I find it extremely difficult to put a timeline against some of my most cherished memories.

Say, I don’t remember the day I learnt to ride the bicycle. The day I started writing with a pen. Or what was the first book I read. I don’t remember when I saw the moon for the first time. I don’t know when was the first time I confessed to myself that I loved someone. I don’t remember the name of my first friend. I don’t know since when started talking with myself.

But I very well remember that the first movie I watched, the first girl I had a crush on. I remember the first time I kissed. The day I came first in class.

I remember waiting in the rain for the bus to arrive. But I don’t remember how I lost myself in the petrichor and the drizzle, and when the bus whizzed past me.

I remember my first trip to the Darjeeling with my parents when I was in class one. I don’t remember the day I feel so miserably in love with those misty blue mountains.

I remember when I stopped. I don’t remember what started it all!

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