Throwback.. to what?

-Image – Illustrated by – Diya Padmakumar, I B.A English and Communication Skills

– Zenia Zuraiq, II BSc. Physics

If you are over the age of 18 – which you probably are – you have lived for over 6570 days. You have experienced over 157,000 hours; nine million minutes; 500 million seconds.
And yet, if I asked you to tell me something interesting from each day of your life, each hour you spent – you probably wouldn’t be able to.

Science has proved that we are not the most accurate at reminiscing our past. The rose-tinted view of the past is often far from the reality of the situation. It has been argued that our memories and the way we remember things follow the so called 80:20 rule.

20% of your life makes up 80% of your memories.

It’s a strange feeling- finding out so much of your life doesn’t matter. So much of who you are will be thrown into a proverbial abyss. So many of the books you read, the shows you watch, the jokes you made have crossed over to unreachable places.

It’s a depressing thought; what was so important to you years before won’t matter a few years from now. The names of the people in your tenth standard class. The landline number of your best friend in fifth grade. The promises you made with your third grade girl gang, “we’ll always stay in touch”. The secrets, the fights, the making up to each other. It just doesn’t matter the way it used to.

It’s existential dread. Why do things only to be forgotten? Who will remember me when I can’t even remember myself? What do I even remember? What can I hold on to? What is important to me?
It’s a sigh of relief. The things that seem like such huge, unsolvable problems aren’t going to seem so in a few years. The heartache, the sadness isn’t going to impact the rest of my life. I have probability on my side?

It’s a human feeling. Trying to hold on as hard as you can even as you can feel yourself letting go. Trying to grasp at the ethereal fairies that are our memories. Trying to make every day, every memory count.

It’s weird – how our brains choose to remember things. At the end of the day, all we can really hope for is our memories – whether we remember them or not – are good ones. Because as Ralph Waldo Emerson puts it, “I cannot remember the books I’ve read any more than the meals I have eaten; even so, they have made me.”


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