I want to record every moment in my day, in my life. I want to make a note of it so I remember what it was before it isn’t anymore. It isn’t a new habit, it is one forged after years and years of repetition.
But you don’t expect to lose it. You don’t expect a wave to wash through your home and erase all the reminders you saved. I am slowly forgetting what I looked like as a kid, as struggle to remember my lost journals and photo albums destroyed by disasters of life. Wind, water and fire. Now when I write or draw on a piece of paper, I feel a faint sting. Why the effort when I might lose it tomorrow. Someone else would be raping my belongings, not knowing how much love went into collecting those pieces of me.
So whatever I do now, I take a picture from my phone and lock it in the clouds. I go to the library and give them back the books I borrow, no longer wanting to buy, own and keep.
It is a beautiful, bittersweet feeling of disconnect.