Hakimuddin Radhanpurwala-Week 15- Lollipop Moments

Lollipop moments.

I believe that’s the word for it. It’s strange how some memories just stick. Not the fantastic, beautiful, and grand ones—like a special birthday or a family trip to Hawaii—but the tiny, insignificant instances that, for some reason, never budge and leave an indelible mark. These tiny things echo in our heads, nesting in little burrows of our mind that they never really deserved. 

Remembrance. I can pick on a million different things to think about, but for whatever reason, some things—things that I shouldn’t care about—take the spotlight and become the only memories I distinctly remember. So I’ll decide to remember some things, the fleeting moments that outlast their expiration. For some weird reason I can specifically recall the feeling of sitting alone a week after posting a blog here, refreshing the page one too many times, and being overcome with an unsettling feeling that I’d never thought would bother me. No comments, minimal views, and a blog sitting all alone should not have been something that bothered me, it shouldn’t have been something that mattered. And days later, the same silence sat with me. It wasn't the attention that I desired, rather the thought that what I had written meant something. And the lack of acknowledgement for a bubble of words on a screen meant a lack of acknowledgement for me. That makes no sense whatsoever; yet, the confusing nature of it is what made it all the more real. What I want people to take from this is the notion that we truly never have full control of what we remember, why we remember, and how the remembrance of the moment affects us. 

Ironic. Isn’t it funny how the mind works? I forgot what I had for lunch yesterday, but I still remember every tiny moment of the day—the awkward laugh I didn’t get, the half-way smile that seemed a bit too off, and the humiliated feeling of someone I know passing me in the hallway without taking a second glance. These tiny moments replay in my head each day, different faces, different places, different words, yet they all taste the same. They replay like songs sitting on a broken record. And no matter how much I try to hit the pause button, the muffled hum is everlasting. 

Imagine. It’s like carrying a stone in your pocket that you keep touching without realizing, that’s the weight of memories—not heavy like tragic events of grief or heartbreak, but a subtle disturbance that grows louder every time you acknowledge it. It’s not about the blog post moments or the tiny things that pick our mind. It’s feeling unseen, unheard, and breathing underwater where each moment bursts as quick as a bubble and lingers as long as a slow current down a river. And the beauty in it all is that these tiny pictures of our daily encounters float around our head, growing, getting louder than what life makes of them.

Yes. In a way, these lollipop moments have value. Maybe they say something about ourselves—subconsciously letting us know that we care for these subtle things. Maybe they speak to a greater desire, a hope that we might matter to someone else. And hope is what these memories ultimately code for; it’s a hope that’s neither good nor bad, rather a string of consciousness that adds nuances to who we are and why we are. 

So cheers! to all the memories we can’t shake. Maybe these lollipop moments feel too small to matter but still do. Maybe by naming them, we give them less power. Or maybe, if we just sit with them, love them, acknowledge them, we’ll learn that they’re just part of what makes us human. Maybe this blog will serve as a lollipop memory for some, and a fleeting, unnecessary read for others; but one day, I hope, the words I say will float back to you, taking rest in a place in your mind that they aspire to one day deserve.