These are my skeletons in my closet.

You know those old boxes you keep well hidden under your bed or in your closet? The ones you uncover every pre-eid celebration. Coated with layers of dust. Your past in a box. Your old forgotten memories covered in dead skin cells and fallen hair. The things you can't let go. Old letters and photographs. Useless documents and artifacts. And then, there was that drawing of my late grandmother with pastel blue tears falling down her cheeks, which I drew while I was in primary one or perhaps primary two. It was probably just after she passed away. And you know that overwhelmed feeling you get? This is what the past does you. Like those old reeling films, you ached at every scene. Recollections from my old house. How I'd still see her lying on her bed with her back to the door when I passed by her room even after her death. The kind of haunt you find comforting. Those things you still keep under your bed? Stored in shoe boxes or recycled tins. Throw them out. Throw them out no matter how much it hurts. Throw them out because it hurts.

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