An Overlooked Memory of a Rainy Night
Recently I watched a reel on Instagram that asked a question—what was the best memory of your trip, is it the ones you preserved with a camera, or the ones left unpreserved… That thought stayed with me since the few days I came across the reel. My organic memory started to fetch a sweet-old-trip-memory while I was doing a code review, another when I was folding clothes, one more when I was tying my sneakers for a morning walk. None of these memories exist in a silicon chip or the-good-old-paper. They are not the heightened experience of my travels. Rather what they had in common is—ability to evoke a pure sense of nostalgia. Particularly I do not want to relive the exact moments, but thinking about those moments feels right, feels ecstatic, maybe one day I will be a mom who would retell this memory to a kid who would look at me astonished, “maa, were you romantic?” This ordinary, overlooked memory is one of a journey from Pokhara to Nagarkot. Your father, sorry, ah, I am not talking to...
