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“I figured to myself, if I need to leave, there is nothing that will bind me here”. Sarabjeet ma'am, ‘To hold on to’ was a delightful read! The phenomenon of “the regular has become precious and the precious become prized” has become traditional to everyone around us. With each word, you’ve charmingly evoked something for all of us to relate to. I can confidently agree that most of us, at some point, have meticulously collected things as though they’re lego blocks, to build a home for the past to dwell in securely. As a child, I cached a shoe box sealed with memories of mid-class conversation chits, parts of a favorite broken toy, the first letter, tokens of appreciation, fragments from a favorite-city syndrome, and wacky photographs unfit for photo frames. It’s a component glued to my tossed over conscience, and I’d personally carry it everywhere I go. It gives me a boost of confidence as if if I were a book, the box would empower me to read all the pages at once. Maybe it’s the age gap speaking, most of us are yet to persuade ourselves to believe that we don’t need a clutter to convince us that we’ve swam across it. The bigger, the better! In the digital age, our phones unapologetically capture the moments and secures within itself the laughs, surprises, victory, playful embarrassments and sometimes, tears. They then become photographs and later dramatically slides itself into The Box. It becomes habitual, because we’re painfully aware that moments are transient, but memories are forever. Are they? My grandmother, once after being taken over by amnesia, looked at her daughter’s stethoscope and for the first time, her face had no glow of pride. She still spoke of things but this time, objects lay around her like gubbins whose story she refused to listen. Then, at that moment, I realized that objects are savory only when you let it breathe under a blanket of memories. But it’s a fact that maturity knocks on your door when gracefully age, as you learn how to outshine the art of letting go. Uncluttering gives you a feeling of authority over the palette of reminders that life offers. You begin to remember less and you start to cherish more, because what’s left is truly what matters. You feel untethered from the burden of a frail vulnerability.

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