ones. But I think a part of me will always wonder about what could have been.

As graduation draws nearer, I find myself growing sullen. In high school, somehow the idea of leaving didn't create this idea of nervousness that I now hold. Maybe it was because back then, I didn't really believe in good bye. There was that belief that everyone would forever stay connected, despite what I had been told by the adults around me. But I argued against them, they had grown up in a time long gone, before the internet and social media and connection had become so easy. But, as I suppose all naive teenagers came to learn this, the adults were correct. Goodbyes really were permanent, and it was possible that I had said my farewells to someone for the last time. Now, I have begun grieving for things that have now left yet. The late night studies with someone who will most likely never cross paths with me again, the spontaneous visits to Mcdonalds or the Gym, even the intense anxiety we have as we all hurried to submit the assignment at 11:59. Someday these people, as prophesied by those older than I, will scatter away, like sand in the desert. I try reaching out, grabbing out to slow the march of time, but its time that I learned you can't hold still running water. But if not with fruitless attempts, how does one deal with this loss? The adults had seemed to leave that part out. Though maybe it's because they themselves had no real answer. Maybe all of us are grasping at the currents of time, trying in vain to slow it all down.

November is gray and lonely. All of the leaves have fallen off their branches by now, the former glory of their red and orange lay trampled in the muddied sidewalks. Although the holiday season draws nearer, the cloud covered skies and early setting sun make it hard for the joy that accompanies them to come. One cognitive milestone for children, coined by psychologist Piaget, is 'Object Permanence'. It is meant to develop when at around two years old, and is the milestone where one can understand that an object or person continues to exist, even when it is out of sight. Although I mastered this concept easily enough, I think I find it hard to apply this same concept with emotions. When the days grow short and winds grow harsher, I become disconsolate and it seems to me then that everything has always been this way and will remain this way forever. On the contrary, when I am happy, it feels as though the world will remain beautiful forever. While this isn't such an issue with positive emotions, it does make these colder months very hard to get through.

Netflix, like many other large corporations, has taken to placing more and more restrictions on it's subscriptions. One of these is the household rule, which only allows people living in the same home to share an account. And since I've been using my fathers account for a couple of years, this policy has become a bit of a nuisance. As a student at an out-of-state school who also spends summer away for internships, I see that message quite often: 'Your device isn't part of the Netflix Household for this account'. And since I usually can't be bothered to call up my father to get the code from the email to log back into the account temporarily, I stay locked out until I'm home again - left to rely on youtube and tiktok for free entertainment. However, the more I'm away from home, the more poetic it feels. Not that I encourage the restrictions of paid-for subscriptions by big corporations, but its as if, by accident, they have become a stand-in for my parents - saying what they don't always say out loud: Come home, please. Just every once in a while.