I am a hoarder

Temporary stay in a new city, a new environment with new people. It amazes me how different this city is and how diverse the people are.

Everyday, I walk along the streets and I see something new, something different. The air sits coolly on my face, smelling fresh and minty. I get overwhelmed at times, just thinking of all the things I’ve seen – bookstores with throngs of people actually buying storybooks, people sitting by the road with tipping boxes laid out and not singing, but displaying works of art or blowing through a traffic cone, seeing the sun still up at 9 pm and waking up looking forward to new adventures.  There is so much to see, hear, smell, taste and touch. While I know I cannot finish them all, I want to hold on to all these sights and sounds, feelings and emotions, and carry them in my heart. I want to hold on to the thoughts I have while I am in this city, and every night I religiously record them down in my humble little notebook, afraid to lose all the memories.

I am a hoarder. I am terrified that I will forget what I’ve experienced here. Perhaps it’s because I know it will be a long while before I come back again, so I hold on to these imaginary ropes even tighter.

But then again, each time I sigh and lament about how I will probably forget this little thing or that in a month or two, I remember how a friend always says it was good while it lasted.

And I suppose, that is all that really matters. When I read my little book in the future, I might re-imagine a different feeling or come to varying conclusions about this particular experience.

But at the end of the day, having experienced, and felt, is probably what matters most.


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