The Fear of Not Remembering Anything
- Jun 15, 2020
- 9 min read
An account of dealing with nostalgias and losing memories.
I have never spent a night in this motel during the years, and yet now it brought me here. Motel room 1612 seemed to be vacant, with the entry opened. Wind from the outside world was whistling in, passionately breaking the atmosphere inside. With hesitation, I went inside. The situation was eerie with a squeeze of humidity. The bedsheets were a mess, and an opened luggage was located beside it. The TV was still turned on, displaying black and white lines shuffling perpetually. There was no lamp on the ceiling, and the TV provided barely enough illumination to visualize the objects in front of my eyes. Sheets of photographs were scattered across the burgundy carpet. The faces were familiar, before I took time to realize that one of them was actually me. I devoted some time to check all the prints, scouring for a spark of what was happening. But the only thing that synced with my brain’s archive was my face. Recognizing where and when these photos were taken appeared to be ending up in vain. This situation started to drive me uncomfortable.
I switched my glance away from the ground, and stepped carefully further into the room. My gaze noticed handful of letters, placed innocently on the bedside table. It was quite dark, so I needed to grab the papers close to gain sight of what was written on it. I was convinced that these letters were written long ago, as the papers have shown yellow spots. There were rows and rows of words on it which I’m unable to comprehend. The alphabets were scrambled, and so I flapped to the next page, and still the same thing. I put it back to where it originally placed. Undisputedly, my mind was increasingly puzzled of what was taking place.
What if we lose track of the past? I came across the question on the internet at some time. It was supposed to be a time for mindless browsing and aimless surfing, but the sentence struck me like a bolt. I kept musing about it, this particular “what if” was not easily dismissed. The long stay-at-home holiday felt like it was the perfect time to ponder on the many intriguing concepts of living. Intangible concepts of nostalgia, memories, and reminiscence are an encounter that everyone is predestined to experience. Those concepts made me curious on how it could carry a weight on my life. After few days of exploring the labyrinth of thought, I came up with the answers on how I dealt with the question.
I am much of a nostalgic person myself. I have no problems going back to the past and remembering everything that can be remembered. I was happy when I did it, and soon enough I was collecting things in order to easily get my memories up and running. Looking at photographs is one sure way to get the reminiscence going for anyone. I personally liked to compile every much details which can be associated with an experience. I provided boxes and drawers to store these objects. Be it a flight ticket of past trips, to the plastic bags from a special place, I retained anything that I acquired from the past. People may see it as trash, however I find these to be worthful. These physical memories we have created and kept, are a bridge to the lost world. They are strong triggers for flying us back in time. They safeguard the memories, more like a backup in case I have forgotten about it in my brain, they are hopefully still there.
During this holiday, I occasionally check out the images on my devices. Stored inside folders upon folders, acting like it’s a hidden chest of gems. Encountering the question has made me value memorial things even more. I was frightened there was a ticking time bomb. My brain is simply waiting to somehow lost track of most memories which I have kept. Rowing around about the possibility is horrifying. My collecting craze went haywire fueled by the thought. In no time, I was searching in more places ever before to expand my collection.
Memories for me was a pit stop from the rat race we live in. The place where I could just hit the brake and have a pause. Viewing old photographs and checking my drawers of past treasures reminded me on how I have enjoyed this life. Memories are a sweet treat to the seemingly bitter present. The excitement from out of town trips, the satisfaction from school graduations, and countless other experiences in the past. Remembering a pleasant experience often give a smile to my otherwise dull days.
But deep down I sensed the smile it created was not a genuine one. It was simply a quick getaway. It was complicated for me to accept the fact that memories will always be in the past, it could not come back no matter how much I wanted and wished it to happen. Yes, it looked like I’m dumb enough to be unable to accept that, and I felt it was a stupid thing to lament over. Nostalgia is a great way to modestly go through it sometimes, but to an extend it will just hurt in the long run if I swim in it too often. These overwhelming memories were becoming a purpose for my actions. My actions were mostly motivated so that in the future I could merely reenact those memories.
The suffocating fear that one day, I could not remember. The restraining chain of hopelessness that everything would eventually goes by. This concern, a wistful one, soon I will have to face in the late days of life. Isn’t it gloomy? When we are powerless against the tide of time. I was afraid everything I do now and then will ultimately be eroded away. It takes a huge sliver out of my personal motivation to do and achieve much in life. Would it be senseless to accomplish our objective if we will forget it? I was distressed one day I could not recall the journey. This fear has somehow consumed me to the point where it disturbed my normal thoughts. I desperately wanted to be capable of remembering vividly. I wished to have a beam I could hold on in order to help me associate with the experience I undergo.
