I'm often told that i have the memory of a gold fish.
Well, because I forget way more than an average young adult my age does. Or at least that is what everyone says.
I forget events that happened less than 6 months ago. I can never tell a story because i keep forgetting its details and the logical sequence of its events.
And I would prolly forget your name after 5 minutes of our first meeting.
This is a bad thing, i'm told, as i'm supposed to be a fully-responsible individual and an effective part of society as an adult that will have to work, earn a living, be alert and quick-witted, get married and build a family, which can't be done properly if i'm gonna forget all about a task i'm assigned at work or go home forgetting my kids at the supermarket one day...
I know this is a bad thing, but I would like to think that i have a selective memory, not a bad one.
It's funny how i forget some of the most important details that could affect my daily life, but i still remember memories from my distant childhood with the utmost accuracy.
i remember being carried by a woman, while descending a staircase made of clay. it was noon...that was probably in Sudan. I remember knowing that that woman was not my mother, i couldn't see her face, but i knew that she wasn't my mother because she smelt different; i remember her scent and the bright red color of the toab she was wearing.
Thing is, I've only been in Sudan when I was a toddler.
I remember the first time i said "papa" and "mama".
i stood on a small green stool which i vehemently positioned in the middle of our hall, i was wearing a diaper so i'm guessing i was around 2-3 years old, and i said "papa!", my mom came running from the kitchen with a surprised expression on her face "Say that again ?"
"papa !"
She called my dad and asked me to say it again, so i did.
"Say mama !"
"pama !"
"mama!"
"mama!"
They both stood there looking so happy so i figured it was a great thing and that i should keep saying it over and over "papa !" "papa!" "mama!".
Boy, did that make them happy..I wonder where that green stool is.
I still remember my class mates from kindergarten, Malak, Mustafa, Khalid, Sara, Abdullah, Rawya, Dana, Abdel Kareem, Mahmoud...I remember our art teacher Alia..she always looked like she was about to cry..with her droopy eyes and square glasses and distorted voice..I remember when Mustafa witted his pants; we were sitting at the rear and no one else saw...poor fellow was too embarrassed, trying to hide the mini pool below him and he asked me not to tell anyone..I told no one. I remember when it used to rain and i would get excited and sing out loud, interrupting the class :
سعودي راح مكه .. يجيب ثياب عكه .. واحطه في صندوقي
صندوقي ماله مفتاح .. والمفتاح عند الحداد .. والحداد يبي فلوس
والفلوس عند العروس .. والعروس تبي رجال .. والرجال يبي عيال
والعيال تبي حليب .. والحليب عند البقر .. والبقر تبي حشيش
والحشيش فوق الجبل.. والجبل يبي مطر .. والمطر من عند الله
It used to rain a lot in these days...for a whole week sometimes...and good things used to happen when it rained .My mom would make sesame sweets and its smell would fill the house; you could see the warm steam condense against the frosty windows. I would stay home all day, looking through the window, looking beyond the mountains at the grey sky, waiting for the first signs of a rainbow..My mom wouldn't let me play in the yard lest i catch a cold (i was a sickly child), so the big window in our old hall was my window to the whole world..and the rainbow was my favorite childhood friend because it told me it was okay to go out and play now..
How many years has it been since i last saw a rainbow...I yearn for the memories it brings back so much it's probably the reason i enter a state of ecstasy when it rains now...i still unconsciously raise my eyes to the sky after the rain stops, searching for my friend, searching for a glimpse of the happy, old days, a reminder of joy and pureness but , alas. My friend shows up no longer.
I even remember when my dad used to smoke, not even my older sister remembers that because he stopped when she was a kid...it was a warm night and there were many people at our place, talking with my dad...they were setting in our yard under the palm tree and i was idly setting on my dad's lap.. they were talking and laughing but i couldn't understand anything....my dad was smoking, and i noticed how his teeth were yellow..but oddly enough, i don't remember being irritated by the smell of cigarettes.
This was carved into my memory because, amid my boredom and childish reverie to which i used to resort when everyone else is oblivious to my existence, a little star fell on my lap out of nowhere. i was dazzled; It looked so, so pretty with a multitude of shades and colors that change when you look at it from different angles.. I kept staring at it wondering where it came from, thinking that someone might've tossed it at me as a prank, but when i looked at the people there, not a single one of them seemed to notice my wondering eyes.
When I asked my dad ,he said, with a wide smile on his face being engaged in telling a funny story, that it probably fell from the sky and that i'm lucky it fell to my hands and i should keep it as a memento because it rarely ever happens.
And I did, i kept it as a treasure, thinking it was a real star...And for many years to come i did believe that the stars i see at night were small pentagonal, glassy objects that shone so fervently through the darkness even though they were this small..and that they eventually fall from the sky when they run out of light. well, until we studied about stars in science class.
Who tossed that little star at me, i wonder..
No, I don't think I have a bad memory, because i wouldn't be able to recall all these details from my childhood.. i think i remember the individuals and events that made quite an impression on me; facial expressions that told me about the words kept unsaid, random lines that sat me thinking, scenes that became idylls springing every now and then in the form of Deja vu.
"I've been here before, i've met this person before, where have i read or heard this line before now ?" thinking about it now, i'm sure that 99% of these Deja vu pangs i've had were actually real, they are just fuzzy memories that wore off by the passage of time.
That's right, i don't have a bad memory, i only remember what really matters, and because these recollections consume much space in my mind, it becomes necessary to delete what i can do without...you know, some fragments of our childhood are too precious to let go, to be replaced by the present.
Well,i hope that i start allocating more space in my mind to keep what i need for my everyday life at least.
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Well, because I forget way more than an average young adult my age does. Or at least that is what everyone says.
