Memories

Memories are funny things. They’re like short recordings of our own lives… except that they’re subject to manipulation. I could tell you a story about my childhood that is entirely different from the story my sister may tell even though we were both there at the same time. It’s even possible that neither of us is telling the story with complete accuracy.

There’s more, though. Each person keeps different memories; so while I may be able to recall a kiss with a girl from 5 years ago, it’s entirely possible that she doesn’t have that memory available right away. So let’s say that I remind her.

“I always think back to the time when we were out on the trampoline after everybody had gone inside and kissed for the first time.”
“Wasn’t the first time we kissed in your room?”
“No, that was later in the week – this was the day we’d all had dinner together”

Then she remembers, but it’s different. She remembers that we kissed inside while everybody stayed outside on the trampoline instead of the other way around.

Who is correct, though? More importantly, does it really matter?
Then I wonder if maybe it does matter; she didn’t remember that kiss at all until I reminded her. Was it that insignificant to her? Of course not. I have a plethora of memories of completely useless and meaningless events and, at times, cannot recall important events for the life of me.

Memories are strange things. I don’t really know if they serve much of a purpose but to share over conversation. Maybe close groups collectively have all the memories from their time together, but each person holds different episodes. You know, as a way to make sure that they reconnect every now and then in order to piece together the whole thing again.

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