Memory
I’ve learned since a young age that time will pass.
not moments with loved ones.
not revolutions and the race to wealth.
not the one we age because.
I’m slowly starting to form an answer. the three years I wrote about were not random. they were shaped, heavily and quietly, by days I still don’t understand , and I keep discovering this, a little more each day. those days are becoming one of the most important chapters of my life. so dense, so unprocessed, that it has taken me years just to begin understanding what happened there. and I still don’t have the full image. there is something I haven’t yet confronted, something I’m not ready to name, sitting at the center of it that I keep circling without going in. What I do know is this: I feel like I got caught there. like I locked myself inside those days without realizing it. like there is a version of me that I left behind in 2023, specifically at the University of Khartoum, and never went back for. a version I am too afraid to think about clearly. I didn’t choose to abandon it consciously. I just never processed it. and when I try to understand why, I find nothing. not resistance, not pain, just absence.like a self discontinuity: when something ruptures so completely that the person you were before it and the person after it don’t feel connected, just splitted. it is not like growth, the I outgrew something. but like.. the way I imagine it, something that was never finished, yet I closed the door.
I’ve never bought a bottle of fragrance twice in my life. I realized this at twenty one, and the strange part is that I already knew it, I was consiocly making the decision of changing into a new bottle, new brand everytime, I was never a one fragrance person, I just hadn’t looked at it directly, or more inwardly. I’m obsessed with fragrances. I own them, I seek them out, I know what I like. and yet I never go back to the same one. although some were very good and hard to replicate, once, maybe twice, and then it gets tossed out. never buying it again.
Growing up isn’t the problem, Forgetting is.
- The Little Princess
I remember very distinctly how my elder brother Mohammed wanted me to pursue a career in media. he wanted me to become a photographer or a videographer, or whatever lived in that space. I do not know whether he saw my talent, or whether he simply noticed how much I loved it. the truth is I did love it. but at the time, I was lost in myself, I wasn’t clear about my love to this particular hobby, I was fooled by the glaring effect of science and progress. and to be fair, it is glaring.
This is a part I have always wanted to document and share but I never found the right words for it. it is the scariest feeling I have ever experienced, and it is mainly composed of fear. but it is also confusing in a way that, unless untangled slowly and honestly, it will remain confusing forever.
The story goes back to 2023 when I was a student at the University of Khartoum. I wrote about that period before in a draft called days that I still do not understand . during that time, I was packed with fear. I was shaking for no obvious reason, living inside something I could not explain. I kept saying it was my sympathetic nervous system reacting because I was grinding too hard, as if my body had decided to pull the emergency brake for me. but that explanation slowly started to feel shallow. what triggered my nervous system in the first place? why was I already tense before the collapse? why was I restless long before everything fell apart?