When I was about 8 years old, one evening I got a severe deep cut on one of my legs. My father provided me with first aid and dressed up the wound. A few hours later I was running around with the bandage somehow managing to hold on to my leg, not that I cared much about it.
As the wound healed and left a scar behind it, I would show it off very proudly whenever a chance presented itself. I was always able to locate the scar without having to look at it. But, as the years passed by, the frequency with which I spoke about it decreased along with my ability to be able to find it in my sleep. Today, the scar is barely visible and I am not certain if it was the left leg or the right. Probably the right leg.
Memories feel very similar. We distinctly remember the events related to a memory and every little detail, including the people, the place and the time. We often reflect on the important memories. Very frequently. But as the years roll on, the details start to get hazy and we can’t point out the minute details quite as efficiently. Surely with some digging and retrospection the details start coming back to us, but it takes a little more effort on our part and a tad bit longer the next time we try reminiscing upon a certain memory. Over time, we think about it less often and eventually it gets muddled up with the forgotten sands to an extent that we are unable to point out the difference anymore.
I used this analogy recently to explain what a memory is and how it plays tricks on us and felt the need to write it down.
As I bend down to search for the wound I got years ago, I finally manage to find it hidden under the hair that grows on top of it now. But it is on my left leg.comments powered by Disqus