My earliest memory is meeting my great grandmother Bekins. It was at some point before we went to Spain, so before I was 2 years old. She was blind, and it was a dark, dank room – I just remember flashes of being there, but the fact that she was blind left an impression on my toddler mind. My continuous memories really begin in Singapore, where I can piece together a continuity. I have a few memories from Spain, but the earliest really is meeting Great Grandma.
Memory is an interesting, and tricky thing – I could pontificate for awhile on the unreliability of memory, or of writing memories down, and then the memory becomes the written memory, but it may not be exact memory. And I am prone to embellishing things to make them more interesting, and/or omitting things that are not that exciting, or that dilute or distract from the essence of the event….and then my mind continues to embellish and omit until the memory becomes something different in my mind, and then when I read the original account, maybe talk to someone who was there, read my journal from that time, etc – I realize that the “story” of the memory has become pretty far flung from what the original event was. Memory is a strange, strange thing.
Day to day thoughts, rants and mental detritus.