Aide

that’s the thing about memories ...

When the sudden fleeting dominate our minds the moment we crave solace in the bygones and crevices of our past, our memories tend to recollect the essence of our being. With all our efforts, we try to rekindle, reminisce, and remember. Yet, how can we hold onto something so intangible— a fickled second so ephemeral of its kind?

Truth be told, the rush of nostalgia in our veins shapes our identity and defines our existence. Yet, in a gyrating world of default human potencies, everything seems to be in a constant state of flux. In one instance we are at the forefront of denial but in another, we are at the pinnacle of resilience. No matter how much we beg to retain these capsuled moments, we fall short of accepting the transcience—that is, the passage of time takes its toll, and memories inevitably begin to fade.

Perhaps, the things we once held dear become mere shadows of their former selves, and the experiences that once defined us slip into the abyss of forgetfulness. Those shards of our past are always at risk of being swallowed up, fading away into the nothingness of time's endless expanse. But through the venture of reaching solitude, there is hope— a glimmer of light in the darkness portrayed in words, figures, and pages.

As you cross every bridge and turn every page, know that all and sundry went back to a state of connection—a moment of defiance ahead of the present and prospective, and made a testament to aid the recollection of stages in the past. Whether the fear of forgetting plagues the pathways, let this serve as a ray of light in the same gyrating world that seeks to remember oblivion.

While tounges simply twist and minds solely think, narratives and portraits etch certainty in the chronicles that lie herewith.

... they demand to be forgotten.

Therese Mariette Rosos Editor-in-Chief