my memory?

Can’t be trusted.


Sometimes you think you have recollections of something, but what you remembered wasn’t what actually happened. Or you have a memory of another thing that didn’t actually happen at all.

The mind works in intriguing ways. Strange how the subconscious can dull the edges and blur the finer details, not to mention unwarily supplying you with what you want to remember on occasions. It may also anaesthetise the most painful memories, softening the blow each time you revisit it.

Mine, for one, is certainly an enigma. A pretty good memory generally, especially when it comes to minute, irrelevant, often useless details. Yet at the same time, I’m also notoriously absent-minded, particularly when it comes to bigger things *have been known to forget to go for exams*. I can even remember a particular scene in an old series which was showing on TV when I was 3 or 4 years old, but couldn’t remember how old I was when I saw it. *only found out how old the show was and the name of the series when I was in my teens*

It’s only natural for the memory to worsen with time, what with my prevalent absent-mindedness and all. What irks the most is when I think I remember something which didn’t really happen the way my memory tells me at all. Most of the time, won’t even notice that one's recollections aren’t derived from reality. And that’s ok. But when you know that a particular memory is questionable, then you’re in trouble.


Which is unreal? Which is then real?


It probably happens because the subject matter affects one a lot. Say, an embarrassing moment which you wouldn’t mind forgetting about at all. ‘Did I really do that? No, it can’t be… But I remember something… Well, it definitely didn’t happen like that…’ Or something really dear and close to one’s heart. Something which you wished you had done or really wanted to do. ‘Did that really happen? Hope I was the one… Could that be me? Something I really wanted to do… But I don’t remember actually doing it… Sounded like what I would have done… I think that was me… But I couldn’t have done it… Was that me?’


It used to be that nothing was more reliable than one’s own remembered experiences. What one remembers was one’s truth and convictions.


Ah… but reality shifts. Subconsciously. Even consciously. *loads worse*



… sifting through my many shifting realities.