little Joys
I’ve always had an awful memory, and so, my recollection of any event is poor unless confronted with very specific details. Something that I hold on to dearly are the memories that I keep in my journals, and when I have exhausted a notebook, I read through them, transcribe the memories that I wish to keep forever into a new one, and then discard the old ones. This is usually more difficult than it sounds because, a lot of times, I am confronted with memories that I do not wish to relive.
I had to do this again recently. This time, I was confronted with the memories of a past relationship. Let’s call the man "M.” One of my best memories of 'M' involved a pack of cigarettes, a desk, my run-down inverter, Peekaboo (my pet) screaming and trying to break through barred windows, and a dad joke that makes me laugh anytime I think of it. ‘M’ might not remember any of it. Like me, he doesn’t remember a lot of things.
But this newsletter is neither about journaling nor about an old relationship.
As much as I hate to be reminded of things and people that I wish to forget, I have come to appreciate the reminders that life is not all bad and that even when people are no longer a part of our lives, they leave a mark. It might not always be the sort of mark that we want; sometimes it might even be a big scar, but it would be naive to think that it is possible to go through life without experiencing any ugliness, even when you think you have done everything right.
The best thing is to make the most of our experiences of the people who take up space in our lives, no matter how short-lived. If you think about it, you'll realise that we are really little constellations of the people we meet and how we experience them. We inadvertently pick up little habits, mannerisms, and even tastes from those we meet. Sometimes those people stay, and your worlds become intertwined so much that you share things without remembering whose thing it was first. Other times they leave and you are left with remnants of what they were to you, even when they themselves fade into oblivion.
I, for instance, think about a person or a memory for every cup of coffee I make. I think about my father and his bad jokes whenever I brew my coffee at home. I think about my friend Sadey and the way she calls me a “sissy” every time I take a swipe at having my coffee black with no sweeteners. When I grab a latte, I think about an ex-colleague, Helen, who could not pronounce “cappuccino” the first time I had her help me pick up a cup. I think about a two-month-long fling whenever I swap out sugar for syrup, because he gave me a large bottle of 1883’s hazelnut-flavoured syrup, and I think about the Lebanese restaurateurs I befriended a few years ago every time I opt for a Turkish coffee on a restaurant’s menu. It goes on and on.
I remind myself to cherish little moments and to hold on to as much joy as I can because life never fails to remind us that everything is fleeting and happiness is ephemeral. It teaches us to grasp any happiness we can find, with the condition that we must let it go when it is no longer ours to keep. Sometimes it's people, other times it's moments, and then moments experienced with people; we remember to capture those moments or journal about them and relish the moment, but ultimately, we allow ourselves to live it once, because perhaps remembering them later might hurt.
I never want to hold on to happiness forever. I just live. I try to not hold onto anger because I never want to miss a moment where I could laugh at the memory of a really bad joke or smile at the thought of a person who once meant so much to me.
Life offers little joy; take out what you can get.
