Oh Memory, Why Do You Torture Me So?

I've been blessed with amazing memory, that works in unique ways. No, I don't memorise or remember everything, but some things stand out.

I can remember the first time I talked to Eli, back in 2000. It was near the canteen, on these odd stone chairs during lunch.

The time I got a temporary glittery tattoo on my arm. In secret.

The last day at National Service.

That first night in college.

The first time I talked to Mamon, front row in a class in CS2.

That time a group of us watched UP during Ramadhan, before having iftar together eating otak otak (fish wrapped in leaves and grilled on charcoal).

The panic that buried itself in me the day before my Survival Modelling final. And the way I cried in the shower and on the phone to Mama because of that. (Got an A- for it, overreaction much?)

Coffee date.

You see how I tend to remember experiences, more than what I've read.

Its an interesting parlour trick to wow your friends and family. But there is a dark side to it, as usual.

Like the fact that I remember in 6 days, it will be a year I found myself talking to you and god, falling down into that pit full of snakes, that sparkled with promise from the top.

And all the other things that I realise, would make me seem creepy if I were to share it here.

Perhaps, to celebrate a year after sipping on perfection I shall arrange everything to how it was, a tremble in the air as I wait. Perhaps. Maybe. Possible.

25th Feb.

It is funny how life works. You have no clue what you want to do with it. But the moment you have settled for something, inspiration comes. 

And you think; This is what I want to do. 

24th Feb.

I have not neglected this outlet. I have just been busy; More like tired. Typing via a smartphone is not really fun, unless you already have the whole set of words in your mind. Every time I get a laptop in front of me, all my mind is telling me to do is to open a tab for 9gag, and another for Wikipedia.



I'm aware it has been more than a month since my last post. Ages since my last reply to comments. No wonder most of you aren't reading this anymore.



I read every new comment. I click the reply button but then, that voice in my mind tells me that a simple short reply would not be enough. And I put it off, telling myself I'll do it later. And as we all know, the thought starts to gather procastination dust.



I get ideas for new posts in my head, but they never come out right. Those creative pieces are done in mere minutes. Something that coffee and a muse can do.



To say how serious my tiredness/laziness has been is that I haven't had like, a proper long conversation with Mokesart for a long time. Weeks I think. He has been very understanding.



If it was me, I would have thought up of dramatic reasons behind this.



Every time I think of something creative to write, I'll be slightly reluctant. 95% chance of it being inspired by a certain person. Of longing. Of need. Of, oh god rejection. I'm not a broken record player, cause each of them reads differently. But between those lines is the same message.



"I hope you'll read this one day."



And there's a 95% chance you won't.



Unless I compile all of them, all of those prose, poetries, words, stories written with the whisper of your name running up my spine and send it to your inbox.



Never.



*a breath*



I wish to write here more often. But what about? Would any of you readers, amazing people, come forward with suggestions?



Would you smack an idea against my head, bring some senses into these fingers?



I need to write.



Or start a food based blog, cause it seems if I'm not cooking, I'm eating.