Memories I Keep Close To Me

There are things that are always happening.
Rather than confined to dusty books on dusty shelves, they are at the very front of our minds, never letting go. We are defined by them, and we ourselves define them as happy memories, or as painful ones. We are not complete without them, but must keep them under control, never allowing them to become free.

"What's the first thing you remember?"
"The first thing that comes into my head, you mean?"
"What's the first thing after all the things you've forgotten?"
(Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead)

I remember so many things, but which is the first? And who cares to think of all the things they've forgotten? Surely we'd remember them if they were important, and if we don't, then we really want to pretend they were never really that important to us. Things which are responsible for us forgetting them, "I never really loved you anyway", they can't have left much of an impression.

We all remember the first person who went above-and-beyond-the-call because of us. The first person who said "I believe in you". I'd like to think I remember all of them, because believing in someone shows an amazing level of trust, I don't know if I can do it, not really do it. I remember the first time a teacher described my work as "Brilliant", the first time someone said "you are wise beyond your years", or at least I think I do.

I also remember the first time I felt big-headed, the first time I felt I didn't need anyone, the first time I felt it all came easily, and that's when I found out none of that was true, because you only feel that once you've come out of the world of ego. I'd lost someone who had taught me a lot, and yet it had come so easily that I never knew how much more there was to learn, or how quickly it could all be forgotten, de-prioritised, discarded, because it didn't fit with how I expected it to be.

I remember a country farmhouse, the kitchen at its heart, a television its eyes and ears, watching and listening to the world from a safe distance, my thoughts locked away from scrutiny.
I remember a thunderstorm, lights on the motorway, a death in the family, another lesson half-learned, academic studies of inconsequential trivia taking precedence, when I could have learned how to be a man, I was learning about rulers and river deltas.

I remember the day my mother left, I mean the day she had no reason to stay any more, and I remember the day I lost my gentle giant of a grandad. And I remember the world caving in when I lost my grandmother

I remember someone saying "Don't be so hard on yourself", and I remember reading "God doesn't blame you", and I remember choosing that these things were not the things that broke me as a person, but the things that rebuilt me. They are the building blocks of the person I can become.