I Write To Remember

Today, I write because words escape me.
Today, I write because it is my last day,
I write because I want to
preserve this memory forever.
Today, I write to create a memory.

Memories are tricky things.
There have been innumerable instances
when I was emotional
enough to want to preserve,
remember, recall that one moment
and it will be like my mind
has flipped open a diary and it writes,
“pg 73, dated September 7, 2016, 17:16
Hauz Khas Village, w. friends” or
“pg 108, dated August 29, 2014, 08:33
Home, just woken up w. sister” or
“pg 7, dated January 3, 2012, 23:41
Home, crush messaged,”
and I remind myself of the date
and time and the people,
over and over and over.

What I remember instead is:
sleepover at my friend’s house and the
sky and the city from the fifteenth floor balcony
and my sister, chastising me
for having eaten the rest of the cake
she had saved for her friends
and Babaji calling me ‘special,
his favorite granddaughter’ when
I fetched him a glass of water.

But today, I force myself to
remember the last day (and night)
in the house, home,
I’ve called mine for over half my life.
I force myself to remember the
quotes on my wall and the
Kurt Cobain suicide note that I painted,
along with a beautifully,
carefully given carelessly-busy
look I have to the pin board
with all my papers. I photograph
the dirty, old One Direction
posters on the wall and the fairy
lights that dance around it,
the guitar in the corner,  the
two books on my bedside,
the photograph exhibit that I
made for my room after my final exam.
I imbibe in the memory, the
sweet smell of the talcum powder
and the harsh one of the deodorant.

Today, I write for my room,
I write for the most selfish
reasons because today I write
for myself. I write for the nostalgia
that will hit me in the gut
when I see a blue that is similar
to the one on my walls
and the familiar smell that
comforted me in the dark, lonely nights,
and the happiness I felt
sneaking Maggi in the dead of the night
to go with my latest binge
watch program.

Today, I write for myself
and that’s the best I can do
before I collapse in tears
at what I am leaving behind.

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