Move on. Let go. Forget.

A Short Story By: Julie Ramnarine

My favourite places in the world are older, touristique places where people flood in almost 24 hours a day, where life buzzes with every turn you make, like the old port in Montreal. The place is constantly changing, the people are smiling with excitement, frowning over hidden sorrow, enraged by simple mistakes.

Places like these hold so many possibilities...so much...oblivion. You don't know what's going on in their personal lives, what little joys they hold close to their hearts, what sadness eats away at them at night. And yet we keep walking, not giving any more than a glance or a smile at these people who unintentionally hold their whole world in their hands. You can't share their burdens or laugh along at their inside jokes by landing your eyes on anyone specific.

And as I look at my mom, my dad, and my sister walking ahead of me, I realize that there is alot more oblivion than I thought to this world...heck, secrets are being kept in my own household too. From the people you're supposed to be so close to, yet I'm not innocent of doing this either. But who am I to say who and who you shouldn't be close to, I don't write these rules, you forge them as you live your life.

I look down at my feet as people walk by. My hand drags against the railing near the lake, creating a noise. A noise that the people around me can hear. Will I ever be able to leave a mark, a fulfilled dent on this world? We leave tiny changes or marks everyday, like making a noise people can hear. But will they be able to forget it? Is it still a dent, a change, if they are able to forget it?

But for the time being, it's something. Something that is acknowledged by others for a short moment. And isn't that all we're looking for? To be acknowledged and/or to be validated in some type of way? For your screams not to be unheard in an empty void?

As we make our way back to the car, I see a whole different side of the port we didn't explore. You'd think that by walking in a straight line your whole life, you'll make it to your destination. And while that is true, it's the random detours and turns that make it interesting, that make it worth your while, that makes life a little less meaningless.

The rest of that night went up against all odds in ways I can't describe, which means I bared a certain question. Will I be able to move on? Will I be able to let go? Will I be able to forget?

THE END