Recently I visited that section of my house that we've come to think of as the attic. It's was a guest bedroom some years ago, but it's been slowly repurposed into a storage space for things old and forgotten. I ventured into this collection of cobwebs and all manners of wild animals looking for a small bottle of screws my dad kept around for emergencies. It was an emergency, as the screws that held the radiator onto the refrigerator had sheared completely off and I wasn't in the mood for a trip to the hardware store. Don't ask me how.
Four to five hours later I emerged with a collection of old relics, mostly books. I couldn't remember being this happy in a long time, and I'm a pretty happy person..
These were old friends, and it was amazing how new they felt. Some I thought I had lost, and some I had forgotten I ever loved. Among these you can see the first book my dad ever bought me (the one with the smiling old guy), the first book about coding I ever laid my hands on, and the first Malayalam book I read from cover to cover without any help. That last one I'm gonna have to read again cause I have no idea what the story was.
Simply flipping through these pages I can feel the history embedded in them. Most are older than me, some are older than my parents, and a few are older than my country. Some were new when they were bought, some were handed down, and others were bought used. Looking through I find my dad's signature on each one, and as a surprise I find my grandfather's scroll on a cover page that has been long separated from its companions. I look for the book it belongs to, but all I have is this one page.
I realize that this is our legacy, a long lost remnant of those that held the name, along with this house. I fear it may be lost, forgotten with time. I am surprised and a little peeved that my first thought is to digitize them, preserve them at least in spirit. Have I begun to truly embody the technology of my generation? Will I preserve these in binary and let their physical remnants rot? Or are these merely vehicles I see, ephemeral bodies to the eternal ideas that move between them as we change clothes?
I'm not sure. But something inside me knows that I might not feel this happiness had I not held these books once again, felt their paper stained from beverages enjoyed long before I was born, dog-eared by fingers I've never seen, graffitied with ideas and passing thoughts I've never had. Perhaps I needn't despair. I'll make my own history, dog-ear my own books, and make my own legacy. Perhaps I'll preserve what I can to hand down to those that come after me.
If I ever die that is. Because looking at these words that survive so effortlessly, I couldn't feel more immortal.
Four to five hours later I emerged with a collection of old relics, mostly books. I couldn't remember being this happy in a long time, and I'm a pretty happy person..
These were old friends, and it was amazing how new they felt. Some I thought I had lost, and some I had forgotten I ever loved. Among these you can see the first book my dad ever bought me (the one with the smiling old guy), the first book about coding I ever laid my hands on, and the first Malayalam book I read from cover to cover without any help. That last one I'm gonna have to read again cause I have no idea what the story was.
Simply flipping through these pages I can feel the history embedded in them. Most are older than me, some are older than my parents, and a few are older than my country. Some were new when they were bought, some were handed down, and others were bought used. Looking through I find my dad's signature on each one, and as a surprise I find my grandfather's scroll on a cover page that has been long separated from its companions. I look for the book it belongs to, but all I have is this one page.
I realize that this is our legacy, a long lost remnant of those that held the name, along with this house. I fear it may be lost, forgotten with time. I am surprised and a little peeved that my first thought is to digitize them, preserve them at least in spirit. Have I begun to truly embody the technology of my generation? Will I preserve these in binary and let their physical remnants rot? Or are these merely vehicles I see, ephemeral bodies to the eternal ideas that move between them as we change clothes?
I'm not sure. But something inside me knows that I might not feel this happiness had I not held these books once again, felt their paper stained from beverages enjoyed long before I was born, dog-eared by fingers I've never seen, graffitied with ideas and passing thoughts I've never had. Perhaps I needn't despair. I'll make my own history, dog-ear my own books, and make my own legacy. Perhaps I'll preserve what I can to hand down to those that come after me.
If I ever die that is. Because looking at these words that survive so effortlessly, I couldn't feel more immortal.
