& we learned how the crystalline scream of snowflakes hitting water sounded?
Wasn't that when gene therapy began and we began to knit the broken threads of DNA?
& the deep-space thrum rhythm of solar heartbeats was found?
Didn't prions causing mad cow disease rampaged across the European fields,
as we learned how hardy, resilient fungi survive in space?
That year didn't John Adams compose the rhythmic tones of "El Niño"
as Putin firmly stepped onto this world's fractured stage?
Yes!
Then JP Norman explored new horizons
& Gwendolyn Brooks bid farewell to poetry.
So why remember that ‐ or any year?
Perhaps because the past isn't a map behind us ‐
it is a pulse, a breath, a living ghost dwelling within you and me now.
The familiar coffee shop was cool, smelling of cedar, bitter coffee, and the sharp, metallic tang of old computers. Outside, a soft rain drummed against the roof—a rhythm that felt like a ticking clock. Soo pulled a heavy, leather-bound almanac from the shelf, its pages yellowing at the edges.
Tracing a finger over the headline 'The New Millennium', Soo added, "Twenty-five years ago. It feels like a dream now, doesn't it? That year we thought the computers would die, but instead instead we just watched the world reinvent itself."
Andrei leaned against a stack of crates with arms folded, "It’s the strange juxtaposition that gets me. Back in 2000 we were obsessed with the rot of Europe's cattle—madness on the ground—while simultaneously discovering that life, in the form of simple fungi, could survive the absolute freezing void of space. We were looking down in fear and up in wonder at the exact same time."
Ellesha whispered softly, almost to herself, "Every century is a reflection point. It is a chance to think about what has changed, and what has stayed the same.""
Jules skeptically, swirled a glass of tea, "And so many things that need to change remain steadfast. The status quo continues, though superficial window changing takes place."
Soo closed the book with a soft thud, "Maybe not during breakfast, Jules. But Liao is right about this poem. We don't just 'remember' 2000. We are 2000. We aren't just observers; we are the containers for everything that has already happened."