The pen is mightier than my memory

April 18, 2007
Wednesday
6:24 pm – 6:51pm

I’ve forgotten how to write a letter or perhaps I’ve been refusing myself to do so. There was a lot to say for the past few months. My heart, my hands are burning to write but a part of me would always say it’s not yet time. A part of me would always say to wait for the perfect time and the perfect place (probably far away from where I am now; far away from everyone). But when? Where?
The pages and spaces of my Starbucks journal is not enough. Every time I write I have to fabricate a day’s memory into it’s simplest from. The best and most beautiful details are gone and emotions are usually held back to avoid downpour of words. This is very unfortunate for me. Writing is the only way I know to preserve what I treasure, my memories.
Since childhood, among us three daughters, I’ve always had the poorest memory; always the slowest to learn. I probably passed scholarship grants back in college not because of good memory handy for remembering lessons from tons of textbooks but maybe because of simple hard work and a bit of guts.
Only through writing would I know how I’ve lived my life. I know it’s quite odd but I always have this feeling that I’ll lose my memory at a very early age, probably between my 40s or 50s. Fear of the unknown, of things I’m not even sure that will happen in the future. I was thinking too much of the anesthesia that was used to me before during dental operations, and of that time when I tried to overdose myself with memory enhancers to make sure that I pass the next scholarship evaluation. Maybe these things have affected my memory. There were lots of times back in college when I would bang my head to the wall because of unbearable headache. That may have caused my poor memory as well.
I know that the people around me would always remind me of how I’ve lived my life regardless if they cared for me or not. But the details of how beautiful life was; how life was presented with life; how life found reasons and meaning --- I guess it’s only me who can tell. This should be one good reason why I should write.