Monday, September 7, 2009

Holding on to Memories...

Memories, defined in the dictionary as “the cognitive processes whereby past experience is remembered”. But how an experience is strong enough for us to remember it? Why do we stick to memories? Why some things get tattooed to our mind and don’t leave us? Are they such good or bad experiences that mark us on ways that lead to what we are today?

Some people hold to bad memories more than to good ones, others delete those moments and choose to only live their lives remembering the things that make them smile. A memory can come back to mind triggered by something as simple as a smell, a voice, an image or a touch. The way someone look at you, or pronounce a word. The way someone play with their hair or sip from a cup.

All my life I had remember good times, I believe that, as a defense mechanism, I choose to delete the bad experiences, I just don’t remember. I can catch a glimpse in my mind of bad moments, but I need to try to remember them in order to do so, they just don’t come to mind like good moments do. But remembering good times not always is a good thing, sometimes good memories can hurt as much as bad ones. Remembering moments we had with people that no longer are here. Like when I remember the way my grandpa grumped around the house and how he made me laugh. They are good memories, but when I have them I end up missing him so much it hurts.

Remembering special times that will never come back can also leave some sorrow. Like when childhood moments come to mind. Moments where I could play for hours without worrying about debts, crime or economic crisis. High School, where I hang out with my girlfriends and checked on boys. College, where I believed the word was mine, where I felt free, met new people and wondered about the future.

People that cross our paths can also turn into memories. The teacher that was good enough that you still remember her with love. The stranger that was kind enough, that you can still see their face if you close your eyes. Or the platonic love, the one that was impossible enough for you to know you would never had him, but still special enough for you to still feel butterflies when you remember him. Those kinds of memories I hold on to. Some of them make my face sparkle when I remember; others bring tears to my eyes, good tears, and bad tears.

I can live my life holding to memories. But I also need to be open to live new experiences, to try and live new moments, moments that will turn into memories. Moments that I can share with my kids and grand-kids when I am 65. I want to live my life making new memories, tasting new things, smelling new smells, touching new stuff, meeting new people, even people you will never met in person, and going to new places, the ones I will remember a few years from now. I also want to be a special memory for someone. I want to be that kind of memory that they will smile when remembering me. I want to be special enough for their face to sparkle, their mind to transport to special moments they lived with me; I want to be a memory that’s worth the space in the brain. I wish I’m already someone’s good memory cause someone is my special memory already.

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