Lost

ignorance is bliss, yet somehow i cannot forget to remember 

my mother hands a twenty-rupee bill to the shopkeeper and 

all i can see is a vibrant, solid reflection of the woman she was 

somewhere back in time 

i would have impatiently stomped my feet, 

but now i bite back tears at the moments we will never get back 

i pretend not to notice how my world is spinning out of control 

i bury it in mountains of work and endless queues of music to 

drown out the sound, and maybe—hopefully—my thoughts with it 

if i avoid thinking about it, 

i can avoid its warm, suffocating embrace 

and we can live as though nothing went wrong in the first place. 

so i consume and consume, aisles of colors and media trends and dissonant chords an inept producer put together to feed the never-ending desires of the public. i jumble my mind with podcasts and opinions before bed so i can escape the chance to make my 

o 

w 

n 

 thoughts. then, i will be sucked into a vortex of regrets and 

memories i would rather avoid, for what is the point of 

nostalgia if it means i will be stuck in the past while the 

people around me 

move 

o 

n 

? 

it seems easier to stop thinking. 

thoughts are torrentious, yet thinking is all i have ever done 

i see a reflection of my being in the way my grandpa’s eyes light up 

whenever he catches sight of books and newspapers 

the way my grandma sparks with life when she talks about her childhood my aunt’s desperation to find some laughter in a life 

she did not ask for 

but my grandpa’s eyesight fails to absorb the words, and 

my grandma has pushed away her memory out of fear. 

how could i abandon this? how can i carry on their joys without remembering? 

i still prefer my mind silent. one-track focus, no distractions. 

once in a while, when i lose my way

i will welcome the past with open arms. it is not a graceful glide, but 

rather a headfirst dive into the moments i’ve lost.