I’ve been told that I have a sharp memory.
Legit, if you’ve ever met me, I can reenact and recite first-ever conversations, or anything that I felt was memorable. I’m like an actor set to perform for the sake of entertaining my audience.
I get a kick out of it for whatever reason. I guess because I surprise myself with the impersonations of others who are recurring characters in my life.
It’s like my memory banks are always open. They wait for me to cash in and pay attention to all my past experiences. From compliments to insults, from those embarrassing to life-changing scenes — memories always seem so clear to remember for me. Bittersweet — that’s how it feels — to recall what you can and cannot.
Bad memories usually burn brighter than my necklace of suns compared to those that are good. I guess because it’s human nature to cling onto the negatives in your life rather than the blessings.
But hell, sometimes those memories are like anchors — they can hold you down.
The pandemic has given me time to think and reflect, like the puddles of rain that you walk by after a storm. It makes you look at yourself through a closer lens, and others. You know, you can tell a lot about a person’s character based on how they act through trying times. It’s always in those moments where actions truly do mean more than anything.
It makes me wonder: “What kind of person will I be after the pandemic?”
At the end of every hero’s story, we remember the result of how that character is molded, because it’s the things that we experience and the people we meet who shape us into who we are.
I took a trip down to memory lane the other day. It’s this cool place where you can’t get to by planes, trains or automobiles. It’s odd, what I’m saying, but your feet don’t ever get tired there, even if you travel more Miles than Davis’ “Kind of Blue” trumpet.
The blast to the past always has those folk who’ve had an impact on my life. From my friends who countlessly say I’m going to find my way one day, to those false role models who taught me lessons on how drinking drowns everything and that you don’t need anyone.
Everyone is there on memory lane, even those who aren’t with us today.
I’d be a liar if I said I couldn’t take back some days. Maybe if I could, I can make some of them count to the fullest. Some people would probably still be in my life and I could tell those who died how much they meant to me one last time.
My life would probably be a lot different. More than likely, I’d be someone who isn’t exactly the same person I am today. Whenever I see my younger self on memory lane, I wonder if they’d be proud of who is standing here and writing this.
That’s my biggest fear — falling short of expectations. Even if I die tomorrow, I don’t want my closest friends to feel sorrow because I’m slowly realizing an important lesson. All that “what if” thinking and self-grudge holding are like clocks ticking away in a desert — it’s nothing but a waste of time.
A good man, that’s what I want to be one day. But you can’t be one if you’re at war with yourself and thinking about what’s happened in the past. I just want the people around me and my younger self to look up to me, similar to how the last word in a paragraph nods to the first one.
It’s true what they say sometimes, in order to move forward, you’ve got to take a look back.
Come on, now. Honestly, how could I forget that?
