I'm Forgetful, They Say. Almost In A Strange Way.

I'm forgetful, they say. Almost in a strange way.

I can't remember the simple recipe my mother told me several times, and when I got a notebook to write it down They laughed, and I too laughed with them.

Whenever they ask me to do something later, it doesn't stick in my imaginary to-do list. They say they reminded me multiple times, and I ended up forgetting anyway until it was too late to fix my mistake.

Scrolling through the media, I see those posts, ''write a line that someone told you that hurt you.'', ''what is something someone did to you that caused you the most pain?'', ''what made you cry so much that you wanted so much to scream?'' And I try my best to remember, I remember being hurt and crying, of course, but the reasons just faded away, couldn't remember one single line clearly, couldn't picture the scene before closing the door on myself in the bathroom, I remember the pain, but forgot what caused it, like my brain is blocking it all out of my reach.

I'm forgetful, they say. Definitely in a strange way. But sometimes it feels more like abandoning to me because we never really forget, I only have a back room in my brain, where I put all that hurt, all the things that my brain finds not important, though it miscalculates most times. And when the pain comes again, I revisit this abandoned room, and in order to put in the new pain, I must feel them all again. Then the door is closed, the peace is back, and the memory again fades.

It's a curse. It's a gift. It's something I loath and love. I'm forgetful, but I still remember what I must.