I’ve been cleaning out my closet… not figuratively, quite literally. I’ve been physically going through all the crap I’ve accumulated over 28 years of living. I’ll be moving out soon and I find myself holding on this aforementioned crap harder than ever. I haven’t even packed a little because the hoarding is a genuine problem.
Hoarding is also amazing. I’ve found so many forgotten things including a long exercise book. It’s hardbound and horrendous looking in green and yellow. Inside are meticulously number poems and self-pep talks from a teenage me. As I sat crossed leg on the cold floor of my lil’ bedroom, I flipped through pages of a young girl I don’t remember but somewhat recognise. It’s a fairly angst filled except I don’t remember the backstory/inspiration of each poem. I barely even remember who it’s for.
Want to hear the best part? It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s for me and now as I share this petite poem on this tiny blog… it’s for you.
When people hear the name of this blog – Slow Motion Thoughts – they often have to say it twice and say it slow for it to register. I really like it when that happens. It seems like they’re internalising those words or so I imagine. Perhaps they are sniggering at the pointlessness of it.
Sometimes, a few care enough to ask how those words were coined. To them I present this poem, written circa 2005 by a 16-17 year old Indian girl from Bombay. She doesn’t remember when or how these three unrelated words danced together and became a song. All she knows is that it stuck.
Also does this count for #NaPoMo?