my not so daily ritual

I am someone who likes to mess things up so that I can tidy them after I finish all my work.

“Mess things up” includes throwing my clothes to the floor to find that matching shirt; reading and dropping my books onto the aisle between my bed and my roommate’s so that I can sleep immediately once I have the feeling of fatigue; clot up the whole of my desktop with files; spreading my notes around in a orderly chaotic order so that I can just pick them up immediately while I work on my essays and during my revisions, etcetera.

It’s a ritual that I practice, much to the dismay of my mum, my friends and my beloved love. I’m glad to have a roommate who’s accommodating, and who sometimes have the same messi-ligion like me. I'm sorry to my future wife, you.

I am someone who likes to write little post-it notes so that I can remind myself; I love to think, I love to give myself deadlines and write notes to remind myself, not those encouragement notes, but things that I should remember, things I should know, things I should take note of; I love to write down on post-its, or simply a random foolscap, a recycled paper beside my desk, my bed, on a part of the plot of a novel Im working on, a poetry im fermenting, some interesting combination of words..

That is why sometimes during my cleaning rituals, when I pick up notes that I wrote for myself, I read them and I feel an indescribable feeling, yes something akin to sitting on a magic carpet. I may not have the impression that I wrote that, or maybe I do, but I just feel enriched in the process. It’s as if a distant I who’s talking to the present I. Or someone left a note to me, reminding me of something, whispering a big secret to me.

I love this feeling. I don’t feel quite alone in the room or in life because of that. I feel blessed because I feel that there’s someone looking out for me, even though that someone used to be me.

I can never imagine how it is like to lose my memory, or to have short-termed and recurring ones like his.