From the Heart, Home

1000 words. One picture.

If there is a camera in the vicinity, then there are a million pictures. Of me. With my friends. With the beautiful scenes around. I love getting clicked. It’s my way of holding onto the beautiful memories that I am creating at a particular given time. I have always enjoyed scrolling through my past photos and laughing at the silly moments, the weird faces that had I convinced everyone to make and the carefree life I lived.

But, today was different. I was carefully thumbing upwards on my phone allowing the phone’s gallery to slowly reveal the pictures clicked in the recent past.

I had a task to do. A painful one. I stared at each picture for a good 2 minutes recalling all the funny memories associated with it. It hurt to realize that it would never happen again. I pressed on the screen and selected a couple photos to finally bid them goodbye. I had to delete them. But, my fingers wouldn’t let me. Those pictures were screaming of happiness and joy as though reminding me to reconsider my decision. Perhaps, I was making a mistake. I began to second guess myself. I couldn’t understand if it was truly those pictures that evoked such questions in my mind. Or, was it just me who secretly wished and still had hope that things would fall back and become normal?

“You cannot clap with one hand. With one hand, it’s only a slap.”

Never had I imagined that I would be contemplating on such a trivial matter of keeping or deleting a picture. If my phone’s memory got full, I’d simply transfer them to a hard drive or delete the unwanted ones. The difference this time, though, was that these pictures weren’t unwanted. They meant a lot to me. I could easily live those memories once again which is why it became necessary to erase them off. I kept thinking if it was too early to let go. Perhaps, time would make everything alright. But, I was once told, “You cannot clap with one hand. With one hand, it’s only a slap.” I tried clapping with one hand and let’s just say, I got slapped. With indifference, insult, and disrespect. I could convince myself that trying harder and putting in more effort would yield favorable results. But, I know that I gave it my all. There was nothing left for me to do.

They continue to collect because it isn’t clutter.

It made me understand why some people are so reluctant to part away from their belongings. What looks like junk to us, means the world to them. That little pen holder, torn pages of a book which can no longer be read, tiny wooden carvings, greasy handkerchiefs and all that that looks insignificant might have stories attached to each one of those things. They continue to collect because it isn’t clutter. For them, it’s holding onto those very memories and people with whom they smiled a million times, shared and cared, and dedicated a precious part of their life.

People disunite but the attachment remains.

Life could have caused separation between them by means of physical distance, emotional disconnection, disagreements, or simply, death. People disunite but the attachment remains. And, their favorite things, gifts, or their pictures serve as a proof to confirm the existence of that attachment.

I needed to let go of that attachment. Things weren’t going to change for the better. I needed to accept the reality and stop giving myself reasons to still hold on. I, surely, was bleeding. So, I tried to select all those pictures once again trying my best to not stare at them this time. I hit the delete button. A popup notification appeared which asked me to confirm if I was sure of deleting all those hundreds of pictures. A little task that takes less than 2 minutes of time had already taken me more than an hour. I was clearly indecisive.

So, I listened to my heart. And pressed ‘Cancel’.

I couldn’t let go. I just couldn’t.

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