Post 4: Memory

It is 10:50 P.M. I am sitting in a comfortable beige couch, with two pillows supporting my back. It has been nearly two hours since I first planted myself here, reminiscing about the past, listening to "Eternity ~Memory of Lightwaves~." When this fourth, random blog was announced and assigned in class in what seems like a year from now, I was adrenalized by the endless things that I could write about, whether it was about my favorite sport or my horrible addiction to Smallville. In reality, this possibly endless blog has caught me off-guard, taunting me with its blank white slate, in which I can fill with anything. And still, the memory of the past remains.

What is a memory? Is it a fantasy or a reality? Does it exist to remind one of happiness or to mock one with pain? New Keywords defines memory as "an indispensable condition of effective human life" and states that John Locke believed that memory contained "the storehouse of our ideas." Also, there is no doubt that psychologist have studied the profound concept of memory. Even movies, such as Memento, have used the theme of memory, something that is not fully understood, to mentally challenge and thrill viewers. All those things may further define and elaborate memory, but memory itself has no definition mentally or physically. Bits of memory slowly fade, but most, especially heart warming and heart crushing, memories remain.

I can remember what happened yesterday. I left class, excited about the limitless boundaries of the fourth blog, and talked with a friend (and ended up missing the bus). I can remember January 12 of this year: my heart was sweating and pounding, yet happy and full of love, while I was at the end of a 50 candle lit and flower arranged path, standing under a gazebo in the Arboretum, and dancing to Slow Jam with a special someone in what was like a heaven-like dream. I can also remember the middle of senior year of high school, when my heart was stabbed in the back, crushed mercilessly by a hand, and transformed into a heavy rock. These memories still remain.

What do memories mean to you? Are they your heaven or hell? Do you remember or try to forget them? Think of the random moments, the affectionate instants, and the painful marathons. Try to relive them and to escape from them. They are frozen pictures and videos in time in a photo album that take a form of our head. These memories will always remain.

Memories are neither fantasy nor reality. They have no physical form; they take on any shapes. Perhaps they exist in a form that reminds us that we are human, that we go through happy as well as sad times, that nothing is perfect, that things sometimes go wrong, and that we cannot always have what we want. Memory reminds me that I have been sitting on this beige compressed couch with two swished pillows behind my back, for almost three hours, thinking of what to write, only to find the answer in the form of the past. Memory is unbelievably abstract and really questions you what it is and what purpose it serves in life. Nevertheless, I cannot spend an eternity squeezing out the energy from my brain to figure out what it is; I will give up for now.















Still, my memories remain.