Fragments That Made Me

Life has been passing by while I try to put out one fire after another. And yet, I have never felt this close to the little version of myself. Reminiscing about the old days centers me. I don’t remember much, but I’m sure the parts I do remember are the ones that matter most.

I remember the mulberry tree in the backyard of our rented one-room home, where every spring filled me with excitement at the promise of juicy black mulberries. I remember the cutest doll someone gave my mother for me, the doll I named Analisa. When I lost her, I had a fever for three days.

I remember the bird that died in my arms after hitting the ceiling fan in our veranda. And I remember little me not turning that fan on, even during June, so no other bird would suffer the same fate.

I have a vivid memory of the touch-me-not herbs my father planted near our door, and the leaves that every child came to touch.

I don’t remember much. It’s been a while, and everything feels like a different life now. But the more I remember, the more I believe in trees and dolls, in little seemingly insignificant herbs and birds, and most importantly, in myself.

-Anshu Rajput