What are My most Prized possessions?
I was tempted to say my kids. The ones I made with my flesh and blood. In who I have poured everything I had and to who I will leave everything I have left. But our children are not our possessions. Though I as most others often forget.
Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
And if my kids are not my possessions how then can my husband or my other loved ones be?
My home – The one I live my life in. Its every nook and corner spills over with me. It reflects everything about my family and me – our personalities, priorities, interests , memories – Our lives. And yet, its not mine too. It has seen people just like me before. People who dreamed their own dreams and made their own memories within its four walls. It has witnessed times that are only known to me from pages of history and it will live to witness an age that I will never see. Many others will walk its shady verandas, play on its mosaic laid terrace and dreamily watch the moon from its elegant verandas. No! My home is not my possession. It is just something I have been loaned for a fraction of time.
My books, clothes , gadgets, jewellery – The millions of small things that cram my shelves and fill my cupboards. Some of them bring me much joy. Others are dearly held as tokens of places and people significant to me, as keepers of tales that I love to recount and as snapshots of moments I treasure. And yet they are replaceable. Each one of them! Not one of them prized enough to really matter.
What is it that I prize over all others? The one thing that is wholly mine. That defines me and completes me . That if lost will leave me incomplete, fragmented.
For me , its my memories – Those that I have created with my children and my loved ones over the years. Those little snippets of my life that got embedded in my brain forever by some unknown, mysterious process . They are mine in a way that nothing can ever be. Not even my hopes and dreams because those belong still to the future and change and mold so quickly that I am almost unable to keep pace. And when I look at a dream I held a few years back I often just scoff at it wondering how foolish I was at 16 or 18 or 21.
My memories though stay the same – Bound in sepia colours they remain unchanged. Like good friends to be visited any time of the day. Everyday if I please. Or after years have rolled by. Secure in the knowledge that no matter when I go calling, they will always be there. A little dusty sometimes, but essentially the same. Bringing me the same joys, laughter, smiles & tears they always have.
My memories — are and will remain my most prized possessions. I cherish them and they define me. In moments of confusion or anger they guide me. Reminding me gently of what it is that truly matters to me.
Without them I would be incomplete, fragmented – An empty shell …Without a beginning. And how can anything that doesn’t have a beginning ever have an end?
That is why I dread, this passing time – I fear not the wrinkles it brings. Not even the drudgery and disease that is inevitable. But I do fear with all my heart and soul – The memories that slip by as time takes hold.
The time thief
Attempts to steal
What’s dearest to me –
A jar full I surreptitiously keep
Tucked under my pillow
At night as I sleep
Lest the thief
Come stealthily by
And from my sleeping fists
Attempts to pry
My most precious memories
Through the day
I peep in to check
And when my lovelies
Beam back at me
A deep sigh of relief I heave
We are not equal
Time and I
He is mighty and I am slight
Yet In this battle between
the thief and I
I am determined to Win
In response to The Daily Post writing prompt: “Pride and Joy.”