Does an Experience Only Become A Memory When We’ve Forgotten It?

You see, I want to remember everything. A bit of a stupid effort really but it actually isn’t such a stupid intention.   Think about the little things that differ the action and motion of the things we do in daily life. Maybe the search for but’s and bee’s in our daily events. It’s like the 1 soppy face in a fantastic party or the long pause of uncertainty that is bound to be a heart breaker. Think about the very pointless history log of our internet surfer gadgets, they actually record pointless information but it becomes data when send it of top IT tech guy who is fascinated by Marketing. Even saying that think of how boring relationships would be without it.  How would you ever know what your half has been up to?  My point is, I want to treasure the moments I have spent here, in my very own house and remember them till death do us part but realistically I won’t. I want to remember the mood-changers and 101 epiphanies I have had sitting here on this very seat.  I think about the memories that coo itself out from the locked up part of somewhere up there when doing something else. It’s also the things I find myself repeating over and over, the oh-so-very important promises I constantly make to myself about eating healthy and drinking less kind of things that in actual fact I should remember and do(!!). For instance I made the very same promise last night, only to get up this and fry the eggs rather then boiling them.   They things are part of my life god damn it, are there any psyches out there that has an actual scientific explanation as to why I don’t remember? Does an experience only become a memory when we’ve forgotten it?  It was a hassle during my academic life too, revision never stuck, the deadlines were a constant blur, the library fines I had to pay and the list can go on.  Me and dyslexic self had love and hate relationship, we would both have to think of interesting ways to remember the important stuff which was ever so time consuming.   While I’m packing my shit up, it hits me more that within every inch of this house there I things I don’t want to forget. Good and bad, the memoirs in the shape of objects that won’t fit into the boxes I’m storing to be shipped, skipped and distributed. Funnily enough, if it’s not had an effect on my life, my thoughts or my bank statement, I’m just going to end up having to leave it here. So, again, all I really want to do is remember every second of it yet my intention is not worth the effort, as I can’t even seem to remember anything without my differently shaped hand-held objects as a stimulator. You see, I want to remember everything. A bit of a stupid effort really but it actually isn’t such a stupid intention.

Think about the little things that differ the action and motion of the things we do in daily life. Maybe the search for but’s and bee’s in our daily events. It’s like the 1 soppy face in a fantastic party or the long pause of uncertainty that is bound to be a heart breaker. Think about the very pointless history log of our internet surfer gadgets, they actually record pointless information but it becomes data when send it off to a top IT tech guy who is fascinated by Marketing. Even saying that think of how boring relationships would be without it.  How would you ever know what your half has been up to?

My point is, I want to treasure the moments I have spent here, in my very own house and remember them till death do us part but realistically I won’t. I want to remember the mood-changers and 101 epiphanies I have had sitting here in this very seat.  I think about the memories that coo itself out from the locked up part of somewhere up there when doing something else. It’s also the things I find myself repeating over and over, the oh-so-very important promises I constantly make to myself about eating healthy and drinking less kind of things that in actual fact I should remember and do(!!). For instance I made the very same promise last night, only to get up this morning and fry the eggs rather than boiling them.

These things should be a part of my life god damn it, are there any psyches out there that have an actual scientific explanation as to why I don’t remember? Does an experience only become a memory when we’ve forgotten it?

It was a hassle during my academic life too, revision never stuck, the deadlines were a constant blur, the library fines I had to pay and the list can go on.  Me and dyslexic self had love and hate relationship, we would both have to think of interesting ways to remember the important stuff which was ever so time-consuming.

While I’m packing my shit up, it hits me more that within every inch of this house there I things I don’t want to forget. Good and bad, the memoirs in the shape of objects that won’t fit into the boxes I’m storing to be shipped, skipped and distributed. Funnily enough, if it’s not had an effect on my life, my thoughts or my bank statement, I’m just going to end up having to leave it here. So, again, all I really want to do is remember every second of it yet my intention is not worth the effort, as I can’t even seem to remember anything without my differently shaped hand-held objects as a stimulator.

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About An Addled Moment

I came to Istanbul to discover not only this beautiful city and its nightlife but I’m also here to discover me.
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