The Power of Keeping Track

Oftentimes, the world discourages us. The world becomes indifferent and is surely unfair to us in different stages of life. Because the world is propelled by unknowns and what-ifs. And if we could just reach for surety and constants, then maybe, maybe we could stop the spinning. But the world does not belong to us as we do it, and the one constant we can cling to is the known fact that there is no concrete answer to anything at all. It’s called the art of letting go, though, it is an art that requires growth. Growth and the understanding that not everything needs controlling.

Many times, I feel like nothing is in my control, at my grasp, or within my power. So, I cling to the small things, things that many people find inconsequential, but I understand as vital.

My love is the love of ink on a page and glow from a screen and most of all the story on someone’s lips, tinged with a smile. Most everyone can tell a story by page, speech, or gesture. And so I believe that in the same way we know there are no constants, there is a constant need to understand and be understood by the self and the other.

This story, which is a story that I write on a late summer day, began before keys on a board. It began in scraps of treasures folded and unfolded again and again in my journal. Folded memories were stored in my book bound with spirals, and secrets, and sacred, unsung thoughts. These memories are crafted with tape and glue and smudged ink, filled with color from pens and markers that fade over time. The colors in my journal will outlast my life in the magical way my life pours from its pages.

Journaling in tiny, neat script constitutes a world of my own making. And in this world, time is a capsule. I can look upon the words of so many yesterdays with fondness. So please, keep track of who you were in the process of becoming.