Innocently unearthing memories of the past can become a double-edged sword. On one hand you have the joy of looking back and reliving those precious moments when life was so different, without preoccupations (or at least not visible in those frozen images) and reminding us about all the amazing experiences that were lived and shared with loved ones. On the other hand one might discover that not many things were as we thought, not many things were evident or perhaps, even non-existent, creating a feeling of uneasiness, oblivion and being lost. When no memories seem present, one wonders what part of life has fallen victim of being forgotten forever, doomed into the nothingness.
I can’t help but feeling happiness to see memories of loved ones, where they seem so delighted and in bliss, having the time of their life, living life and embracing many experiences. But I’m never present in them. I was the eternal absent from those times, and I recently discovered that in one way or another I have been the only one to blame for my decision to not act, to not be there and not leaving an imprint in the pages of history; if not universal history, at least in the pages and lives of those for whom I cherish. Why then, if I’m guilty for my own exile, I’m complaining about the situation? I believed then, that I should uncover tales of old to become part of a shared experience, to become an intrinsic aspect of other’s lives.
Unearthing dormant stories, that were once thought lost to time and the masses, can also become complicated matters to deal with. How they will come out, what tone and what feeling they will be carrying along can create an atmosphere of anxiety never experienced before. I really thought I was ready for it, that I could juggle with all the information but I have to admit that it came too fast and with a great responsibility on my shoulders. I panicked, I admit it… but I cannot, I WILL not accept this burden, this… act of nigh-blackmail. I stand fast under my banner, which shows my true-self, even if this action leaves me broken.
I went looking for memories but I ended up finding none, and when ancient plots came forth, I despaired. I guess sometimes the recall must be intentionally denied.