Memory Is A Fickle Thing

Upon rummaging through my old stuff, I realized that I have accumulated a number of mementos. Letters, magazine clippings, my projects when I was in school and the list goes on. And I felt a little piece of longing to go back to those times when my life was simpler, when all I have to do is to wake up each morning and spend the rest of my day sitting inside the classroom while listening to my teacher; to sit in the isolated parts of the university campus and have a meaningful conversation with my best friends; to wonder as to what would happen to us out there in the real world.

 

I am in the real world now, they say, I am an adult, but still, upon seeing those little mementos of a past life which continuously fade away from my memory every single day, I realized that I have forgotten myself. That I have forgotten to stop, take a back step and see what I did in my life. I let my life slip away so easily, that the only things that I have are a handful of memories that I continue to hold on to, despite the fact that the more days I spend here on this earth, the more they become useless, the more I forget about those said memories, the more I become unreal.

I remember my Philosophy instructor telling us that whenever you cannot remember anything, then the event itself didn't happen at all. Memory is a fickle thing. It shifts and sways with the wind, until one day, you would realize that you didn't happen at all.

That is why I decided to do a scrapbook. 

Or even just a repository of those memories which I tuck away inside my rectangular tin container. I want to open its pages and reminisce about the things that I did which brought me to where I am now. I want to browse through its pages for me to take that backstep and see if what I did with my life measures up to my own yardstick.

I want to browse through its pages and say to myself with determination that I am real and I happened....

Because I remembered.