Our moments

After my first child arrived, my sight turned towards my immediate environment and its new unique moments. In some neurotic, maniac, and obsessive way, I’m a sucker for details. The most unseen they are, the better. I saw how these small new nuances in my quotidianity were getting relevance in my imagery. They revealed themselves as a new set of feelings, uncertainties, and thoughts.

Three months later, my father passed away. Suddenly, I had the two life edges, revolving inside me -confusing me, contradicting themselves, but also complementing to each other. 

Then I realized I was playing catch with my forgetfulness. Time was elegantly using our moments to smirk at me, ironically reminding me how much I already had forgotten about my childhood. Freezing time -as I thought I knew, was just a mere illusion. Time can’t be delayed, Time won’t be stopped, Time will go on and on.

I subconsciously made photos of my family to see if I could fill up the holes in my memory. I kept digging , there were scars but not wounds that could have allowed me to rescue at least few images to appease the spiral of emptiness. Anecdotes from a distant childhood that, either already had have grown old as blurred memories or inevitably, had already been sentenced to oblivion.

Finding traces of those forgotten times within these new ones is the only way I have left to desperately recall a story that will allow me to understand more about myself.

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