I just got the diagnosis. Early-onset something-or-other, progressive. Degenerative. The neurologist used all the words. I'm 31. Architect. My parents still expect me to meet a "nice girl from good family" and have grandkids. Soon. So I started labeling the photo albums. My mother has stacks, maybe twenty or thirty, filled with glossy 4x6s. Photos from when we first came here, the house my father built with his own hands, my graduation from uni. Every single family event. I bought an archival pen, fine-tipped. I'm writing names, dates, locations on the back of each picture. Then sticking them back in. My cousin's wedding, 2018. My sister's first communion, 1999. Me, age seven, with that stupid bowl cut, at the botanical gardens. It feels… utilitarian. Clinical, almost. Like I’m creating a legacy system. A database. For the future. For when I can’t hold the pen anymore. Or when I forget who the smiling woman in the red sari is. Is that weird? Does everyone feel this drive to systematize their memories? To leave behind an organized, tangible record? It’s not sadness. Not really. Just this… compulsion. To make sure the data is there. For someone. Anyone. I don't know why I'm doing it.