Isn’t it odd? Our memories, our very own lies. The ones we recall, we create. Is it true? Or merely suggestions based on our surroundings, interests, dreams, and hopes? Do these memories really shape me, make me who I am today?
I’m sure the details are loose, summoned or filled in by our romantic minds, but the event itself surely remains true. Right?
The first this and that—I’m sure one can recall a few. They paint a smile or embarrassment on our faces. The ones told by others, forgotten, or run away from. They make our very being uncomfortable, or we simply shield them with a smile.
Then there are the ones we hide, giggle at, and think of only when alone. We fear discovery—our pleasure. Our very own little world we’ve created. Most of it is unreal or something we wish had happened. I’m sure there are plenty of those.
The facts we believe, the things we’ve seen, the smells we’ve tasted, the touch, the lies—oh, I’m sure there are many. We know what color these memories are, the shapes they take, the forms they hold in our minds. And somehow, they’re different when told by others. Do these memories truly shape us? Are we what our lies made us?
Could be, could not. A question with endless answers, and endless questions.
With all that said, what about the most mundane memories? The ones that just are. No way to exaggerate. They just… exist. What are these for?
Hidden behind a brush on a hot summer day, eating away at a watermelon with mouthfuls of joy.
My grandpa, the cigar in his mouth, always.
Watching my grandma beating the laundry with a stick.
Eating peanuts in a room full of people, just me eating peanuts…
The long walks I take, just walking on a pavement road, happily by my lonesome.
Every now and then, one of those slips into my mind, out of the blue. Causes wonderment, or simply gets waved away.
No!
Even if these are lies or fascinations, I am who I believe to be. Even if every detail is recalled, retold, recollected, re-suggested—the history of these memories is engraved unknowingly in time and in mind. It’s what shapes me. It’s who I am. I don’t need every frame of it. I simply need the comfort of its existence. My existence, my world, my place here.
Some details of it might have changed over time. Perhaps it’s simply I who am changing, seeing it differently from how I did once before.
