Hey…
I hope all of you are doing well…
The prompt of this dame really made me think,
And,
I think there would be a variety of answers that all of you would be seeing,
most of them would include a piece of clothing that they would cherish or own from a long time that would have seen better days but,
not being your usual writer,
I know what all of you are in here for…
How would you feel if i said the oldest thing I’m wearing is,
“MY SKIN”…
I do owe all of you an explanation,
Skin,
MY thick skin being one of those things,
the one which has been with me from the very beginning of my essence,
no fabric,
no piece of cloth could ever match what my skin has felt through the years…
Even though it renews itself every month and a half,
it holds memories that still stay with me to this day,
The Scars,
The heat of the Sun,
a special someone’s touch,
the test of time—
all of them leave a mark.
It’s been my shield,
a blank canvas that I was born with,
a story that I am writing as each day progresses…
THIS body of mine holds a tactile archive,
a memory through sensations that only I remember,
Even if the world forgets,
I remember the weight of denim,
the scratch of wool,
the comfort of cotton on a tired day,
the itchiness of a cloth I’m not well suited to,
the rash that burned,
and caused me pain,
the time I fell from my two-wheeler and blood that oozed out of my skin,
I remember it clearly as yesterday,
each and every moment clearly…
Sometimes this body remembers what the mind isn’t sure of;
A warmth in the chest,
A phantom touch on the cheek,
A comfort that feels real,
even if the facts are blurry…
Maybe it’s memory,
Maybe it’s hope stitched into survival,
Maybe it’s both.
What matters is that it helped me keep breathing,
the memories that this mind often forgets,
they stay on this skin,
whenever,
someone crosses me,
a familiar scent,
an accidental touch (for which I apologize)
it sets into action a string of memories hidden deep within me,
of which this mind has either forgotten,
or,
suppressed to make place for other ones…
But,
there’s something that I tell myself,
You’re here,
Still breathing,
Still remembering,
And that’s not nothing…
Just like a chain that you forget that is wrapped around your neck,
after wearing it for a long time,
the body adapts to it,
and when accidently it gets stuck in a piece of cloth,
you remember an existence of it;
That chain becomes like a quiet truth:
Something can be with me always,
even if I forget it’s there…
And maybe that’s how grief feels.
Or love,
Or pain,
Or memories,
or existence of it…;
Worn so long against the skin that One stops feeling it,
until one small movement brings it back into view,
glinting with the light of something lost but never fully gone…
Here’s to reliving all those memories after reading this one,
also play with your chain or a mala of thread or beads that exist around your neck or your wrist…
Cheers 🥂
Love Waakiye 🤍
made a promise to never forget them,
They blurred without a trace from this mind….
But does this mean We’ve forgotten,
Does this mean we’ve given up,
Of Course, not.
Their existence continues to thrive,
in a way we speak,
the choices that we make,
the softness that takes a front when we see someone hurting,
or
the hardness that makes us stand on someone’s way if it means it will save someone…
Been through things tough and extremely challenging ones,
we’ve learned to carry weight,
to protect ourselves.
we’ve built something around our softness,
not to hide it,
but to survive,
maybe try to thrive in it…
Waakiye 