Memories are like fragments of the time we have spent: pieces of our lives which are gathered from what is left, providing a marred but enduring image of what was.
I fear losing my memories. I feel that my memories form a core part of my existence. I then came to realise that every day I forget far too many of the subtler details in my surroundings (as well as in my conscious thoughts) which I pick up at the time but very easily withered over a day or two.
About two or three months ago, I suddenly felt like learning to become ambidextrous so I determined to practise writing two pages of english nonsense with my left hand every day for a month – I only lasted a week. You’ll come to learn that I can be a dangerously lazy person at times. Point aside, you might think “why am I telling you this?”
Well comrades, when I was writing pages with my left hand on the first day, I quickly ran out of random things to write so I searched and wandered through my mind to find any stimuli to write with. Then I finally found something I would write about: memories from when I was a child. In that week I slowly became less interested in learning to become ambidextrous and shifted my motivation to recalling distant memories which I would never have thought I would remember. Putting those memories onto paper hit me with a flood of intense nostalgia. I realised just how much of my life was detached from my life until the moment they came to mind. At that moment, I made it a task to take in and remember as much as possible in my everyday life.
Time passed and here I am now. From this point on, I’m going to try to make it a habit to write (or better yet, type) down a record of the events which occur around me and my responding thoughts here on this journal.
Good luck, Gabrielle.