The microcosm

Each day, you wake up as if you are back from the dead with new thoughts, aspirations and dreams. But one thing that always reminds you that it is the same old painful reminder called life is the memories of your past. How much ever you try to forget and move forward, it keeps cropping up into your thoughts like some uninvited guests barging into your peaceful home. The more you remember, the more worrying it is. You can try to keep your memories at bay, alas, they always win.

I’ve never liked photos. I have always felt that I’m not really photogenic, and I suck at posing. With extreme inferiority complex on my appearances, my smile and my presentation, I choose to shy away from any chance of being in a photo. But beyond all that, photos hurt me. Even if they are great memories, pleasant and happy. They might be a memory that reminds me that my past was a happy one and I’m living through some tough times now. Even if I am genuinely happy now, and if an old photo of me comes up to me, I might feel disturbed or even unhappy.

Maybe I am an extremely weird individual. I believe photos shouldn’t exist. That your eyes and your mind should be the only thing that should ever see something or remember something. Because your mind forgets, but photos are a constant reminder of something. And from my life, I’ve realized that I don’t want to be reminded of things. My actions, my thoughts, my perspectives, my emotions, and everything about me is ever changing. I will go back on my words, change my perspectives, regret my past or even choose to repeat things again. I don’t want to be pin down by my past and my deeds in it.

Of course, this doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences to my actions. However, it is not, nor should it be my worry to enforce these consequences on me. If I’ve done something to someone, said something or behaved in a particular way, they are always welcome to remind me, bring joy or happiness associated with it to me or torture me the way they chose. Having said all this, I do have photos of me taken in many situations. I however cannot recollect enough instances where I go back to them or relive those memories. I was once told by someone dear to me that I need to have enough photos with my parents to remember them once they die. Though this seems to be the obvious thing any child should do, I find it difficult to come to terms with this. I have lot of fond memories of my parents, but I think I should forget them and the level of details in them to move on forward in life. As long as they are alive, they are constant reminder for my time with them, the past, present and my potential future with them, just like photos. If I were to always linger in my memories of them, I think I will die of depression and sorrow, unable to think of the next moment, unable to move an inch forward in life. After all, photos are microcosms of your life.