Sakinah Abdul Aziz

Sometimes it's like that, isn't it? You clench your fist and then you unclench. Clench and unclench. Clench and unclench. When you start to unclench, you tell yourself, "Let it go, let it go." Because in the first place, it isn't something you are capable of holding on for too long, or even if at all. Afterall, you are only grasping air.

Somehow I had forgotten how it was like. Like how when you try to rummage through your memories of you being 4, you can barely retrieve anything but flashing pictures. Vague flashes. Like a video being fast-forwarded. Sketches. Mere sketches with very little details. Not much colour, no hints of sound. And what only remained are just ideas and theories of what it was. Descriptive, objective, detached. Somehow I had forgotten how it felt like. And the replaying of the beautiful words spoken in my mind of how blissful that once felt, these soon are only remembered through the familiarity of speech. And what only remained are the mere movements of my lips, carrying meaning that was no longer felt. Now, I just can't remember. No matter how significant and beautiful the memory of it was. Life is really a series of fleeting moments.