Memories & Poems

Memory is a mysterious thing, sometimes you forget what you believe is important, and often times you remember insignificant details of your day, some people even remember that which never happened. I think it can be called illusion.

I do not know when I started to notice it, but throughout my days I always seem to catch a glimpse of it, laying innocently on my desk, or almost falling off the bed, sometimes even half hidden under some papers. It has followed me for a while now, years pass and it grows old with me, its shape has changed, the smell is completely different now, but no less attractive.

It has been a loyal companion, has seen and noted my struggles, my happy moments, and now it is battered with age as I am. When I was gifted it, almost as an afterthought, I did not realise how important a role it would play in my life, it was only one small present, a side character.

I would like to open up and say that I have struggled with melancholy almost my whole life, we have been 'frenemies' since my young days, people around me do not understand even when they sympathize, but I do not blame them, you can hardly understand something you have never experienced. And so, my side character became my side-kick of sorts; although at first frequently forgotten.

Our journey started, I'm sure, when I thought I was alone even surrounded by others, and even if I remember the day I realised it, I do not recollect the day it started. It was sunny, beautiful by anyone's standards, I was laying on my bed feeling empty when my hand bumped something, I did not look, but caressed its smooth back with the tip of my fingers. It was a weird sensation that I could never replicate, to focus all of your attention on one single touch, electrifying.

Our second encounter we fought, days or maybe weeks passed before we found each other again, it gave me a cut as I ripped its very first page. It was my fault, my shortcomings weighting on me made it so. Even when you gladly offered your pristine pages for me to vent my emotions, I rebelled against them, denial is the word.

Third time is the charm they say, whoever they are. I came to apologise, to fill you with something beautiful, even if at the time I could not see the splendour of it. It was a mystery to me how whenever I was in need, you were there; I would bump into something and you would fall down, or someone would ask about you, it made me jealous I am ashamed to admit, you are the keeper of my secrets and I gave you no right to release them, even if you are powerless to stop it.

I could have treated you better.

Someone discovered you one day, a friend, maybe a lover. They did not shun you, nor me; but recognized the power you held over me, and I am glad to say they cherished it as theirs. I knew then, I found the one.

As time goes by, your glossy cover turns dull and cracked, you are scarred and tarnished with ink. You reflect myself inside and out, you brought me happiness and fortune, you encouraged me to open myself; a treasure trove with no lock.

As your pages fall apart, I decide to release my soul to the world not believing it would matter much; Imagine my surprise when proved wrong, our first award and prize changed my life. Twenty thousand dollars, I understand now that material fortune is different from spiritual fortune, but I am alive and I needed it. It gave me the freedom I lacked to pursue my dreams. This late in life and you still gift me such sweet surprises, how such a tiny thing, no bigger than my hand, could have a presence so large; I saved your last page when you were filled to the brim with moments, you know how special that is, no matter how many other ones I use, only you will hold the last piece of me.

With you I leave my last poem:

"To the stars I hail

To the earth I'm the frail

Body of dust, piece of its being.

The odd, the fair, the light

How life is a fright,

But also a delight."

In the corner of my room its is to be found my little magical black notebook, put to rest encased in a box made of glass.

Thank you, my friend.