If we were to chart out a schematic of feelings, what would we do with nostalgia? Nostalgia can only happen to a creature who muses on the ideal which was yesterday. Nostalgia commands the present with a demented delusion of grandeur. The mirage of nostalgia yields forth a phantom oasis, a pretense of historical opulence – as if our past life appeared agreeable in proportion to its distant vantage. The present moment reveals an unsatisfactory emptiness and gives way to an aching, yearning return to what was. But how could yesterday have been so exquisite that it dares quench today’s burning thirst? It cannot, and the pensiveness of nostalgia must always collapse in upon itself and turn to angst, boredom and spleen. When you are nostalgic, you long for whom you were. Your reminiscence acts like a mirror that reflects an image that no longer exists, an echo bounding what was but will never again be. Nostalgia furnishes an escape, a flight of reverie from the burdensome predicament which is today to the diversion of what is no more. Serving as a kind of temporal resonance, the feeling of nostalgia bends time in around and upon itself, as if decades were condensed in moments. It seems that the opposite of nostalgia is not reality, but rather desire. Desire prods and goads because it serves the active dimension of emotion. Desire shapes whom you will be tomorrow, nostalgia seizes you in yesterday’s web. Desire catalyzes valiant potential, while wistful nostalgia metamorphoses dreams into fossils.