Oh, mate, now I hear The Beatles in my head. Paul McCartney crooning “Yesterday.” Why do you give me earworms with such staying power? I’ll never think of anything else today except yesterday. What I really want to think about is any other day. Not yesterday.

Please use the open space below to share your comments on the topic “yesterday.”

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

4 thoughts on “Yesterday”

  1. “Yesterday” I thought about today so that my tomorrow had a greater chance of making memorable yesterdays. we remain within the positive vector of the ever changing moment of the “Cognitive Age”, standing face pressed upon the cracked glass of tomorrow with the weight of yesterday bearing down upon us.

  2. Yesterday I finished a book, a memoir published in 2008, titled SOMEWHERE TOWARD THE END by a elder, older then even than myself now. Although it contained tales of her yesterdays, to my mind – and I think, hers – it was much more about who and where she is today and will be tomorrow. Humorous, philosophical, serious, appreciative, lover of persons (with some who returned that love in very special ways). She looks “… TOWARD THE END” with clear eyes and clear heart. Human to the core.

  3. Yesterday is in the past tucked away now in the memory bank of the brain. Yesterday can make you smile or make you cry. Yesterday can be full of pride or regret. Yesterday can be a day to remember or to forget. A lesson learnt or to be taught.

  4. Yesterday is bygone . Yesterday, was, and therefore, is not threatening anymore.
    Yesterday and day before that, it rained . Today is brilliant and blindingly sunny. On the surface , the mud puddles are drying up and the slush acquires the dusty sheen of dryness , within hours. When you dig deep , the soil retains the moisture for much longer than it seems . It may be moist weeks hence.
    Same with life . As Salman Rushdie says in his Midnight’s Children” yesterday leaks into today and stays there in puddle.”
    There is a school of thought that says , you can never get rid of your past. It stays with you , forever. Subconsciously , colouring your thoughts , speech and actions .
    I have seen this more of late . When I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I find my parents , and a strange juxtaposition of both , rather, staring out at me .
    Some times , in a haze of anger , an ancestral expletive slips out of the tongue, where it must have sat patiently , for so many years, unaltered, unfettered. It takes everyone by surprise. Even me . For it has waited so long , that no dictionaries tell its meaning , and no one living does too, even me . I have just parroted , what I had heard , so many years ago, in a haze of some one else’s righteous anger.

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