Mnemosyne
November 5th, 2023
I don't remember much of years past. The decades I lived through are no more than just a blur. Very few memories from my teen years, from my twenties, thirties, and half of my forties are clear in any way. Faces that were dear to me are like spilled watercolors — some basic shapes remain, but details are lost in the fuzziness of vagueness. Names are lost, or if they remain, then I cannot match them to faces. I think that is good for me as I am now. There are only very few memories I want to remember from my past life.
I am judicial about what I remember — I want to remember only good things. I do wonder though, if that is really my choice. Can I choose memories to remember? And I catch myself being wrong when analyzing the memories I still have. In reality, what I remember is not the truth — the truth comes out only after mind-bending and exhausting work of going through the details of what I remember and forcing myself to face the reality of what really happened. It is not easy to accept that cherished and easily recalled memories are only a construct of my imagination. Especially when the true memory puts me in a bad light, and makes me face the awfulness of my previous life. Only then can I forget it — the imaginary and the true memories.
At least, those are my memories. They pertain to something that had happened to me. Only after then, did my mind misconstruct the events to leave an acceptable memory behind. But I am also aware that there are memories embedded in my psyche that aren’t mine. They cannot be mine since in most cases they apply to events that happened a long time before I was born. Yet, they seem fresh and more real than my own memories. That happens mostly when I become aware of a place I am at with the realization that I was there before — long before my time. It can also happen when seeing a photograph or a painting of a place or event. There is a rush of images and smells and sounds and understanding of something I cannot possibly consciously know or understand. There is also an accompanying sadness to those memories, but it goes away soon with a realization— as long as I remember something, even if those are not my memories —those people and events are still alive, if only within me.
