on civilisation.

Millennia ago, the Earth emerged as a collection of debris – collateral damage left behind in the wake of the Big Bang. Back then, no God could have predicted what would become of that burning mass of gas over time. No superpower could have imagined that an orb of nothing would morph into what we know as our planet now. No scripture could have foretold the epic of evolution that is etched on the Earth’s soil; nor could it have warned the universe of the emergence of a species such as ours.

In psychology, we study dual realities. A biological one, which is more or less constant for all living beings, and a social one – a reality exclusive to humans. This social reality is entirely a mortal creation. Theories say that humans need something to which they can attach value, and something from which they derive a sense of purpose. This insatiable need for purpose has manifested, to a large extent, as religion.

Some days, I cannot help but notice the beauty of it all. How we invented a God so that we had something to cling to. How we created multiple Gods. How we imagined them as women and men, as animals and birds and trees. How we built them homes. How we scourged for food to give to them, even when the hunger within us threatened to kill. How we painted them and sang of them, how we gave ourselves to them – how we transcended the barriers of time and space to become one with them.

How we, as a civilisation, came together to forge purpose for ourselves. How, when darkness swallowed us whole, we created light.

on childhood.

My sister celebrated her birthday today. A montage of missing teeth and scraped knees, she is all of six years old. The entire evening, I watched her eyes glimmer whenever someone walked into the room because she knew they would have a present for her. Every time someone handed her a gift bag, she ran up to them and hugged them the tightest she could, screaming ‘Thank you!’. I watched her run across the living room, chasing after her friends in unadulterated delight. Theirs was the purest form of joy I had seen in quite a while.

God, spare her. May she always see the world in colour. May she never forget the joy of frosting on her cheeks. May she never cease to see the dragons in the clouds and the bunny in the moon. May she always cherish her Frozen cakes and Barbie dolls. May her laughter never fade into the soundless cacophony that surrounds us today.

May she forever elude loss, grief, death.
May she remain forever untouched by the nihilism that has claimed so many of us already.

May her innocence remain a relic – a reminder of what I was supposed to be.

on remembrance.

We were sunflowers.

They planted us next to each other;
the next day I knew exactly where your roots touched mine.

Days passed, and the sun rose and set.
I knew you by heart.
I could trace your veins in the dark,
could trace your florets from memory alone.
I knew the bend of your stem,
the blaze of your yellow,
the swish of the wind
that brushed past you.

Days passed,
and I fought off the weeds for you.
I let the bees hover between us in silent prayer.
I withered a little,
and you bloomed a little more.

We were sunflowers.
Just that our suns weren’t the same.

So when morning came,
I turned to you,
and you turned away.

We were sunflowers, and of course we grew.
Just that we grew apart.

Mindless Memoirs

a journey to remember.

Date

April 3, 2024

excerpts.

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