Memories of forgetfulness

ALTHOUGH I am in my twenties, I am sometimes so forgetful I could be in my seventies. I feel I must share these stories with you… before I forget them. One day after a class at the University of Foreign Language, where I was specialising in English, I walked to the bus stop to catch a bus back home. While I was waiting, I found that my umbrella was not in the basket, which I took each day with my lunchbox and books in. Supposing that I might have left the umbrella in the classroom, I returned to the school. No sooner had I reached the school gate than I realised that I was holding my umbrella. Whenever I read a book or an English newspaper I like to keep a pen or pencil handy to note down new words and new usages. As I cannot read or study for hours in a sitting position, I usually walk around intermittently to unwind. One Sunday, I was reading Myanmar Times as my mum was busily cooking. She asked me to go and buy an onion at the near-by grocery store, which I reluctantly did. When I sat down again to go on with my reading, I could not find my pencil. So I took another one and then continued reading. A few minutes later, my eldest sister in the bathroom called me to help her with lining some clothes, and then I went back to the living room, picked up another pen, and continued reading. Hardly an hour had passed when my neighbour called me to the phone. I had to run down to the ground floor, and then slowly march back up to my flat on the fifth. Then I, again, threw myself into the chair and snatched the paper, tired and a little disgruntled with the interruptions.
It was then that I realised my third pen had also gone missing. Feeling angry and confused, I shouted at my family to give back the essential, but disappearing, items. My mum came out off the kitchen, looked at me carefully and said, "I have seen animals with two horns, but this is the first time I’ve seen an animal with three."