I'm fond of my childhood memories, or the little that is left of them. Those precious moments I'm holding on to for as long as my brain cells will allow, are the same moments I wonder whether they were reality or merely snippets of dreams. Through time, my distinct childhood memories have blurred, pixelated . Months depleted to a few seconds of distorted memory. And sometimes I think, did that really occur?
There are some memories I have of laughing for hours and days and weeks and years about a single sentence said, or a line from a movie from which I have no idea of the title. There are moments in life I found fascinating. And moments I wished to toss into the ocean. Life was massive, and so was time. And I sometimes wish I could go back to these memories...just for one more moment of time. Just for a tiny minute...
But then I opened up some of these mystical memories...and all this did was scare, literally SCARE me. I was horrified. This caused nightmares.
Killing Jaws on Nintendo was as exciting as eating a stale Great Value cookie.
Watching myself hitting a piñata on a dusty VHS was humiliating, even watching it alone.
Reading my childhood diary was even more mortifying.
Finding on Facebook that wise somebody I looked up to? Crushing.
Searching on YouTube for my favorite movies and shows I thought were captivating, fascinating. How did Hugga Bunch not traumatize me as a child? Mister Rogers wasn't my neighbor. He was Family Guy's Herbert, the old creeper neighbor.
My momentary leap into land of nostalgia backfired from reminiscence to repercussion. Devastation. Sweet memory fail.
In order to cherish rather than taint certain, though not all, memories I prefer to just leave them as they are. Cherished memories.
No comments:
Post a Comment