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I couldn’t remember a thing I had done all day. And that is the way it has been ever since I could remember. Yes, the pun was intended. The joys of being marginalised socially was that I could enjoy the solace of my blank mind without unsuspecting folk being eaten alive with my irritation of being dragged into conversations. Ones I anyway never remembered. My mind would remain blank this way. Not to say thoughts didn’t cross my mind, but a fleeting few seconds later, I couldn’t remember. The lack of retaining thoughts of any kind, the persisting emptiness was often consoling. It was better than the gnawing feeling that used to eat at me earlier: Did I forget something important today? I made my peace with it eventually. After 60 years of no memory retention, one gets used to it.┬áBut the irony was today was no different from yesterday and tomorrow would be the same, too. This bothered me sometimes. If I didn’t live a decent life even for myself, then life just didn’t seem worth living. Particularly a life without any special friends, charm or even thoughts. But that is the life I had accustomed myself to. A long time ago, a therapist told me that I should write and keep re-reading what I write. Since I suffered from memory loss, it was the only way to leave a mark. So when I die, my house will be full of scribbled paper. Maybe somebody could make sense of it.