THE PENSIEVE

"One simply siphons the excess thoughts from one's mind, pours them into the basin, and examines them at one's leisure. It becomes easier to spot patterns and links, you understand, when they are in this form." (Albus Dumbledore)

Delicate

It's all so delicate. The sensibility of society. The feelings of family. The emotions of friends. It's all so fragile. Your relationships with these people. Your efforts to please them. Your attempts at being a part of something. It's a balancing act. You are on a tightrope. All eyes are you, waiting for you to fall.

A Touch of Warmth

The weather is cold, my being is too. I don't feel warmth as much as I used to. A memory of a time long past tries to spark a match. It is a winter night, somewhere in a tropical paradise. The street is lit up with Christmas lights - merry blues, reds and greens. The restaurant we are waiting outside is an amber glow. There is a line of patrons and newcomers, expectancy and a buzz in the air. From within, smooth jazz can be heard. Soon, we get a table. It is a full table. The food is hearty. I eat a dish that, to this day, I have not found anywhere else. I don't even know if I can find that restaurant again. It is, for now, just a room in my memory. The extroverts in the group are doing the most. A swing and a jive. Their confidence is magnetic. In a big family, it can be difficult to connect with every person, but corny jokes somehow end up uniting us all. We are all there. We are still there, and I am here. It is cold today, but a long time ago, I was warm.

Solitude and Sound

These days are rare. Days when I get to sleep in and not worry about something pending, well, atleast for the 'EOD'. A pause from doom-scrolling and I can slowly hear the sounds filtering in and breaking the silence. A vehicle passes by. The construction drill alternates with the pounding, the knocking, of the hammer. In the short breaks, the workers discuss the next steps, and it's back again with the saw. A neighbour plays an age-old well-appreciated timeless classic. Its faint, but it is a song I know all the lyrics to. The kids are out. Their play reminds me of the sun waning into the evening, a moment I associate with nostalgia. The dogs sometimes awaken to bark at ... something. Meanwhile, in my room, the keys of my keyboard click and clack. And somehow, even with all this 'noise', atleast for now, my mind is quiet.

The First Draft

Even my writing of this line feels tentative. I hesitate. I procrastinate. My mind goes blank. Maybe it's the worry of the draft not being good enough. I get stuck in a stage of 'what-ifs'. I am my biggest critic. The backspace is familiar. I am hoping this exercise of uploading to the Pensieve can bring me out of this box that I have put myself in. I just want to write as much as I can, even if I am not making any sense. The pouring into the Pensieve - a worthwhile practice?