Do we ever stop and think of our first memory of ourselves? Of course, we remember so many events, people and places. We also remember a whole universe of tastes, smells and feelings. It is not so easy when we try to remember the approximate time we started forming memories. I know this must sound absurd and loony. But bear with me and think of the first time you remember being on this earth dropping poop on the kitchen floor as your mommy cried for you to hold it or move away. So, when is it that these magical capacity called memory triggers in us?
I was just thinking about my childhood. It was a ride that took me really deep backwards and almost held me captive there. The time I ate a soap while my mother left me in the bath tub for a moment while she attended to something more important than her baby was one of the first flashbacks I got. I am confused if that was first or was it the other one where I am (or at least trying to) repair my tricycle.
Then, there was this time when I sold a carbon paper I had removed from my father’s desk to a kid in my first school year. I struck a deal so good I got enough cash to buy a pencil, a sharpener and an eraser. Who was that innocent kid? He thought it was pure magic that you could put this blue sheet on top of a white paper and scribble with anything, even his fingernail, and get that same mark over the white paper.
Later on, I shot my sister on her temple with my BB gun and she crushed it to a thousand pieces. After few months or a year I was shoved to the ground one winter morning by my neighbor’s dog. I fell sideways and the first impact was on my left earlobe. It was a really cold day and felt like a thousand-pound hammer striking me down. It hurt so bad I think I saw stars in daylight for the first time in my life. I did not wake up from the ground for quite sometime. I still wonder why there wasn’t anyone else out on the road that day, apart from the weird girl who stood a few feet away noticing everything and laughing her heart out. She didn’t even come to rescue me. I swear she must have some screws in her cranium that needs tightening.
After that is a series of events I can remember almost in order. Crazy, weird, fun, happy, sad, unwanted, wanted, lucky and unlucky events that can be printed out like the transaction slip that rolls out of card-swipe machines. Only it would have to have an extraordinary supply of paper in it if my memories are to be printed out without interruption.
So, let’s go back to the question I asked at the beginning of this post. Do you have an answer for yourself? I don’t. Maybe it’s supposed to be that way. If we start knowing these things then what will be the magic of this monotonous existence we call life?