Lost

I’m sitting at my favorite spot, which has the best view of the city and the huge park. Many buildings have been added to the frame, but it doesn’t diminish the beauty of the natural park. The colorful trees and birds make it always feel like a fantasy scene from a children's book. I’m an old lady now, tired, and my weak knees can’t hold me up for long, or help me walk or run like I used to. But I used all the help I could find to get here today.

Today, I’ll remember some memories again and hold onto them tightly because they will be gone tomorrow. My brain became foggy a long time ago, and I come to this spot every time to refresh my memories. It seems to be the only place where my brain muscles are encouraged to remember, remember anything that could connect me to this world and convince me that I was part of it.

The weather is a bit windy today, but it's not cold, and I enjoy the sound of the leaves rustling on the trees. It reminds me of the times when I was running up this very hill with my dog. When I reached the top, I shouted my name to the world, hoping it would hear me so the world wouldn't forget me. As I got older, the joke turned on me, because now I am the one forgetting about the world.

Now that my dog is gone, a familiar young man who enjoys hiking helps me get here. He seems like family; his face reminds me of someone. He also confuses me with his mother most of the time. But I don't mind; at least he helps me whenever I need a bit of fresh air. My energy is fading, just like my will to wake up each day and come here. After two years of fighting my own memory, I feel like I am losing the battle a little more each day. And this young man is the only one who makes me feel good about my age. He is so kind and never complains. His parents must have done a great job raising him.

Doctors said I should do what I love for once and make my own decisions as much as I can. They know me so well, even though I've never told them my story. But then again, I'm forgetful; I might have met them before. I might be a regular patient at their hospital. In that case, they should know more about me than I do myself. The idea alone is scary.

Thinking about it, I don’t really have a story. Nothing was interesting in my life to talk about, just 70 years of eating, drinking water, and sleeping, with no quality time. I’ve never had a favorite dish; water made me feel sick, and I only slept when I was dead tired to the point of fainting. I remember growing into a hardworking adult, getting a job I can't picture right now, which helped me earn enough money to have a comfortable life until now. My life, like any other, has ups and downs, moments of happiness and others of grief, but I assume, from what I remember, that I never had a major event that would turn my world upside down.

Because a pang was there throughout my dull life; I could feel it in my heart, spreading to my chest and suffocating me. This pain hit every time I smiled, laughed, or felt like I’d had a good day because I believed it was all fake, an illusion, and I was in denial.

At a young age, and to avoid dwelling on my boring life and focusing on the pain, I shifted my attention to the world and began observing everything around me. From birds on the trees to vendors in the streets

I still remember moments from my childhood; they come and go in flashes. Sometimes, I even confuse them with dreams. But it's the feeling remaining that made me distinguish them clearly. A dream is always general and lacks details or sounds from the surroundings. However, remembering a real event gives me, every time, a new observation of something I hadn't noticed before.

I remember that time at one of my school classmates’ birthdays; I was 14, and I wasn’t really enjoying the crowded backyard. I was overwhelmed by all the energy and excitement in everyone’s attitude. I felt my energy drain, and I needed to refresh myself. So, I went to the bathroom to wash my face. After I finished and was drying my hands, I took a moment to take a deep breath. I saw a man — I recognized him as a guest at the birthday party. He was hiding in a small alley at the back of the house, crying. Yes! He was holding his mouth with his hands and trying not to make a sound. But the pain was obvious because he was punching his chest to release it, as if it were a spirit within him that would go away, and he would stop sobbing.

I hid behind the small bathroom window because I didn’t want to disturb his private moment, but I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what was behind these tears. Did he lose a job? His lover? His wife? Maybe a child? Or was he hiding and taking a break from life’s jabs? I was used to a single father figure from my own. My father was kind, and I remember him well—he was taking care of his family, though he was emotionally detached. As I watched the man struggle to muffle his sobs, I grabbed the toilet paper roll and threw it out of the bathroom window for him to wipe his eyes. According to my logic at the time, that way, no one would notice that he cried. I wished him better days ahead in my heart and walked out of the bathroom. Back in the backyard, he didn’t come back. He probably left after realizing someone saw him through the bathroom window. It was a secret safe with me. I never talked about it with anyone. Yet, it was still etched in my memory all these years, even when I lost most of mine.

I wonder what happened to him. Did he have many moments like these? Did another alley witness another vulnerable moment for this man? I prayed for him to find the strength to overcome whatever challenges lay ahead. But who knows, maybe his problem was solved, and he is somewhere happy now, or maybe the last hit struck his heart soon after, and he was finally freed from his pain. As sad as it was, I was glad that a man could show his emotions, even if it was while hiding in a dark, unfamiliar alley…