Friday, February 8, 2019

The Importance of Memory Essay -- Personal Narrative Writing

The Importance of Memory I opine lying in my bed one night when I was half a dozen years old, staring at the ceiling in the darkness, covers pulled up to my chin, thinking, Someday, Ill wake up and Ill be twenty years old. And someday Ill wake up and be forty. What will I t wagerual sensation like? What will I be doing? Will I be happy? Will I remember what it was like to be six-spot?Memory has always been a concern of mine mainly, is mine lacking(p) somehow? Everyone else knowms able to remember the minutiae of their childhoods, while mine seems mostly muddled at best. Sometimes Ill get piffling snatches of an image or a feeling, summoned by something Ive seen or smelled or heard, or sometimes a memory will just float to the surface, unasked for. And early(a) times, Ill consciously try to conjure up a extra scene or moment, but my efforts are unsuccessful more a good deal than not. Im twenty-one. Im probably a leg it and a half taller and twice as heavy as my six-year -old self. Im in school, reading and writing a lot, trying to number out my life, wondering (still) what forty will be like. Sometimes Im happy, sometimes Im not. I aim for triumph now, mostly.This is what I remember. Im in first grade. My teacher is Ms. Schultz. She would irritate the perfect grandmother a bit chubby, short silvery-blonde hair, smiling blue thistle eyes that crinkle in the corners, and a wardrobe consisting primarily of pinkish and purple sweatshirts, all cute-fluffy-animal-themed. Her face is so soft-looking I want to impact up and touch it. She likes blue eyeshadow. Im good at first grade. The other kids like my drawings. I know not to colourise the sky as a one-inch blue strip at the crystallise of my paper. I like drawing horses and unicorns and Pegas... ... and whites. I race raindrops as we sailplaning along the highway. I guess I remember more than I thought.People tell me its a terrible tendency I have sometimes of focusing on the past. They say, You should live in the now. They insist, You should bonk the present. I feel guilty at first, but I pull a face to see through the eyes of a six-year-old again. The guilt slides away easy because I know not to let a cloud of memories throw the present, to freight the moment with past regrets. Instead, I use my memories to elevate my experiences now, to see everything around me with greater clarity. The past gives every moment a little more meaning. To me, it seems critical to know where and whence I came from, how I came to be like this, to think the way I do or act the way I do. Memory offers a claim of permanence, a meat of positioning myself in time and in space.

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