I look at the lamp that glows in the darkness; its glazing orange, putting the room into view. The broken wooden panels, locked and rusted cupboards adorned with fungi and trunks piled in one corner serve no purpose to the house—except perhaps as a residence for some spider friends. And hence, I still have no clue as to why I ventured here at all. After years.

 

I walked over the floorboard, which creaked with every step, vaguely similar to the time my heart was pounding when I went to the ICU, and sat at my old desk. It had been discarded after I left the house and had found its place here since. I looked over at the drawer and took a deep breath. It opened with a panicking sound that jolted me back to when it all began.

     "Papa!"  I shouted my little lungs out. A familiar, friendly-looking figure trotted over, wearing a giant smile and a brown hat. "This looks so funny on you!" I giggled. He picked me up in his arms and swung me around. "Someday, you'll wear this hat and become as cool as me," he laughed. "What if I lose it like every other ribbon I've had?" I asked. "You won't lose it as long as you have yourself!" "And what about you, papa?" genuine fear shaking my voice. "I'll always be there, little one." "Promise?" My eyes twinkled, innocence reeking from the five-year-old. "Promise."
The hat's color had faded; instead of its handsome brown, it was a very weak, noxious shade of what once was. I picked it up and caressed it. 
 

I always thought that my vice was my memory. It always tricked me, put me into tests I wasn't prepared for. And somehow the doctors agreed with me, and clarified it professionally. 

It still tests me as I try so hard to hold onto what was left, onto what remains. It tests me every day after I left home, every day after I burned my father's funeral pyre. It still tests me, irks me, as I try to hold onto what was and the remaining residues of his love.