I forget events that happened less than 6 months ago. I can never tell a story because i keep forgetting its details and the logical sequence of its events.
I always get into unpleasant situations when i forget to congratulate someone or offer my condolences and then realize that they were upset because they thought i lacked tact.
I forgot that i handed my ID card for cancellation the other day, and kept looking for it and calling my parents back home to check if i forgot it there.And I would prolly forget your name after 5 minutes of our first meeting.
This is a bad thing, i'm told, as i'm supposed to be a fully-responsible individual and an effective part of society as an adult that will have to work, earn a living, be alert and quick-witted, get married and build a family, which can't be done properly if i'm gonna forget all about a task i'm assigned at work or go home forgetting my kids at the supermarket one day...
I know this is a bad thing, but I would like to think that i have a selective memory, not a bad one.
It's funny how i forget some of the most important details that could affect my daily life, but i still remember memories from my distant childhood with the utmost accuracy.
i remember being carried by a woman, while descending a staircase made of clay. it was noon...that was probably in Sudan. I remember knowing that that woman was not my mother, i couldn't see her face, but i knew that she wasn't my mother because she smelt different; i remember her scent and the bright red color of the toab she was wearing.
Thing is, I've only been in Sudan when I was a toddler.
I remember the first time i said "papa" and "mama".
i stood on a small green stool which i vehemently positioned in the middle of our hall, i was wearing a diaper so i'm guessing i was around 2-3 years old, and i said "papa!", my mom came running from the kitchen with a surprised expression on her face "Say that again ?"
"papa !"
She called my dad and asked me to say it again, so i did.
"Say mama !"
"pama !"
"mama!"
"mama!"
They both stood there looking so happy so i figured it was a great thing and that i should keep saying it over and over "papa !" "papa!" "mama!".
Boy, did that make them happy..I wonder where that green stool is.
I still remember my class mates from kindergarten, Malak, Mustafa, Khalid, Sara, Abdullah, Rawya, Dana, Abdel Kareem, Mahmoud...I remember our art teacher Alia..she always looked like she was about to cry..with her droopy eyes and square glasses and distorted voice..I remember when Mustafa witted his pants; we were sitting at the rear and no one else saw...poor fellow was too embarrassed, trying to hide the mini pool below him and he asked me not to tell anyone..I told no one. I remember when it used to rain and i would get excited and sing out loud, interrupting the class :
سعودي راح مكه .. يجيب ثياب عكه .. واحطه في صندوقي
صندوقي ماله مفتاح .. والمفتاح عند الحداد .. والحداد يبي فلوس
والفلوس عند العروس .. والعروس تبي رجال .. والرجال يبي عيال
والعيال تبي حليب .. والحليب عند البقر .. والبقر تبي حشيش
والحشيش فوق الجبل.. والجبل يبي مطر .. والمطر من عند الله
It used to rain a lot in these days...for a whole week sometimes...and good things used to happen when it rained .My mom would make sesame sweets and its smell would fill the house; you could see the warm steam condense against the frosty windows. I would stay home all day, looking through the window, looking beyond the mountains at the grey sky, waiting for the first signs of a rainbow..My mom wouldn't let me play in the yard lest i catch a cold (i was a sickly child), so the big window in our old hall was my window to the whole world..and the rainbow was my favorite childhood friend because it told me it was okay to go out and play now..
How many years has it been since i last saw a rainbow...I yearn for the memories it brings back so much it's probably the reason i enter a state of ecstasy when it rains now...i still unconsciously raise my eyes to the sky after the rain stops, searching for my friend, searching for a glimpse of the happy, old days, a reminder of joy and pureness but , alas. My friend shows up no longer.
I even remember when my dad used to smoke, not even my older sister remembers that because he stopped when she was a kid...it was a warm night and there were many people at our place, talking with my dad...they were setting in our yard under the palm tree and i was idly setting on my dad's lap.. they were talking and laughing but i couldn't understand anything....my dad was smoking, and i noticed how his teeth were yellow..but oddly enough, i don't remember being irritated by the smell of cigarettes.
This was carved into my memory because, amid my boredom and childish reverie to which i used to resort when everyone else is oblivious to my existence, a little star fell on my lap out of nowhere. i was dazzled; It looked so, so pretty with a multitude of shades and colors that change when you look at it from different angles.. I kept staring at it wondering where it came from, thinking that someone might've tossed it at me as a prank, but when i looked at the people there, not a single one of them seemed to notice my wondering eyes.
When I asked my dad ,he said, with a wide smile on his face being engaged in telling a funny story, that it probably fell from the sky and that i'm lucky it fell to my hands and i should keep it as a memento because it rarely ever happens.
And I did, i kept it as a treasure, thinking it was a real star...And for many years to come i did believe that the stars i see at night were small pentagonal, glassy objects that shone so fervently through the darkness even though they were this small..and that they eventually fall from the sky when they run out of light. well, until we studied about stars in science class.
Who tossed that little star at me, i wonder..
No, I don't think I have a bad memory, because i wouldn't be able to recall all these details from my childhood.. i think i remember the individuals and events that made quite an impression on me; facial expressions that told me about the words kept unsaid, random lines that sat me thinking, scenes that became idylls springing every now and then in the form of Deja vu.
"I've been here before, i've met this person before, where have i read or heard this line before now ?" thinking about it now, i'm sure that 99% of these Deja vu pangs i've had were actually real, they are just fuzzy memories that wore off by the passage of time.
That's right, i don't have a bad memory, i only remember what really matters, and because these recollections consume much space in my mind, it becomes necessary to delete what i can do without...you know, some fragments of our childhood are too precious to let go, to be replaced by the present.
Well,i hope that i start allocating more space in my mind to keep what i need for my everyday life at least.
