If Memory Is Unkind

 Things I pray I never forget with age:

• sitting in uni with far too many tabs open, three deadlines approaching, a half-written paragraph, and the completely delusional conviction that I will figure it out
• the thrill of finding a sentence in a book so good that I have to put the book down for a second
• the feeling of discovering a writer who says something I had felt for years but had never been intelligent enough to articulate
• the version of me who highlighted everything in my school textbooks
• how many versions of myself I have already been: literature student, editor, poet, theatre person, researcher, academic weapon on some days and academic victim on others, and so on…
• the fact that I once genuinely believed a bad grade meant the world had ended
• and then getting a score I never expected and realising — “Oh. Maybe I am actually good at this!”
• the ridiculous happiness after gulping down a well-cooked meal
• the exact feeling of laughing with someone until the conversation stops making sense
• the chaos of college festivals. the posters. the rehearsals. the last-minute changes. the WhatsApp messages at obscene hours. the collective panic followed by the inexplicable feeling that we actually pulled it off
• the feeling of walking out of a class with twenty new questions and no answers
• the books I read at the exact age I needed them
• the ridiculous number of times I have said, “i could literally write a paper about this.”
• the strange little pride of seeing my own name under something I wrote
• being sent a photograph of something completely mundane with the caption, “this is so you.”
• the sacred stupidity of sending a fifteen-minute-long voice note to my best friend to give him life updates.
• the handwriting of people I have loved 
• falling asleep in a car and waking up exactly when we reach home
• the ridiculous amount of time it takes to say goodbye when no one actually wants to leave
• being given the last bite, and giving someone the last bite
• the smell of freshly washed bedsheets
• “thanks for always making me feel so seen and included.”
• the relief of taking off an uncomfortable pair of shoes after a long day
• eating standing at the kitchen counter because the food is too good to wait for a plate
• sharing a pair of earphones with someone
• laughing so hard at a restaurant that the next table starts giving us the side eye
• finding someone’s note to you tucked in an old notebook
• being hugged when I was expecting advice
• waking up to see someone has put a blanket over me
• the confidence on a good hair day
• falling asleep with a book open beside me
• somebody saying, “come sit here.”
• bringing home food for people who weren’t there
• the sound of keys being dropped into the bowl when someone comes home
• the way my father has a specific way of ringing the doorbell, and the excitement that follows
• prawn sichuan noodles from Stur Fry Box- mmm
• “read this and tell me if I’m insane.”
• the privilege of being someone’s safe space
• the panic surrounding “where’s my phone????”
• the last thing someone says before getting into their cab
• “reacted ❤️ to your message.”
• the first page of a new notebook
• talking to myself while getting ready
• sleeping without an alarm
• unlocking my front door after a 40-day-long trip
• someone holding an elevator door as I run my way towards it
• an acquaintance who always smiles when they see me
• canteen bhaiya knowing my go-to order
• laughing at the most inappropriate moment and biting the inside of my cheek in order to stop
• the first hot shower after getting caught in a downpour
• tasting something straight from the pan and burning my tongue. Ouch
• a baby gripping my finger
• seeing something pink and immediately wanting it
• the inexplicable emotional attachment to a mug
• waking up listening to someone’s voice note from the previous night
• the staircase where everyone sat between classes
• and the girl who is writing all of this down, because she already knows how cruelly time can make mundane things precious

~vee