It's been a month since I started working on myself, growing each day into someone who looks like me but perhaps a better version of myself. I've lost around 4 kilograms, and my abdomen seems slimmer and healthier. Some might call it a "zero figure," but I know it's a long way to go before I reach my desired shape. I have succeeded in losing the belly bulge, but it's still not to an extent that satisfies me.
Today, after returning from a 10 km run around the neighborhood park, I hopped right into the shower. Once I was done, I went to the kitchen to get some breakfast. I was just getting myself a bowl of what I call upma (though it isn't the authentic version that Indians make) when I heard my mom calling me.
"Ansu, are you back? Have you finished your breakfast?" she asked.
I walked out with the bowl in my hand and realized she must have understood that I was in the middle of eating. My mom, a quadragenarian with thin, slightly gray hair and a body shape similar to that of Dudley's aunt in Harry Potter, said, "Oh, so you haven't finished your food! No worries, take your time and meet me afterwards. I'm just out in the garden, mulching the plants for a bit."
I sensed she was about to ask me to do something, so I nodded and replied, "Just a little while, and I'll be there."
After I finished eating and cleaned up the dishes, I went into the back garden looking for her and called out, "Mom! Mom! I'm here!"
She replied, "Okay, wait."
She came in my direction and started explaining, "We need to redecorate the whole place. I've been thinking about changing the interior for a long time, and now that you're on vacation, I think it's the perfect time to do it. I want you to clean your room—not just clean, but gather all the things you don't need. This means all the clothes that no longer fit, the books that you don't read anymore, and the broken toys you've kept under your bed. Gather everything, got it? I've decided to donate them. I hope my request is clear and that you'll follow through!"
I replied obediently, "Yes, got it!" but deep down, I was already planning how to hide everything before my mom, the mini devil, decided to donate my things. Call me childish, but these items are a part of my childhood, and how can I just give them away? It's time to sort through them and hide the important ones before she discovers them.
Around noon, I began sorting through the treasures I had collected since I was seven. I found dresses from when I was nine, still in pristine condition because I had only worn them a few times. I've always been a tomboy and insisted I was a boy, so I avoided wearing those pink fairy dresses in favor of clothes like the other boys. As a result, most of my pink, girly dresses are practically untouched, as if they were made yesterday. I decided to donate those and hide the items that truly mattered to me.
While cleaning under the bed, I discovered a cardboard box sealed with tape. Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened it to find all the gifts I had received on my birthdays and other occasions: a small angel statue, rings, bracelets, and at the bottom of the box, I found a ziplock bag. As I pulled it out, the contents shifted, and I saw that the white papers inside were not just blank sheets but photographs—specifically, polaroids.
A wave of confusion and anxiety washed over me as I recalled the photo I had stumbled upon in that diary. The memory stirred something unsettling within me. I initially tried to convince myself not to open the ziplock bag, but before I knew it, my fingers were pulling out the pictures, and my eyes were scanning them.
This time, I was relieved to find that the bag contained only four pictures. One photo depicted the backs of two people, seemingly unaware that their picture was being taken, by a serene lake. Both appeared to be boys—one wearing a black jacket and trousers, and the other dressed in a white sweatshirt.nd brown pants.
The next picture was of me with a guy I didn't recognize. I didn't recall meeting him, but the background looked familiar; it was the cafe I visit often. The following two pictures were group photos with my friends from school, but I noticed some new faces in them as well. The worst part is that I don't remember any of these moments.
The thought of losing my sanity crept in. I couldn't recall being in any of these places with these people, yet the pictures were evidence—they were in my secret chamber where I store my valuables.
I wanted to ask someone what was happening to me, but I felt I couldn't share the fact that I was struggling with my memories. I didn't want anyone to know that I was scared I might be losing my mind. So, I kept all those photos under my pillow and began sorting through the items I had found under my bed.