The story of life

Like a familiar road, my mind finds itself retracing its steps to the incidents that happened around the time of my mother’s passing. Like water that pools at the very centre, these memories have come to reside at the heart of my memories.

I analyse things keeping this as the focal point, my perspective has shifted from one untouched by major grief to that of a bereaved person, it has coloured my view of certain things, stained other memories indelibly, nothing has been left untouched. My very story of life has changed from it.


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