This is an installment of Suzette Andujar’s column series, “As I Was Saying.”

I am a Whovian.

Whovians are fans of the science fiction show “Doctor Who.” Now, I’m not a die-hard fan, meaning, I haven’t seen the original version before the 2005 reboot, but I still love the show.

There was one episode where these alien-looking creatures called the Silence (think “The Scream” painting by Edvard Munch), who messed with your memory. The moment you saw one of them, then looked away, you would forget you ever saw it. During the episode, the Doctor and companion would mark their arms with a line to help them keep track of when they saw it, it was terrifying. Besides the episode “Blink” (another terrifying one about sight), I suggest “The Impossible Astronaut”. I know someone wrote the episode and it could never happen in real life, sometimes I feel like a mystical being messed with my memory.

One day, I got up from the sofa and walked to the kitchen with determination. My stride was confident, strong, and swift. The moment I got to the middle of the room, I stopped, placed my hands on my hips, and completely forgot why I walked in there. I mean sure, there’s a good chance I wanted to stuff my face, but I couldn’t quite remember the real reason.

I stared at a point on the wall and let my eyes go all fuzzy as I tried to access the deep corners of my brain…nothing. Even though no one was home, I asked out loud, “Why did I walk into this room?” There was no expectation for an answer and the question floated up into the universe, forever to be unknown. I let it go. Not before grabbing the jar of Nutella.

The mysterious forgetting didn’t end there. Another time I ran all the way up the stairs, through the hallway, and into my room. The fuzziness blinded me as my brain tried to connect to the other side. Hands on hips again I asked, “Why did I walk into this room?” Come on! I ran all the way up the steps. Imagine the hassle! This time, I was determined to remember why I went into the room. I looked on the dresser, in the closet, on the ceiling! Memory would be triggered. I must have looked so sad there, twisting and turning, looking like someone who was just stranded on some island. Were there marks on my arms? I checked. Phew, no, but something had to be causing this memory lag.

It’s no fun standing clueless in the middle of rooms or grabbing jars of tomato sauce (I wasn’t cooking. There was no reason to grab that sauce. I mean there could have been? Agh!). It’s more frustrating that I can remember all the lyrics to “MMMBop”. “MMMBop”.  The truth remains: I’m not forgetful, I just have aliens manipulating me. The Silence are real. “Doctor Who” plots are real. I’ll just wear sticky notes on my forehead forever. Problem solved. Meanwhile, “Mmmbop ba duba dop…”

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