At first, I considered the pitiful nightmarish supposition was normal for me. My fondness of history and going to museums for pastime seems synonymous with me being much nostalgic. It made sense to be obsessed about memories and dreadful about the loss of it. Day by day it made me to delve deeper into the rabbit hole. I found myself recreating nostalgias for time redundant, it depleted my days. Remembering the past was occupying so much time until it has reached the point whereas now it is not nostalgias that disturbs me from my activities, in contrast it was my activities that are distracting me from my nostalgias. Soon after, I knew something was wrong.
I was slowly but assuredly realizing my overdoing is hurting myself. I was creating an environment of mindset capable of discouraging my vigor. At the time of realization, I found myself low, in desperate need for reasons of being and the purpose of my actions. Every little thing felt dull, the days were cloudy with no air of gratefulness. I was hollow. At that point, I was aware the necessity to dig the reasons behind this is of utmost importance. I need to get rid of the wearying excessive flashbacks and nostalgias. I was not expecting it to be such a thorn in my life, but now it has grown to be more than that. I was too fixated on events that has happened and not on what is happening now. I dedicated substantial time and energy bringing myself back to somewhere I couldn’t do anything to improve myself. The formerly harmless fear of not remembering anything has transformed to be a wrecking force in my life. It has gotten out of control and spread everywhere where the light could reach.
A photograph is deceiving, and I am being too naive. Previously, I carelessly let my mind believe what it portrayed was the complete representation of what was happening in those times. My eyes are seeing in a rose colored glasses. My vision of the past is blurred and deviated. I am constantly perceiving in what is called a survivorship bias, where one is inclined to see just the supposedly good or successful part of something, instead of witnessing the overall process which includes lots of problems. I am only remembering the good parts of my memories, and dismissing the bad ones with ease. I conceive the past as a time when I was joyous with almost no issues compared to the present, this in result projected a false image in my mind.
Constant nostalgia has wrapped my mind. It has created a sort of limitations on how my mind should behave. I am not thinking freely and my perceptions are numbed. This box dictates me when, where, and how to experience a moment. I am greatly discouraged from trying new things, restrained like a sparrow in a birdcage. I am afraid I won’t enjoy a moment due to the fact that it is rolled out different from what I have experienced before. The term “comfort zone” is the nearest words to likely express this consciousness, even though it still differs. Whereas in comfort zone, the activity is supposed to make you feel safe and comfortable. But instead in this zone, I am not fulfilled, I am constantly wondering if it is possible to fly back to the past.
It has shown without doubt, I was the one responsible for all the opportunities that I have missed. All the moments I have spent were wasted. When in the present my body is somewhere, my mind was in elsewhere. I am not truly connected with new people. My mind is making itself busy fixating on the perception that people of old times are special and perfect without flaws. I was sure that I will never going to meet people like them ever again. I am setting unrealistic standards for the environment surrounding me. I treat new experience as a swindle and will never satisfy me the way memories do. The place I’m standing now is miserable and unsettling. The life I’m carrying out now is dull and the people I met are far from my expectations. I am limiting myself from all the possibilities offered by the present, rejecting them, and favoring imaginary tales from my memories. This mentality crushed me even deeper, as I am living in a deluding dream and could not get away from it. I lock my own exits from a growingly toxic mindset. Unconsciously, the box has heavily influenced my actions and perceptions of everything that surrounds me. I am pushed to be uncreative and cowardly.
Rehabilitating from excessive nostalgia is not easy. Just like drugs and alcohol, reclaiming myself from a toxic mindset also presented its own obstacles. I kept relapsing in the earlier days, finding myself craving for old photos and allotting time imagining trips back to the “good old” times. The realizations I have made before can only acts as a support. All the decisions are in my hands and other people, even closest to me, could only do much to help. I attempted to keep myself busy with other activities, diverting my mind from nostalgia. The progress is slow and not so smooth for my mind. And for now, at least I felt better. I am still occasionally going on a nostalgia trip, but often times I was not treating them as an unachievable paradise destination, I am viewing nostalgia as what it is, a temporary remembrance.
One purpose I am striving to achieve is to be able to live in the present. I am slowly dismantling the wall of bricks surrounding my mind. I tried to accept more and reject less. Loosening up the unrealistic standards I have set for the people surrounding me. The last thing I want, is my future self to look back at my life being wasted because I was busy existing somewhere else when everything was happening. I yearn to achieve and experience more. Plethoric nostalgia should solely be reserved for the deathbed, where I could ponder about anything without causing consequences to my present and future conditions. Being unable to remember the past is an inevitable situation, it is normal, and I should not feel paranoid concerning it. In the end, to truly live, fully experience, and persistently create memories are the ones which matter most.
“This is no ordinary room,” I reckoned, with little fear slowly crawling to my veins. The light was diminishing, and now I can feel the wind blows forcefully from outside. I was feeling uneasy, and in response I positioned myself closer to the door. The objects in the room screamed to stop me from going out, as if they are chanting help. I knew I could, but should not give them the look. My feet shifted away from the room with haste. My eyes paid one last glance to the interior. My cold hands reached the creaky handle and pulled it shut for good.
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