Memories. They are what make our lives worthwhile, they are what we leave for others to remember us by. One too many are the times when we have regretted not seizing a memory while it lasted. But, alas, we never know it is a memory while it happens. We are either too busy living it or too preoccupied at the time to realise its significance. Of course, there are other cases too, where we are very much into capturing the experience in digital images and storing it away for later viewing, so much so that we forget to appreciate and relish it as it happens. When we look back at the pictures, we would not have any memories, because we were only clicking away when we should’ve also been taking in the moments. Save for the few junctures when we make and capture memories, we feel a touch of compunction for the lost and hazy ones. The flip side is, there are certain incidents which we might not want to think twice about, and we would be grateful for such memories to be lost. However, memories made and lost are our own, and how we choose to ruminate about them is entirely left to us.
While pictures bare the candid veracity of such memories, whether good or bad, written words give us new or different acumens about the same. I recently read the poems I had written about 4 years back, when I had only begun high school, with all the innocence and zeal of a 14-year-old. It was when I had my first heartbreak, which left me thinking that the world is a cruel, cruel place and “love” is brutal. Now I know different, and it was anything but love. It was infatuation at its simplest, and I was only too caught-up in my own happy world to know it. My poems took me through the short spell with him, the heartbreak and my thoughts as I found more about myself, the world, and the ever arcane love.
My own naivety surprised me, as I kept reading more and went on to my words of adoration about my next love (notice the absence of quotation marks). It was what some might call puppy love, and a little bit more. It was beautiful, and it was a time of happy abandon. But just like everything else in life, the feelings changed, we changed, and it ended all too soon, exactly after a year. It left me even more broken than before, and I didn’t trust anyone else with my heart again for a while, although it was followed by a rebound. And then a few other mistakes I wish to forget. In between these mistakes, I painfully fell in love again, and this time, it was only me. It wasn’t reciprocated, and it hurt so much more than before. Again, trust issues with people cropped up. I came out of it after almost a year and could never look at him the same way again. In a way, it was relieving, even liberating. I saw how blind I had been before.
Another bout of mistakes and confusions happened. Half feelings and whole words were told. I was both the devil and the angel. I turned the tables. Unknowingly, I was the one inflicting pain. But it was my medicine and I was slowly healing under made-up feelings and sweet words. I began to open my heart again. By the end of my school life, I had begun to fall in love again. Madly, deeply. Dangerously.
The bliss, the unshakeable image of him in my mind, the shy smile kissing my lips with every sweet thought, the longing to see his beautiful face, the thumping heartbeats and the goose bumps on my skin in response to his tender touch. They are etched in my mind and heart forever, memories to tell our kids when they would open up to us about their own take on love. But for now, these memories are here for you to read.