Melancholy

It is very hard to remember things for me, it has always been. I don’t recall a single time where recalling was not a struggle of mine: the teacher asking me to recall the discovery of America, my mom prying to know whom I met yesterday, my therapist questioning why I felt sad last week. And all I can answer is: I do not remember. And every time I try to, my mind spirals, seeks for answers, goes back to the beginning and then again: nothing. I am not able to tell whether growing in a digital age influenced my memory; maybe the continous stimuli did. Getting lost in loopholes that made me forget what I was looking for in the first place probably does not help. However, it did help in a way. Yesterday I opened my camera roll to delete pictures, and I found some that I did not remember taking. I did not remember the context, barely talk anymore to the people I was in that picture with, could not even recognize the place. But we were looking at each other and we were happy. I observed the picture for ten minutes, trying to understand where it was taken and why. I tortured myself and scolded my brain for being so forgetful: you were there – how can you not remember! And you were so happy! And then it clicked. It is not important for me to remember what I was doing in that moment, my mind was never made to elaborate long moments. But the fragment of authentic happiness I saw on our faces made me reminisce the feeling of pure joy. Media helped me to remember that some feelings are unique – they will come in different shares and forms, and you will not remember them anymore. In a few years, I will not remember writing this. But I will be reminded of how I felt in this exact moment, which will never be replicated again. To the future me, please do not hate media: it will paradoxically help you remember you are human. You felt and you will feel. You were happy in that picture.