forget

There are certain phrases that stay with us long after we first hear them. One such phrase I grew up around was simple and firm: “I forgive, but I do not forget.”

For years I thought it was a warning. Later I realised it was something else entirely.

The first time I truly encountered its meaning was early in my professional life. I had spent months helping a colleague deliver a difficult project. Long nights, small compromises, patient listening – things one does quietly because the work matters and the people matter. When the moment of recognition arrived, the story somehow travelled upward without my name attached to it.

For a few days I carried a silent resentment. Not loud anger, just a dull heaviness that followed me from meeting rooms to late evening drives back home.

And yet something curious happened with time. The resentment softened. The colleague did not change much, and the situation was never really corrected. But the bitterness slowly lost its edge. I could work with him again without the weight in my chest.

I had forgiven him.

But the forgetting never arrived.