Inspiration through photos, writing, & quotes
A few days ago, my friend posed to me the question “if you could relive any memory from your childhood, what would it be and why?”. This question really got me thinking and searching. It actually came to upset me upon realizing how bad my memory actually is. I began thinking back to the greatest moments of my life thus far, and couldn’t come up with much. It really upsets me that I can’t remember much from growing up. In fact, I can’t even remember important trips from when I was a teenager (which, technically, I still am, if that shows you the immensity of my forgetfulness). I know the first time I flew on an airplane was when I went to the Bahamas with my dad, but I don’t remember the first flight experience at all. I remember that we went snorkeling, but still I can’t recall much about the experience. In face, the only reason I remember snorkeling is probably because I found an underwater camera from that trip. When I look at pictures from the Bahamas, I’m not sure whether I actually remember the moments, or whether I just recognize them because I’ve seen the photos so many times. I remember that I went to Arizona with my dad on a business trip. I swore to myself back then that I’d never forget it. But 5-6 years later all I can remember is how hot the ground was on my bare feet, and that we went horseback riding. The memory of horseback riding may also be attributed to photos I’ve seen from the trip-but I’ll never know for sure.
In 2009 I went on another business trip with my dad. We went to California and Mexico. I remember that I absolutely loved California for some reason, but I can’t remember what that reason was. I remember exploring San Diego, and taking a tour of LA (where I remember seeing various people dressed as celebrities), but I don’t remember any of the details. I don’t remember why I was so happy to be there or what I found intriguing about the other side of the country. When I see pictures from these trips, it helps to see myself smiling. But, at the same time, I wish I could associate memories with the photos. I try to hold onto the few memories I have left by repeating them to myself. I tell the same stories all the time, not because I want to bore people with my repetitiveness, but more so for myself. I guess I feel that if I keep repeating these fractions of my memories I will remember them longer. Maybe I think that by replaying these moments in my head I will somehow touch upon more memories and details from my experiences. But I rarely do.
There have been so many special moments in my life and it saddens me that I can’t recall them. I look into the face of the girl in the pictures, and I don’t remember what she was thinking. I don’t remember those incredible things I swore I would never forget. My friends and family have conversations centered around “remember that time…” and I usually can’t contribute (unless the experience was extremely recent). So I listen. I listen and try to remember. Sometimes I can associate with certain details of a story, but usually I just gain frustration over my forgetfulness.
When growing up, my father seemed a nuisance with all the photos he took of my family. But, these days, I’m thankful for it. I’m thankful to have photos and videos from my life. I’m glad that although I have forgotten most of my memories, in a hypothetical way, I can relive them. Now I’m the one taking so many pictures. I do this with hope that someday I will remember the experiences linked with the photo. Although, deep inside I know that a majority of those memories have already fled my mind. I just wish I could have them back. I’ll never stop trying to remember.