Memory Stash

I want a bench, somewhere, anywhere, overlooking a water body perhaps or maybe a park or even just a plain street facing a wall. I just want a bench. I shall sit on it and contemplate, think, philosophize, write and also read to my heart's content. Watch those shadows of huge oak trees as they play with the gravel. Listen to the birds and pay heed to their serenade. Hum a piece of music that has been making an appearance in my dreams. Maybe see a squirrel nibble on its supper or an ant making its journey back home after a laborious day. Touch softly the rough bark like texture of the bench or the smooth cold stone or even the shiny hard plastic. Soak everything in while time stands by. The bench serves as a portal to another dimension, it opens up the gates to a different world. Once you sit, you are teleported to a new perspective and from there, the world seems a happy place. You can feel the harmony in your gut as long as the setting sun shines its fancy colors all over your...

The Uber driver that took me to the airport was just amazed by my work and my looks, he even asked if I was single so that he could set his son up with me. He wished me luck for the interview and said he had a feeling that I was going to get it. When I came back that night, my Uber driver was a sweet lady who reassured me of the same thing. Surprisingly, as I was getting out of the cab, LT called me on my phone to let me know that I had got the job. I rushed to the house into CJ's arms and celebrated! This was a great day.

It is unfortunate how little I remember my mother. To be fair, I was only seven when she passed, and it is possible that my brain has erased the trauma from my memories. Sadly, this has resulted in erasing my mother’s memory almost completely from my mind. There were no smartphones at the time and only special occasions were captured on film. Some old photographs help me recreate some of the birthdays I spent with my mother. There should have been video footage of my aunt’s wedding that featured her, but that camera was stolen. Much like the memories that time stole from me. My family recounts their stories from that time. Every story is different and heavily laced with bias. Did you know that the brain sometimes overwrites your actual memory with an edited version of that memory? Basically, memories in the brain can be edited through personal perspectives and bias. I have heard conflicting accounts about the same incident from different family members. And I trust them all. I spent mo...

The bus lady stopped me to praise my scarf! People love my dupattas.

M hugged me today. She was so excited about the undergraduate recruitment event we were planning! I was so flattered.