The Fear of Being Forgotten

Walking through JFK airport in New York, I wasn’t expecting anything more than the usual chaos — people rushing, announcements echoing, that familiar airport energy. But then something caught my eye.

A massive wall covered in handwritten letters.

At the top, a sign that read: “What Is It Like Being Me?”

Letters written by strangers — tiny windows into lives I would never meet, yet suddenly felt connected to.

I walked over without thinking. Maybe curiosity pulled me in, or maybe it was something deeper my heart needed in that moment.

As I started reading, I felt myself soften.

One letter was written by a 12-year-old child with dyslexia.

Their words were uneven, a little messy, but full of courage. And instantly, I thought of my own son — his struggles, his resilience, the parts of his story the world never sees. That alone was enough to make my chest tighten.

But I kept reading.

Each letter held a different story:

regret, hope, loneliness, dreams, heartbreak, self-doubt, survival.

And with every new line, I realised how much we — strangers, families, cultures, backgrounds — are all living different versions of the same emotions. We think we’re walking around with unique struggles, but the truth is… we’re far more alike than we allow ourselves to believe.

Then I saw a sentence that made me stop completely:

“I am scared to be forgotten.”

Six words.

Simple.

Honest.

Painfully human.

I don’t know who wrote it. I don’t know their story or what they’ve lived through. But those words felt like they were written by every single one of us.

My tears came without warning.

Because deep down, that fear lives quietly in almost everyone:

the fear of fading,

the fear of not having mattered,

the fear of being overlooked by the people we love most.

We don’t always want recognition — we want remembrance.

We want someone to know we were here, that our existence left even the smallest imprint.

I stood there, staring at that sentence, realising something I think many of us avoid admitting:

Maybe it’s not just the fear of being forgotten.

Maybe it’s the fear of never being truly seen

And in that busy airport, surrounded by people rushing to wherever life was pulling them, I felt this deep connection to every letter on that wall — every stranger who dared to put their truth into words.

It reminded me that humanity is loud, messy, brave, and overwhelmingly tender.

And if there’s anything we all crave — in airports, in our homes, in our friendships, in our silence — it’s to leave behind something that says:

I was here.

I mattered.

Please remember me.