Balderdash Thoughts, Incidents

There are too many books I haven’t read, too many places I haven’t seen, too many memories I haven’t kept long enough

purple pink smoke

I was brushing my teeth the other day, looking in that foggy, droplet-stained mirror so early in the morning when the pictures started to move in my head so thick and fast. Childhood. I don’t care about that era, just like I don’t care about the teens that passed. I don’t even remember being a child. I have flushed away those memories so perfectly. I do that, I can erase an entire era from my brain if it has so much as one painful event. But I have never been fortunate to have one bad event, one is always chasing the other. I don’t think anyone ever is. I may remember the event, but everything else just melts away. And soon the memory itself fades. Taking every feeling, but numbness, away.

I suddenly saw my dad in a ward sitting right next to me. Wearing his glasses, reading the back of this new medication doctor had perscribed. Mom was back home, dad never brought her because she freaked out seeing me all hooked up to wires. I saw him carrying me around and getting me over to have my height and weight checked, all the while helping me hold the oxygen mask. Somehow I cannot remember the conversation. I don’t remember one conversation with my parents in my childhood. Or with anyone, as a matter of fact. No words or sentences, just silent pictures that move sometimes. I do remember once in a hospital I had to have stitches on my arm due to an injury and I screamed on top of my voice My Father will kill you if you try to hurt me. He’s in army. He has a gun

(He’s never had a gun, at that time I did not know that he was an army doctor. I just knew he wore the uniform. Kids can be so dumb)

And I saw him telling me I was like seven sons to him. And telling me it will all be over soon. I can’t remember how he said it. I can see his lips moving, but I can’t hear his voice. And I so remembered the gray walls of those wards and the chemical smell of the masks I breathed through, and those green inhalers and the box of Pringles I used to get every time we came from the hospital.

And I can see my mum waiting, wide eyed, when we returned. I don’t remember what dad said and what she replied. I can see their lips moving, but I don’t hear their voice

So I just rinsed my mouth, splashed water on my face and popped a pill before the pain in my arm would shoot up. It hasn’t hurt in months now but the anticipation is a trigger itself. Some memories just become demons and never stop chasing, some pasts are so deeply rooted in the present that to erase them is to melt away…dissolve and vanish.

I am not too worried about it

cleaning foggy mirror

(Title: Quote by Irwin Shaw)

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4 thoughts on “There are too many books I haven’t read, too many places I haven’t seen, too many memories I haven’t kept long enough”

  1. It worries me when I have so few memories from my childhood. I feel as if my life began when I turned nineteen.

    When I am fifty, I wonder, will I forget what I am thinking now? Will my life have “started when I turned thirty-five?”

    I worry about this. I think it’s why I write, really.

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