When Memory Fails You: A Decade Lost, A Blank Canvas Gained

For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried this quiet fear — a constant thread in the background — of losing all the data I’ve collected, created, and cherished over the past decade.

Through thick and thin, no matter where life took me, that fear never left. I tried to safeguard everything on my laptop and backed it up whenever I could — sometimes to a power bank, sometimes to a hard drive. It gave me a sense of control in an uncertain world.

Then came PG. A new chapter, a new environment, and the overwhelming task of adjusting. But even in the chaos of this transition, the thought of protecting my data still lingered.

In November 2024, right in the middle of the pre-NAAC madness — when the workload in our college had tripled and exhaustion became a daily routine — I decided, one evening, that I had to back up my data.

I was tired, yes, but determined. I plugged in the USB cable to transfer files from my laptop to the hard disk. I was focused.

And then — boom.

The screen went black. A moment of stillness. Then the laptop shut off completely.

I froze.

Days later, I finally took it to a repair shop. They checked the hard drive.

“The data can’t be recovered.”

I didn’t give up. I went to multiple places, asked everyone I could. I was ready to pay — whatever it cost. A little extra, too.

But the verdict was unanimous: the data was gone.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even feel angry.

I just… felt empty.

Ten years of my life. Eight years of travel. My writing. My collection of books in soft copy. My saved articles. My favorite photographs. My memories.

Gone.

Reality hit slowly. I didn’t want to believe it. But day by day, the truth sank in — it was all permanently lost.

And I surprised myself. I wasn’t reacting the way I thought I would. I wasn’t breaking down. I was just... silent.

At that moment, I was trying to do so much. I had finally stepped out of my cocoon. I had joined college. I was adjusting to a new rhythm, a new life. And then this happened.

“You can only connect the dots backwards,” Steve Jobs once said. And so I looked back, trying to trace the lines.

What had I lost?

Books — lots of them. But there was one I treasured the most: a near-original copy of the Mahabharata. That one stung.

Photographs — especially from my trips to Varanasi and Arunachalam with my family. I had chosen a few to print, but postponed it because of cost. I thought I’d do it later. I regret that deeply now. Delayed often turns into denied.

The pictures of myself? I’m okay with them being gone. But the ones with my family — those were rare, precious. And now, unrecoverable.

I had also saved my writings — pieces for storytelling events, travel articles, reflections written in different phases of my life. All of them, gone.

When my brain finally slowed down, I asked myself: Why now? Why did this happen now — just when I was trying to reset my life?

Those files held both good and bad memories. And now it’s all gone. In a strange way, it felt like starting with a clean slate — not forced, but... offered.

Now, my memories live only in my mind. Not in data.

I’ve told myself — maybe it’s time to paint the canvas again. But this time, with all the experience I’ve gathered. With more clarity. With a deeper sense of purpose.

It took so much for my mind to accept this simple truth about life.

But I’m here now.

Let’s create a rainbow of emotions.

Let’s create an abundance of happiness.