Making my way through the heaps of mess into my humble den, I struggled at my tiptoes stepping at each little piece of uncovered floor, but eventually staggered upon coming into way of a tall bundle of my favourite teenager magazine, which as my teacher stated in the Physics class yesterday, got my upper body to resist its state of motion due to inertia, and me to cut through the air reaching to hug the ground. I fumbled to stop myself from being hit in the face by the relatively hard and grim Mother Earth. In the process my fingers could reach for but a few grams of air which slipped away and in that fraction of a second a silent prayer went from the depth of my heart beseeching God to have mercy and let something relatively tender come in the way of my fragile nose. Well yes, it wasn't a disappointment. I fell over some big cardboard carton that for no reason stuck to my suspicious eyes and told me that this saviour of mine is worth the check.

And... It was seemingly tantamount to opening a jar of memories and picking one of my choice to relive the desired moment. The goodie was the tonne of photographs filled to the brim as if peeping through the walls of the box and expecting to be payed heed to! Ignoring the mess, and the dust, and the unpleasantly chorused clatter, I was taken to the good old fairytale world.

So ironical it is how these products of the art of capturing images by chemical reaction of forms of radiant energy actually have the dynamism to flicker our heart at an unrealistic rate and get us chills. How this result of science and technology takes over human emotions... In an instance thousands of memories come flooding and chop us submerged in the overflowing well of meltdowns. This small piece of art evolved through the negatives and born out of the moment through a pair of lenses gives birth to a practically irreversible memory. The dragging of captured moments into the future; maybe some moments that should have been allowed to evaporate into the past; should exist only in memories, glimpsed through the fog of events that came after, as unmisted as it can be. Unpretentious of truths and lies, it speaks for itself, though silence. The responsible guarder of the moment, participant of the tenant's mutability, sincerity and vulnerability... Precisely by slicing out a moment and freezing it to be kept preserved until rejuvinated at the call of the hour.

Pieces of paper can be more expressive that the tongue... They seem to be talking to me, and amongst one another, and I want to talk back to them, but I can't. And I hear a voice say "Oh my! What will I do with this girl"... But wait, this is familiar... And jt takes me a moment to comprehend that my darling mumma tired of my wasting time daydreaming is thrashing me for not setting my room till now. And here, the 'present'... So I close the little favor from the past and safely place it at my table longing to return soon and get resuming the mad rush....