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The Art of Forgetting
Forgetting is easy. It simply requires time. Time is its ally, perhaps death even. Out of sight, out of mind. The ajar door slowly, quietly, shuts behind our backs. We stay impervious to the change forced on to us. Life goes on. Days end. Night passes. However, the subtle art of forgetting is sometimes forced to accept defeat at the hands of its more learned counterpart. The Art of Remembering.
EMOTIONAL HEALTH
The Thinking Me
10/3/20244 min read
Is it really hard to forget someone? Or is it relatively easy?
Some days, I feel like I have known the answer all my life. On other days, though, I am not too sure.
Forgetfulness is quite a common attribute in today’s world. We tend to forget things all the time. Some people, of course, forget more than others, but that is not necessarily a bad thing.
For instance, I sometimes forget to carry my keys before I leave home. I have been told I have a tendency to forget people’s names. My son is quietly worried that I shall forget to pick him up from school.
A wise man once said that forgetfulness is the indication of an intelligent mind, although I struggle to remember his name.
But I’m sure I’m not the only one with such tendencies to forget stuff. Forgetting is an integral part of our lives now. It is a quality, acquired, unfortunately, with its share of the good and the bad.
The subtle art of forgetting, however, is not 100% efficient. Like the disinfectant soaps that claim to kill 99.99% of germs, allowing the 0.01% to skip its stranglehold on good hygiene. Unlike the detergent that always claims to turn pale yellow shirts into sparkling white perfections.
Sometimes we tend to remember stuff, despite their best efforts to get lost in the circle of life.
The Art of Forgetting has a strong ally in Time. It also has death on its side. Out of sight, out of mind. The ajar door slowly, quietly, shuts behind our backs. We stay impervious to the change forced on us. Life goes on. Days end. Night passes.
Forgetting is easy. It simply requires time.
The Art of Remembering
Yet, sometimes, forgetting can be a nightmare. The fear of forgetting is real.
When you are desperate to cling to someone, you dread the intricacies of the art of forgetting. Even when death has snatched them away from you, you refuse to give up. Over time, perhaps, you accept their physical absence from this material world. But your memories never surrender.
The mind is an astonishing entity. It creates spellbinding visions. Masterful illusions. It fills our heads with odd thoughts at various times of the day. It opens up shut windows and closed boxes and brings back the flavours of the past.
The mind relies on the not-so-subtle Art of Remembering to ensure that some people never leave us. Ever. Their presence enhances our happiest moments and lessens our deepest pains.
The subtle art of forgetting is sometimes forced to accept defeat at the hands of its more learned counterpart. No matter how hard you try, there are some things you can never forget.
Like I shall never forget that today, on this third day of October, many, many years ago, Tuttu was born. How old would she have been today? It doesn’t matter. For me, she remains forever a teenager, like the last time I saw her. The last time I spoke to her.
Did I wish her ‘Happy Birthday’ every year? Perhaps I did. It no longer matters.
What does matter is that I grew up with my palm wrapped around her finger. All her life, Tuttu inspired me to look at the brighter side of things. She found a ray of light even in my moments of utmost despair.
The last time she spoke to me, she told a dejected 14-year-old that it would be okay. And I believed her.
I remember her kindness, her warm heart. Some nights, her beautiful voice rings in my ears. I remember my childhood spent in the warmth of her shadow.
I shuffle through the same photos over and over and over again.
Tuttu taught me that death is not the end if you rely on the art of remembering. If you are willing to share your life with the person long after they are gone. If you are willing to hold on to them, they are never gone.
Happy Birthday, Tuttu.
You live on with me, in me. You live in my memories. You live in stories I share with my son as he grows old.
The subtle art of forgetting will never apply to you. Ever.
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About The Thinking Me
The Thinking Me was created with the sole purpose of sharing the thoughts of a father, a husband and a son. Also, perhaps, a music lover. Ah, yes, a book lover as well. Did I mention a guitar player too? Or a football lover? A Manchester United fanatic? A Lionel Messi worshipper? Argentina Football Fan?
Well, yeah, that's the thinking me. One mind. Million Thoughts. Only some of them qualified enough to be shared with the rest of the world. In The Thinking Me, we bring specially designed articles and pieces, hoping that they will appeal to your taste and encourage you, of course, to think as well.
