A dialogue box stating that there was insufficient space to move a folder to my pen drive compelled me to delete everything I had previously saved. That's when I stumbled across a folder with photos that were worth 3.6 GB. Most of them were from a family trip to Kotbari in the summer of 2015.

There was only one picture of me with my family. The remaining pictures were of the locations we visited, including the structures, landscapes, relics, and didactic panels that I was too preoccupied to read in full at the time. I photographed them so I could read them later. But did I really? No.

Looking over nearly a thousand photographs, I cannot remember where my hands were sweaty or which landscape caused my fingertips to feel icy. I think a few sellers kept asking everyone to try on their soil earrings or metal bracelets. These photographs are the only recollections I have, yet I do not recall living in them.

I took these photographs with the aim of reviewing them when I had the opportunity. There were occasions when I could have done it, but I was as indifferent in it as I was at the museum, where I hurried along the paved path and towards the exit while taking multiple photographs.

How naive was it for me to believe I would have time to view these images in the future when I believed I did not have time to view the real thing?

There is a general desire to engage in everything fully, which I find to be fairly difficult. I am enjoying a Netflix movie. I have to go to the restroom? I pause. I desire more food on my plate? I pause. A phone call or a message? Pause!  I have control over when I want to watch more, and this freedom causes me to take the movie for granted.

A further dilemma is the urge to comprehend everything at this moment, but also the doubt that I would perform better at a later time. When I have to write a report about an event or interview someone, I record everything. If I forget something, I can always go back and listen to the recording.

Speaking of recording, this habit of saving things for later has only gotten worse since online classes started during lockdown. Every class was being taped. I could always go back and download the videos that night and listen to them the next morning if I did not feel like attending classes on some days. I downloaded almost every lecture, but how many did I actually listen to?  Not many. Even if I did, I would only listen to it at 1.75 speed the night before tests.

The moment is fleeting for me. I cease to feel as I would in the present and disassociate myself from the activity in which I am engaged. I decide to move the present to the future merely because I can.

Seeing how my priorities have shifted and how much less joyful life has become as a result seems like a miserable way of existence to me. There is so much life around us, but being so fixated on consumption lessens its meaning.

To postpone the present feels artificial and unnecessary. With the photos, I did not return to them for six years after taking them. Similarly, I do not have the time to listen to or the confidence to erase the class recordings.

The time and place for everything is already there. All I have control over is how I create the memories that define my life.

Shadya Naher Sheyam attempts to live life like Ashima from The Namesake. Talk to her about Mira Nair films at: sadianaharsiam@gmail.com