I watched the movie Incendies and it haunted me for days. The unbearable pain of life and how people receive that pain described in the film shook me. 

It also talks about the idea that how little children know about their parents' early life. I mean, sure if you're becoming a parent in the time of social media and cheaper ways to document events of life, then it's possible that your kids may draw a rough picture of how your life has been, (Your nature, world view, you meeting your partner, when you started sharing life , decides on welcoming children to the life , their childhood and so on)

Before that ? I know a few things that my parents chose to tell from what they remember. A few pictures that they keep as treasurers. Most of the beautiful / painful / random fun things they did in their childhood or teenage is lost on the memory lane. And that upsets me. 

The other day grandma was talking to me about her brother! You know, I didn't even know about his existence. Apparently he had wanderlust in his blood. He left home in his teenage, left no trace for the next 4 years. He came back, left again. No letters or information for another 4 years. He had joined the army. Sent few letters that my grandma still remember. He did that for major part of his life. Until one day , he came back. Tired , older and sick. He never married. Grandma tells me that there is no land that he hadn't touched. But the stories ? No information on that. He just sat there in the verandah. Staring sharply at the road. Everyone thought he would finally settle down. Enjoy the care and love at home. But he left again. Grandma doesn't know if he is alive or not. What a life right ? He was the Saint of disappearance. Prophet of wandering. Advocate of living just for the sake of living, Being bounded by nothing. 

I wonder how much of life is left untold !!