Why make a blog? (first post)

Like all people do, i forget things. As the days pass me by, and the weeks turn to months, the small details to a old family story become blurred. And soon they become long forgotten.

So why make a blog?

To remember of course.

I never wrote down what my father told me. All his stories he would tell, i took for granted. Though, even at that time, i knew better. My father was in his 60s when i was born, and even as a child i always knew that because of my fathers age, my time with him was limited. I knew this, and yet i still did nothing to record the memories! It wasn't till the end that all those regrets rose to the surface. But during that time of grief, even then i could not summon the strength needed to record those fond memories. I did not want to remember, i wanted to forget. The pain never touched me that way.

It has now been three years since my father passed, and just recently, my mother almost joined him. This shock of almost losing my mother has suddenly instilled a determination in me to get it down! Record all those family stories! Before it is too late. Before they are gone. I know for a fact that because my brother (3 years my elder) and i were the youngest of my parents children, as the "unexpected" ones, the late ones, we treasured our time with our parents more. We did as we were told, we did not try to upset them, to create rifts between ourselves and our parents. We tried our best to make sure that just in case today was our last day, or our parents last day, they knew that we loved them. We also listened and treasured every story that they relayed to us, of the old days when our parents were growing up. In that way, even though we did not have our parents for as long as our older brothers and sisters did, we ended up the ones better off. Though you would never hear me say that outside of a blog.


My mother is still here, and i plan to make it last. My father is gone, but with those treasured memories, it still feels as though he is here. I can still here his slippers shuffling against the floor, his cough, his sneezes, his laughs, his voice. Oh his voice! He was always singing, singing to me, to the birds, to the sky. His smile (though he had no teeth!), his blue eyes. I remember them. I engrained them in my brain long before i knew he would be gone. The colour of the sky.

How it makes me want to cry. Memories tend to do that to you. And yet, i would want it no other way. I loved those eyes. More now than i knew then.