Memories are always something I've had issues with; how odd it is to be ill at ease with your own mind. It's like a book read long ago, the words are lost but you can recall the plot line with time, maybe even some of your favorite parts. Now imagine your whole life is like that, a faded story written in ink long since legible. Scattered pieces of information, a faded face or a blurred image; how do you piece together a puzzle with no pieces? Bits and pieces; an emptiness that could be explained by the right stranger. My memory gets a bit more consistent when my family and I were living in Windsor, I must have been in the first or second grade. We lived on a very long road and were sandwiched between two ranches that had horses. Our backyard went on for acres, mystery shrouded by grass and trees for as long as the eye could see. It was my favorite place, especially when it rained; I used to watch the water pool and stream down our sloping yard. I would sit next to the water and build dams and imagine myself being as free and happy as this little rain river. While we lived in Windsor my family had around eleven pets, an assortment of dogs, cats, guinea pigs, gerbils, hamsters, rabbits and birds. Such detail trapped in memories that don't last longer than seconds, and yet there's so many holes. I remember the one birthday I spent there, I had woken up and had begun to do my daily routine, general cleaning and looking after our hearty amount of pets; to find the only pet I singularly owned dead. The tears were almost instant, oh what a terrible pet own I was, not only had I killed my gerbil; it was my birthday! From what I remember most of the day didn't get much better, out of all the guests I invited only one boy showed up; he was so upset by it that he sat with my mom and cried for most of my party. My memory seems to jump around this time period the most, never really able to remember before it and only accessible because of the words of others. So what is it that makes you you? Is it the story like past that you remember? The voices in your head or the ones you used to hear?
As an adult I can reflect on my past and see that it did have certain influences, but is that because of my past or because of me as a person? When does the fact that I grew up a tomboy with two rough brothers equal that I'm a tomboy now? When does the past get renamed the present? I believe that you are not based on anything but time; it's the only real measurement we have. One comment omitted or said a split second later could have changed unimaginable variables. The only reference we have to our thoughts is time, how our minds grew and changed, such radical different thinking with age. So are the actions taken in time more important than the feelings you had? Can't you argue that every action you've taken or refused to has been a direct effect of what you were feeling at the time? How do you measure something like a feeling? Is it based on the environment, the physicality or the effect it has? When does a starving child in Africa experience worse childhood memories than that of a rich single child left on a shelf?
No comments:
Post a Comment