There are moments...moments when you feel the panic rising because you can’t remember them so clearly – that memories got so stuck in one place while you have been busy moving ahead with time....with age. It was only days ago when I could remember moments from the time I was only 3 – the day my younger brother was born and how I thought he was the cutest baby, the times when my elder brother bought me a pair of socks with his meagre pocket money and he was only ten years old. I remember my sister baking bread in a pot once and how the rest of scrambled through the window for a burnt bite. I remember the face of my mother when she was young and how beautiful her fingers once were, before too much hardwork for sustenance distorted them. My brothers and I were comrades, we walked long distances, swam the river in Simtokha and how we never went again after one of them almost drowned. I remember playing all the things that were meant for boys : marbles, bearings, and cycles that were driven with a handle.